Autism and (Un)Employment

Unless you experience it, you don't get it.

All throughout my life I struggled with work. No, not your run of the mill case-of-the-Mondays. I struggled to find, engage, maintain and keep employment persistently, unendingly. This was thing that was without fail: the ability to take care of my basic needs no matter how much I tried. And it continues to this day.

When I was doing significant research into the possibility I had Autism, there were things I rationalized. Everyone loses friends. Yes, the sun and sounds bother me but window shades exist for a reason and I’ve worn headphones all my life. Literally every point no matter what, I could justify. But not Criteria D in the DSM.

occupational

To me, Criteria D is the most salient point of the criteria. It is why you may not meet clinical thresholds, even if you were assessed—it has to impair.

When I read this, I had no doubt that my hypothesis was needed to be disproved. Because I have never been able, for the life of me, to understand why this was such a problem. One which was far larger and deeper than anyone around me thought or expected, until I was really an adult and still drowning. I remember telling my parents, screaming and crying, I was going to be homeless because I didn’t know why this was so difficult.

I have since then been on the brink of eviction, twice. There was no stopping this trajectory, I had no intervention. Something was always deeply wrong. But wait—there were times I held work over a longer period of time, how I was fine then?

Then I remembered: Oh, right. I drank everyday. First thing in the morning, shot. First thing returning home. Obsessively creating artwork in between working hours in the hopes someone at conventions would find me, help me, get me towards a dying dream of being ok.

Alas.

I really needed prove to myself that my job/career problem was not a fictitious, over-exaggerated version of events, so I created this chart

Of course, writing to myself I listed every name and title of job it was. If I could hand THIS out as my CV, it would be much more accurate to my experience than the stuff I’ve send out to the Indeed Wasteland.

One of the most hurtful things a friend ever said to me was “I am worried about you-you're almost 40 and don’t have a career.” I will never forget that. As if I didn’t know, as if that wasn’t my achilles heel from decades of fucking trying, trying so hard to be the perfect employee all the time. As if I didn’t know from the mountainous failures that truly seemed like I was born under a bad sign. As if I had not lived the hell that was so casually, and condescendingly, remarked upon.

If I had not tried Jiu Jitsu that one time over 8 years ago, right now, I would be totally fucked.

My current work is part time at the gym. I get paid really well doing something I love. The time spent is at the sweet spot. I am currently working to try to build up more clients. But I could not do this full time—in fact, I cant do anything full time. And I have it in writing:

This is a significant list of accommodations. This is only part of it, there’s another section for Academic Accommodations which honestly, still makes me upset to read, thinking about what could have been and what I deserved all this damn time. Maybe, I could have actually made a life for myself if I had had this help 20 years ago.

Frankly, I am devastated at where I am at in life and I don’t have to apologize, rationalize or think toxic positively over this fact. I have seen the majority of close friends reach levels of success that are imaginary figments still. I see everyone passing milestones I haven’t, some by choice, but silly shit that I just wish to experience, maybe just once to then say “meh”. The older I have gotten, the further behind I feel.

This DOES NOT MEAN I don’t care or am not thankful for the things I do have. But I still live in food insecurity, rent instability, a total mayhem of loss, grief and rage at how I still cannot access the therapies I honestly, really need.

I have now lived for a year with social assistance, which I may address in a longer post later. I struggle to find meaning in my art, my content when everything I dearly want still remains out of reach.

And what’s that?

Just the ability to feel I’m good. I’m ok. I’m safe.