The 90’s
“You’re a bit different—have you considered being a writer?”
Bored in my compulsory civics class in a no-name, conservative town, a teacher asked me this. I wore layers of colours and patterns, yellow tinted glasses that has some kind of resting affect on my eyeballs under vomit worthy lighting. My lace up platforms gave inches to my height, offsetting the smallness I embodied from daily mental beatings I took from being bullied. I learned early I couldn’t fit in copying others, so, fuck it. I’ll be myself. Either option, I was somehow a target.
It was grade 9 and we’d just completed a career test. It showed writing was my thing. I don’t how I answered, but the question embedded itself as I looked forward to any writing offered as high school crawled by.
When grade 10 came along, I was marked down for being ‘too verbose’ by my English teacher. It felt like someone’d just driven a 400°rod through my chest. The rage of correction overtook me. I snapped that using ‘Verbose’ to describe over-writing is in fact, Verbose. I remember their kind smirk to my over-reaction. But that was me. “Calm down,” was something I always heard, “You’re so intense.”
“Touché,” they said, amused. Looking back on my journals though, they were right: it’s seriously unreadable. I was always trying too hard.
The 00’s
Grade 11. My first creative writing class, where my reflections on a class trip made a classmate cry. My words had moved someone. What power I felt. Secondly-what connection I made. I always put myself first and tend to forget people are real. I’ve been called everything from a narcissist to having ‘only-child syndrome’. But this person I moved was pretty and popular-my complete opposite. How did we find common ground? It was the first time I thought my internal worlds-if I could push them out-could make an external impact.
But as years past, far beyond my high school graduation and into what should have been ‘adulthood’—a concept filled with promise, ease, a career, material safety—something that was always present had begun to eclipse my strengths. Smothering me year by year and any ‘potential’ I had a window of reaching.
Because in a 3 hour uni lecture, I had a quarter page of notes. Was I not thinking? How did I blank out? I wasn’t gone that long when I had to leave because the prof’s quick, sharp talking hurt my ears. I can’t write fast enough. Maybe I’d keep up if I’d stop randomly dropping my pen. How does that even happen? The quicker I go the worse letters get mixed up. Can I write myself a code? People told me I was smart-why is this so difficult? Everything they’re saying is important-I can’t write it all. Why am I not allowed to record this, how am I supposed to remember? Skim read? You have to teach me, this is impossible, I need time. What do you mean, “just study?” Can you slow down the topic? That guy has a helper-can I have a helper? How the fuck did I mix up my 11 am mid-term with 1pm? Doesn’t matter, I barely passed anyway. Maybe, I just won’t go tomorrow.
I was promised, by nearly everyone I encountered, a successful future that never arrived.
2023
On April 13th, 2023, my feedback session from my neuropsychological assessment was done. My Dr. delivered it a week early. Maybe because I could not stop crying at our final session. All other personality disorders and mental illnesses had been diagnosed or ruled out. Autism Spectrum Disorder, a neurodevelopmental disability, was the only thing left I could possibly be dealing with. Don’t make me wait another month for results. I feel like I am going to die. I need to belong somewhere; to lay a lifetime of suffering to rest in hopes to begin again.
I was officially diagnosed with Autism, OCD, Persistent Depression, Gen. Anxiety Disorder & a Specified Learning Disability in Arithmetic. The relief is still incoming and on delay.
My Dr. went on to describe it is very common in Autistic people to have uneven cognitive profiles, abilities that range from exceptionally below to exceptionally above—which is cause for no IQ score to be granted. The disparity is too great. That’s what happened to me. My disparity is everywhere. In every job I couldn’t keep. In every romance I wanted but was called aloof. In every 10 hour drawing I created, never feeling the need for the bathroom. In every friendship that ghosted me. In the deep knowledge I bring to my restricted interests but struggle to brush my teeth. In every power imbalance I had no awareness of. In every feeling I hurt from being blunt.
“It hurts me when you don’t ask about my day”, I was told by a friend. “I don’t care about your day. That doesn’t mean if you break your arm at 3 am I won't be there”. I am learning some relationships grow on measures of support I cannot provide. As a kid I would have been ripped apart inside. As an adult, I just accept it. It's sad, but I am not for everyone.
My feedback session was coming to a close. Knowing my struggles with work, my Dr. said softly,
“Your verbal and written skills are extremely high—have you considered being a writer?”
Welcome to Now
I just can’t take it anymore, not being able to speak about my experiences. What happened to me all these years is wild. Wild that everyone saw, but nobody knew. How in 7 years of talk therapy so many of my strong Autistic traits were observed and mentioned, even discussed as ‘knowing my operating system’. Well, I know now: My operating system is Autistic. I was never going to be able to trauma rehash my way into a better life. I needed to know who I actually was.
Everyone who knows what I’m talking about is welcome. Everyone who is curious is welcome. Everyone who wants to learn, is welcome.
Reduce your expectation to 0
Expect me to write every week. It may be short, it may be long or it may be a verse or maybe even a drawing if that feeling to create comes back. But I’m not organized for expectation; I am on my own time. So I’ll ask in your weekly expectations that there is room for days where I just need me.
I'm glad you've chosen to write about your experiences. This is so relatable. How great that you know you're autistic! (I know this was from like a year ago, but still.)