It was summer when I found out that I am autistic. Last summer. I was 65. I had been wondering about myself for a long time. Thinking that maybe something was very wrong with my thinking, my life.
I found out and sought therapy
watched a lot of podcasts
read a lot of articles.
Scrolled social media until the noise from all those voices, the gurus and influencers, got to be too much so
I quit.
Some people had talked about a certain special-ness they felt. I did not feel special.
Some talked about what a relief it was to finally know. Relief because autism answers all the questions.
Regarding my trauma-filled past. Difficult relationships, inability to make friends, to hold down jobs.
The life-saving disconnection from family. It explains my intensity, sensory issues and daily need for creative comfort. It informs me. Because really, I am fortunate to have this explanation through wiring. This genetic marker. Aren’t I fortunate.
No. I am not.
But, if I were to say this too loudly
too publicly
with too much sincerity, I would be told to reframe my thinking.
To tell myself a different version of the story. Be grateful for all of my ‘superpowers’.
I would be told that the answer to my issues is to have a positive mental attitude.
I do not possess that variety of attitude.
I never did.
I operate within the realm of reality.
Until now, I have spoken quietly about autism, in barely a whisper.
I am no expert. Not even when it comes to my own mind.
This has not ticked the boxes that have made up my life. A life that feels lived under false pretenses. It has not imbued me with powers beyond those of a normal human.
It has caused me to question everything.
My behaviours and choices and mistakes.
To try and connect all of these random, scattered dots,
these mysteries
in an attempt to create meaning. A map. To answer the question, ‘who am I now?’
It has kept me awake in the early hours of morning. It has made me feel depressed, lost, invisible and apathetic. Right now autism feels more like a burden than a relief.
I am searching. This is my reality. I don’t expect it to pertain to anyone else’s reality. Our experiences are complex, varied and highly personal.
I am traveling into my past. I am trying to understand.
To re-parent myself. To forgive myself. To find a way forward with little support, infrastructure or resources.
I am edging my way along a lengthy and dark tunnel, looking for a light at the end.
‘Tunnel’ (c) 2024 Deaborah Rise.
All Rights Reserved.