Diagnosis

What experiences in life helped you grow the most?

I lived the first 38 years of my life thinking I was mad and lazy and wrong and just not meant to be. I worked differently. I didn’t see the world the same. I couldn’t hold down a real job, I couldn’t hold a boyfriend that wasn’t abusive, I couldn’t hold a friend, I was broken in some way.

I didn’t understand.

Yet everyone said, I was fine.

I would have screaming fits and tantrums. I would get so worried about money that I would go into a shutdown and become unresponsive. I couldn’t keep track of bills and left to my own devises I couldn’t eat properly. I needed routine and quiet but that was in short supply.

I would shutdown in work (when I worked for someone else).

I had to be rescued by my parents from university, work, holidays, and life. There was something wrong.

Mum knew it, but didn’t know what, so, I stayed on the smallholding. I hid.

I was making soft toys and doing pretty well when I noticed that my eyes were not behaving. I was losing that mid range vision and getting a huge amount of headaches. I was not in a great place.

Stop, the doctor said.

So, I looked about and decided to do a masters. I always wanted to be a storyteller and was doing some evening classes. I even had a piece published. I went along and they said they would accept me.

I pulled back from the toys.

I sent in my dyslexia form and was asked if I could be used as a training case. Sure, I said.

I was warned that I could get diagnosed with more than the dyslexia but I didn’t really pay attention. I was existing but that was all. I couldn’t understand why I was so different. I felt wrong.

I sat through a full day of exercises and exams. I was so tired. Then I got the results.

Dyslexia (I already knew), Dyspraxia and Autism.

“Autism,” I said.

“Yes,” they said.

I looked it up and it was like looking in a mirror.

I wasn’t broken, I wasn’t mad, I was autistic.

That day, and that diagnosis changed my life. I could find ways to adapt. I could get therapy to help, and yes, nine years later, I finally think I am started to get it sorted. I feel like I am in a good place.

I’m not mad.

I’m not wrong.

I am autistic.