Haters Gonna Hate, Aspies Gonna Collate
Originally posted by amythe3lder at Haters Gonna Hate, Aspies Gonna Collate
Before people get all judgy, no I don't have a professional "official" diagnosis of ASD. I can't afford one, and I don't really feel that I need or want other people to finally connect the dots for me. It's not like I need an excuse for school, because I finished my BA without one, it just took a long, long time. I have seen a therapist/psychologist/psychiatrist for a number of years adding up to half of my life. This fun-filled foray into the world of oft-incorrect diagnoses began at age 10 when I informed my mom that I needed help.
I was going to off myself, you see. I had a plan. A good solid plan accounting for contingencies. However there was a kickout: I didn't want to hurt anyone I left behind, so I knew I couldn't. I was going to eventually anyway though. She took me to a series of doctors who ran a series of rather pointless tests during which I overthought the questions, tried my best to appear functional isn't that what I'm supposed to do? and generally scared the hell out of everybody. Upon being presented with the first Rorschach card I asked whether I was meant to only say the first thing I saw, or all the things I saw, and went forth to cause hysteria by averaging 27 things per card. Most of them were monsters. They decided I was schizophrenic. I wasn't. They labelled me with depression, anxiety, OCD (more the obsessive, but some of the other thing too), and ADHD. This is all technically accurate. They tried to pin it down more. My tests showed abnormalities, but I mostly seemed fine, except for the suicidal ideation and the fidgets, quirks, and lack of interest in my peers. I hung out with my teachers while waiting for the bus to come and I loved little kids but the people in my age bracket were nearly all concerned with the most inconsequential things, not like my own intense love affair with The X-Files and any book I could get my hands on. And a few that were quickly taken out of my hands like the time I was 7 and mom didn't realize I was reading Gerald's Game in the back seat until I requested clarification on the whole handcuff/ bedpost thing.
The X-Files, though. I would not could not shut up about it. Ever see Jurassic Park? That scene where Timmy is cheerfully accosting Doctor Grant about dinosaurs and the academia on the subject: that was me. All day. Every day. With everybody. I could relate anything to that show. Give me a basic plot line ("the one where there's carnies") and I could tell you the title, season, usually the number, occasionally the director or writer, minutiae (what time the clock in the background reads and how this is significant) much of the dialogue, how the subplot fits it into the story arc, new things we learn about the characters (Mulder's badge number, Scully's sibling placement), the name of a supporting actor in the episode, and what was going on with the cast and crew at the time. I was more in love with that program than with any man (or woman) I've ever known. I even watched the last two seasons out of force of will. And anytime I was disallowed the privilege, usually for having neglected my homework again, I had a serious meltdown. I broke parental decries to watch The X-Files at a time when I had almost a phobic response to committing an act of disobedience. And I talked about it so much that no one in my family can watch it even now. It's still too soon for them. My dad introduced me to the show and after 3 weeks he wouldn't watch it with me anymore. That bad. And it's still there.The fact that they used Nokia cells has strongly influenced my mobile phone purchases as an adult (Mulder could get reception in a boxcar underground, I want it) and if they make a third movie, I will shell out the money to see it on opening day and only barely resist the urge to keep the 3D glasses. Hell, in that last clause alone two separate things reminded me of that damn series.
I digress. Often. So where was I... right! Way back up there, they were pinning me down. Giggle. They figured, and I agreed, that though there exists a high rate of comorbidity, nobody is that fucked up in such varied and numerable ways without some greater underlying cause. So much horseshit~ there must be a pony in here somewhere. Some of it could be explained by environment (poor), but a lot of it was just me. To what degree do we shape our own environments? Was my lack of friends and age appropriate speech patterns and behavior effect, or affect? They looked at the depression and the fidgeting and the rare moments when I was (to me) extremely happy. They decided I was bipolar. They were wrong again. I was still suicidal on the bipolar meds but I was too tranqued to tell them so for a few years. I did manage to develop an eating disorder. Not the hot one that models have. The other one where you have no confidence in your own ability to make the numbers on the scale go down and that bums you out so you eat ice cream. Endorphins! I guess any drug works in a pinch.
Post- the dissolution of the faulty bipolar hypothesis, they gave me an antidepressant and a very mild antipsychotic. Just to see. They saw. They swiftly removed the antipsychotic from the mix following a minor break where I was unable to be sure anything was real and thus freaked right on out.
Now we were back to square one, only worse. I had gained half again my body weight in under four months, lost it just as quickly, and slowly gained it back as I subscribed to my own powerlessness. And kept gaining. Now they were concerned. So was I, really, but I couldn't really believe that it was anything I was doing. My weight baffles me yet. Eating makes me feel safer and I do it without thinking about it. I can't quit cold turkey. I love cold turkey! And I never feel full.
We decided to just treat the anxiety and depression. I am currently unmedicated except by natural remedies, and they help. Not as much as the scripts do, but I get anxious when I have to spend a lot of money and the theanine and gaba help soothe that too.
I grew up. I used to be certain I wouldn't make it past 15, and I was wrong. I didn't think I could finish college, and I swung that too. After a lot of just taking classes because they sounded neat, I settled on History and convinced my advisor that pretty much all my just-for-fun courses like "Language and Linguistics" and that 3000-level anthropology class on human evolution all supplemented my major by facilitating a deeper understanding of the human condition. Sometimes the ability to see patterns everywhere is a boon, if you can get other people to come along with you on that and apply the credits. I've been in two long term relationships and neither ended because of my issues, though truthfully sex can be problematic for me. I have been embraced by the geek and nerd tribe on the grounds that we're all mad here. I remain terribly shy and afraid to say anything in case it turns out to be wrong, but I have a couple of close friends who understand that if they caught the rougher edge of my tongue, that was not ever my intent and I need to be told (ever so gently, if you please) so I can fix it and not say it that way again.
I have had a roommate that was on the spectrum and while some things he did I understood completely (he snapped and hummed to himself and used repetitive speech, I swing and bounce my leg and spin and rock) I never realized that I was stimming because my fidgeting had been channelled and gentled and is rarely an issue. At least not to me. The rocking from one foot to the other and the leg bouncing are the most frequent and obvious and I don't know why it bothers some people, but it does. So I got quieter about it. I learned to talk to professors when I had questions and to hold still while I did so. They don't like having to track you with their eyes, I guess. My aspie roomie had quirks, but I didn't really see that I did that stuff too. Then my mom pointed it out to me.
She directed me to an online quiz she could already predict the results of. Every online test I have taken to date has placed me on the autism spectrum, and now that I know that there's a community of us all awkwardly trying to communicate with each other, I feel so relieved. I'm not a freak. It doesn't actually change anything except my own self-concept, for the better. I'm not a failure with bizarre hobbies and no social life to speak of unless someone else initiates conversation. I may never be able to make my outer-life as rich and beautiful as the world in my head, but maybe I can start to share both with others.
Before people get all judgy, no I don't have a professional "official" diagnosis of ASD. I can't afford one, and I don't really feel that I need or want other people to finally connect the dots for me. It's not like I need an excuse for school, because I finished my BA without one, it just took a long, long time. I have seen a therapist/psychologist/psychiatrist for a number of years adding up to half of my life. This fun-filled foray into the world of oft-incorrect diagnoses began at age 10 when I informed my mom that I needed help.
I was going to off myself, you see. I had a plan. A good solid plan accounting for contingencies. However there was a kickout: I didn't want to hurt anyone I left behind, so I knew I couldn't. I was going to eventually anyway though. She took me to a series of doctors who ran a series of rather pointless tests during which I overthought the questions, tried my best to appear functional isn't that what I'm supposed to do? and generally scared the hell out of everybody. Upon being presented with the first Rorschach card I asked whether I was meant to only say the first thing I saw, or all the things I saw, and went forth to cause hysteria by averaging 27 things per card. Most of them were monsters. They decided I was schizophrenic. I wasn't. They labelled me with depression, anxiety, OCD (more the obsessive, but some of the other thing too), and ADHD. This is all technically accurate. They tried to pin it down more. My tests showed abnormalities, but I mostly seemed fine, except for the suicidal ideation and the fidgets, quirks, and lack of interest in my peers. I hung out with my teachers while waiting for the bus to come and I loved little kids but the people in my age bracket were nearly all concerned with the most inconsequential things, not like my own intense love affair with The X-Files and any book I could get my hands on. And a few that were quickly taken out of my hands like the time I was 7 and mom didn't realize I was reading Gerald's Game in the back seat until I requested clarification on the whole handcuff/ bedpost thing.
The X-Files, though. I would not could not shut up about it. Ever see Jurassic Park? That scene where Timmy is cheerfully accosting Doctor Grant about dinosaurs and the academia on the subject: that was me. All day. Every day. With everybody. I could relate anything to that show. Give me a basic plot line ("the one where there's carnies") and I could tell you the title, season, usually the number, occasionally the director or writer, minutiae (what time the clock in the background reads and how this is significant) much of the dialogue, how the subplot fits it into the story arc, new things we learn about the characters (Mulder's badge number, Scully's sibling placement), the name of a supporting actor in the episode, and what was going on with the cast and crew at the time. I was more in love with that program than with any man (or woman) I've ever known. I even watched the last two seasons out of force of will. And anytime I was disallowed the privilege, usually for having neglected my homework again, I had a serious meltdown. I broke parental decries to watch The X-Files at a time when I had almost a phobic response to committing an act of disobedience. And I talked about it so much that no one in my family can watch it even now. It's still too soon for them. My dad introduced me to the show and after 3 weeks he wouldn't watch it with me anymore. That bad. And it's still there.The fact that they used Nokia cells has strongly influenced my mobile phone purchases as an adult (Mulder could get reception in a boxcar underground, I want it) and if they make a third movie, I will shell out the money to see it on opening day and only barely resist the urge to keep the 3D glasses. Hell, in that last clause alone two separate things reminded me of that damn series.
I digress. Often. So where was I... right! Way back up there, they were pinning me down. Giggle. They figured, and I agreed, that though there exists a high rate of comorbidity, nobody is that fucked up in such varied and numerable ways without some greater underlying cause. So much horseshit~ there must be a pony in here somewhere. Some of it could be explained by environment (poor), but a lot of it was just me. To what degree do we shape our own environments? Was my lack of friends and age appropriate speech patterns and behavior effect, or affect? They looked at the depression and the fidgeting and the rare moments when I was (to me) extremely happy. They decided I was bipolar. They were wrong again. I was still suicidal on the bipolar meds but I was too tranqued to tell them so for a few years. I did manage to develop an eating disorder. Not the hot one that models have. The other one where you have no confidence in your own ability to make the numbers on the scale go down and that bums you out so you eat ice cream. Endorphins! I guess any drug works in a pinch.
Post- the dissolution of the faulty bipolar hypothesis, they gave me an antidepressant and a very mild antipsychotic. Just to see. They saw. They swiftly removed the antipsychotic from the mix following a minor break where I was unable to be sure anything was real and thus freaked right on out.
Now we were back to square one, only worse. I had gained half again my body weight in under four months, lost it just as quickly, and slowly gained it back as I subscribed to my own powerlessness. And kept gaining. Now they were concerned. So was I, really, but I couldn't really believe that it was anything I was doing. My weight baffles me yet. Eating makes me feel safer and I do it without thinking about it. I can't quit cold turkey. I love cold turkey! And I never feel full.
We decided to just treat the anxiety and depression. I am currently unmedicated except by natural remedies, and they help. Not as much as the scripts do, but I get anxious when I have to spend a lot of money and the theanine and gaba help soothe that too.
I grew up. I used to be certain I wouldn't make it past 15, and I was wrong. I didn't think I could finish college, and I swung that too. After a lot of just taking classes because they sounded neat, I settled on History and convinced my advisor that pretty much all my just-for-fun courses like "Language and Linguistics" and that 3000-level anthropology class on human evolution all supplemented my major by facilitating a deeper understanding of the human condition. Sometimes the ability to see patterns everywhere is a boon, if you can get other people to come along with you on that and apply the credits. I've been in two long term relationships and neither ended because of my issues, though truthfully sex can be problematic for me. I have been embraced by the geek and nerd tribe on the grounds that we're all mad here. I remain terribly shy and afraid to say anything in case it turns out to be wrong, but I have a couple of close friends who understand that if they caught the rougher edge of my tongue, that was not ever my intent and I need to be told (ever so gently, if you please) so I can fix it and not say it that way again.
I have had a roommate that was on the spectrum and while some things he did I understood completely (he snapped and hummed to himself and used repetitive speech, I swing and bounce my leg and spin and rock) I never realized that I was stimming because my fidgeting had been channelled and gentled and is rarely an issue. At least not to me. The rocking from one foot to the other and the leg bouncing are the most frequent and obvious and I don't know why it bothers some people, but it does. So I got quieter about it. I learned to talk to professors when I had questions and to hold still while I did so. They don't like having to track you with their eyes, I guess. My aspie roomie had quirks, but I didn't really see that I did that stuff too. Then my mom pointed it out to me.
She directed me to an online quiz she could already predict the results of. Every online test I have taken to date has placed me on the autism spectrum, and now that I know that there's a community of us all awkwardly trying to communicate with each other, I feel so relieved. I'm not a freak. It doesn't actually change anything except my own self-concept, for the better. I'm not a failure with bizarre hobbies and no social life to speak of unless someone else initiates conversation. I may never be able to make my outer-life as rich and beautiful as the world in my head, but maybe I can start to share both with others.