I am a 43-year-old American woman of Western European (particular German) descent who considers herself to be on the autistic spectrum. As of this writing, I have not been formally diagnosed. I have not been able to verbally communicate effectively with anyone qualified to deliver that diagnosis. I have been searching for some time for a professional who can assist me, as well as the financial means with which to pay for a qualified assessment. But because of my:
- social anxiety
- visual, non-verbal cognitive and communication process
- alternative comprehension of spoken vocabulary
- impaired social facility with professionals
- all-’round asocial Aspergian tendencies
I have been unable to get the assistance I need.
My search for help continues, and I’m hopeful that I will eventually receive a fitting diagnosis. But as of this writing, I am one of those people who just “strongly suspects” they’re an Aspie. (Please Note: I can’t see why the lack of a formal diagnosis should prevent me from sharing the experience and insights I’ve paid dearly for, over the years. Surely, someone out there must find this useful. And I’m convinced that it’s not my place (or my right) to deny others the benefit of my experience, simply because I haven’t been able to connect with a certified clinician who can ask the “right” questions and provide the “right” answers.)
Non-diagnosed status notwithstanding, I have fit the profile of an individual on the autistic spectrum quite well, my entire life. As a child, I was intensely withdrawn… was unable to form lasting relationships with peers… I refused to play with toys as they were (I took apart the vacuum cleaner my parents gave me and played with the parts individually, and I dismembered and reassembled the dolls with which I was supposed to simulate/practice parenting)… I was fascinated — often to the exclusion of all else — with spinning objects… I could not fall asleep unless I rubbed the satin edge of my blanket till it was threadbare… I read books written for individuals well beyond my assumed developmental level, yet I comprehended almost nothing of what I read… I self-injured in times of intense personal distress… I talked to myself constantly… I was highly sensitive to touch (so that sometimes even the most loving touch felt like a blow, and I experienced many hugs as a form of battering)… I lashed out against my siblings and melted down frequently, and my anti-social behavior and feral manners humiliated my parents, who were leaders in their community.
When I was growing up, there was very little understanding of autism or its various spectral manifestations, and my parents did not have the means to pay for special care for me. I was in and out of special programs in school, as well as therapies. Nothing seemed to help my continued distress, or improve my “bad” behavior. The best anyone could hope for me, was that I would stay out of jail and find a regular job, someday. I don’t think my parents ever expected me to turn out as independent as I did.
In spite of negligent (and often abusive) treatment by people who either assumed there was nothing wrong with me or I would eventually grow out of my troubles, I have managed to piece together a life of unusual (and unexpected) accomplish-ment, while keeping my deficits well out of public view. My ASD traits have persisted, including those you’ve read about in the prior pages. I have been covering for my lack of functional abilities my entire life, and I have done everything in my power to hide them from a judgmental, prejudiced, and predatory world — including friends and family.
But recently, in my studies and research on neurology, learning styles, and cognition, I have pieced together a number of disparate trains of thought which complement each other so elegantly and explain so much about my own personal lifelong situation, that I feel I must share my findings with others, as a self-identified member of the autistic spectrum. It appears now that my convoluted and often confounding life experience might actually do somebody some good. I never thought this would ever be the case. I had actually started to think that, at this late date, my life was a complete waste of breath. But perhaps that’s not true, after all.
Since I was a young girl, I have wanted to be a writer. The best writer I could be. I have made a career (albeit unpaid) of observing and studying the human race in exquisite detail. For most of my life, I told myself it was so that I could create believable fictional characters. Now I realize that the fictional character I’ve been creating all these years, is myself.
Like Liane Holliday Willey, I am adept at “pretending to be normal.” I am the Aspie among you who has gone undetected throughout my adult life, because I removed myself as far as possible from all the people who knew me as a troubled child and teenager. Almost nobody in my adult life has the first inkling that I am on the autistic spectrum, and until recently, neither did my life partner of 17 years.
I own a house, have a successful technology career, and since 2004, I’ve been legally married to my same-sex life partner of 17 years. I am also a part-time key executive of a non-profit volunteer organization which provides media to an international audience each week. The fruits of my work are witnessed daily throughout this country, and I do my work with facility, expertise, and joy.
