Autism: My Reality

Autism: A mental disorder which makes one see the world differently.

My whole life, I knew I was different from all the other kids. That I thought, worked and talked differently. That it wasn't just a child affected by ADHD like that low-paid elementary school psychologist thought, and that I was way too medicated for (Thanks you stupid pediatrician. It was such a good idea to give an 8 year old girl the dosage of Risperdal for a 230 pound man). My parents, already raising a low-functioning autistic boy, knew it too. After about 4 years on a waiting list for a public psychologist for diagnosis, we went to a private clinic and we got our answer. I am a high-functioning autistic person, the former term being Aspergers or Aspie, along with a few things that usually come along with it like an anxiety disorder and OCD. I finally had the help, the medication and the resources I needed to thrive. Although I was given the opportunity to flourish, I still feel caged like a bird sometimes, like I’m going to fail in life. 

Autism is a mystery of a genetic mental disorder which baffles scientists today because the gene that causes it cannot be traced to an origin or reason of creation in a child’s DNA. They only know that it's completely genetic, meaning you’re born with it (so Karen get the f--k out with your “vaccines cause autism” bull).

Living with autism is difficult. Like dodging hurdles while having molotovs thrown at you and bulls running behind you difficult. Yeah, not fun. Trust me, my own mind is a mess. I can go from working to some form of fanfiction, meme or fandom in 0.02 seconds flat. Or screaming constantly during stressful times. Let’s hope there aren’t any psychics in this school or they’re getting a hell of a headache. 

My anxiety levels can get out of control so fast that just a loud noise can trigger a panic attack. Like the time my science teacher last year blared the horn of the fire truck in my ear. But I have a lot of help for that at home, be it my parents or my beloved asshole cat Pookie. Even the small group of friends I have helped me along the way. 

Autism is like a steel jail cell with a double duvet bed and a flat screen TV. It has a good and a bad side. You see things and analyse things unlike other people and I have the gift to write such blessings down. The soft sunlight on a flower’s petals or the soft tweets of birdsong can enchant so easily while people take it for granted. The downside? Hypersensitivity to everything, including pain, can overstimulate easily. We get confused and stressed when we encounter concepts we can’t comprehend. We automutilate or scream when having a fit. We do stimming to keep ourselves from feeling like we aren’t even human, to show we are stressed. We hate being yelled at, we often don’t have empathy; or we do, but it's very confusing. 

Autism is diagnosed in a meticulous manner. Different tests and exercises help experienced professionals determine what is what. They look for factors like stimming, inability to express or understand emotions, inability or difficulty to interact socially with others, impaired social skills, mental age and so on. In my case, my beloved psychologist determined I had the mentality of a full grown adult and a high amount of empathy for someone with my diagnosis, and another one prior determined I was 15 points higher than average on the IQ scale. I’m an oddball of the autism community, and I’m loved for it. 

Now, I should end this before this mini-essay becomes a full-blown book, so I’ll end it on a positive note. I’m not letting my disability become my handicap to a better future. I’m already working on two novel series and the concept of a third one, and I’m looking into being a historian, archeologist or recreologist. That’s two careers. I’ll get an emotional support animal (either a golden retriever or a ragdoll cat) and I’ll also be a spokesperson for autism. 

Sarah