Tag: diagnosis | A Banana Peeled

In the last post, I talked about how I had basically found ways to work around my own brain. I don’t know if I have autism and/or ADHD, but the signs are there. Or at least they would be if I let myself react instinctively rather than how I have learned to deal with them. I have so honed my reactions that they are almost instinctual to me. That makes it difficult to say what my real response would be.

For example. I have a constant commentary in my head that I would never voice out loud. I learned at a very young age that no one was interested in what I had to say. Not really. Well, i shouldn’t say that no one was interested, but that most people were not interested. I would actually go further and say they were upset/offended/bothered when I did voice my opinion.

Wow. I’m reading a list of things that a non-male person with autism–well, ok. It’s about women. I’m AFAB so it relates to me, but I take issue with the fact that the article I read pathologized AFAB people who did not feel that they were women.

That aside, holy shit, I fit almost all the ‘symptoms’. They even include hyper-empathy as a possible trait. Also, hyper-focus, naivety about social interactions, and an uncommon interest in sex. By the way, I felt like some of the traits/symptoms were laughable. They said that someone who was straight, gay, transgender, or nonbinary could be autistic. Um, that’s basically saying anyone can be autistic. They also said someone who was asexual could be autistic as could someone who was hypersexual. In other words, come the fuck on with covering all the bases.

The point is, I am fifty-two years old. I have been on this earth for over a half-cetntury. I have found ways to deal with my weird traits and issues, but I never considered that I might be autistic. I knew it ran in my family, but I never once thought it could be my. Why? Because the symptoms/traits were foreign to me. “No empathy.” Well, nope. I have an overflowing of empathy. It was fornced upon me, but it was there.

Another was “No eye contact”. I didn’t like eye contact, but I knew that it was expected. I could do it, but at a cost. “Self-stimulation”. No way in hell I was going to do that. I knew better than to even try. I was a girl* and I had to sit quiet as a mouse. My father believed that children should be neither seen nor heard, especially a girl child.

I was reading my stories and one of the questions was from a parent whose daughter was clearly neurodivergent. The letter writer realized it and as soon as the daughter’s teachers suggested it, they jumped all over it. The problem was their husband. He was adamant not to do it because of the stigma of a diagnosis and because he felt it was the easy way out. Their daughter needed to buckle down and fit in, basically. And his spouse needed to accept they (the spouse) was doing parenting wrong.

My hackles went up for so many reasons. Before I get into that, however, I do want to acknowledge that stigma around neurodivergency is real. There is a lot more awareness of the issues these days, which is a good thing, but there are still plenty of people who see this awareness as coddling. The world is cold and harsh, they would say. Kids today are too soft! They need to learn the world won’t always cater to them. Which, yes, the world is, indeed, cruel and they have to know that they will be viewed as different. However, the answer is not to pretend the neurodivergency doesn’t exist and force the daughter to act ‘normal’ whatever that means.

I spent most of my childhood bewildered and frightened because I was so different from other kids. Not only was I Asian, I just didn’t think the way other kids did. I tried to emulate them, but I felt as if I was trying to speak another language without having any lessons in it. I was miserable and my efforts to fit in fell flat. It didn’t help that my parents were first generation immigrants so they didn’t know the culture any better than I did. I was sensitive enough to know I was doing everything wrong, but I didn’t have the tools to make it better.

I became aware of death when I was seven. I’ve had a love/hate relationship with it ever since (well, until my medical trauma). I started feeling suicidal when I was eleven. I developed eating disorders when I was eighteen. I have suffered anxiety and depression all my life as well (again, at least until my medical trauma). I hate clothing. I can see you thinking, “Wait, Minna. What does that have to do with the other stuff?” I didn’t realize until much later that I have sensory issues. Like, severe sensory issues. Bright lights bother the hell out of me as do loud sounds. It can be literal agony to have too-loud music or too-bright lights. Clothing is another issue and I have to keep it really simple and basic. I am allergic to almost every scent on the planet as well as many foods and alcohol to boot. I basically need to live in a bubble is what I’m trying to say.

In addition, my brain doesn’t think in a normal way, either. Over the years, I have found a way to make it seem like I’m a normal person, but it comes at a severe cost. It’s one of the reasons I prefer to live alone–it’s hard to keep wearing that mask all the time. I’ve known almost all my life that I’m a freak. I didn’t know why for the first thirty years. Then, I started to realize that it wasn’t that something was WRONG with me, but I was definitely different. I still couldn’t put any label on it, but I had my suspicions.

Tag Archives: diagnosis

Would a diagnosis be worth it?

Knowledge is power