I have had secret struggles my whole life. I kept them to myself. When you are different in an invisible way, it brings shame and a mighty case of imposter syndrome. After spending the last decade breaking free of so much, I finally decided to face this and get a definitive answer on what I had grown to suspect: that I had autism. The word tastes bitter. It makes me think of kids yelling at the "slow" kid with the coke bottle glasses, of the fat kid that smelled bad, of..... malformation. Factory reject. Of.... and in my mind it gets connected to the lifetime of shame ever since my mother told me I was her secret bastard child that she tricked my father into believing was his. Yeah, I have a full set of baggage.
But here it is, and here I am, and I need to deal. I went for the intense testing using the Wechsler Adult Intelligence Scale, Fourth Edition; the Autism Diagnostic Observation Schedule, Second Edition (ADOS; Module 4); the Millon Clinical Mutiaxial Inventory, Fourth Edition; and "family interviews" with my husband and older sister since my parents (both the real one and the cuckolded one) were since deceased. Yeah, mom, I am still pretty salty about that. That is a shitty thing to tell a 16-year old.
And out popped this: F84.0 Autism Spectrum Disorder, Level 1, without accompanying intellectual impairment, without accompanying language impairment.
Well that last part was re-assuring. I may be autistic but I am not stupid. There I go being a smartass. Well, it is indeed better to be a smartass than a dumbass. Laugh it up, furball.
Reading the report was a surreal experience. It was about me, but not about me. It was like reading a Psychology Today article about someone else. *National Geographic"... and now we turn to the middle-aged American autist. Here are some scattered observations that sprung at me:
And this was classic me:
Mrs. Harlos shared that she has a different definition of friends than everyone else, and reported she does not have any friends whom she interacts with in person on a regular basis. She explained, "I feel like I should want to have them," and defined friendship as, ""if they are not an asshole." However Mrs. Harlos also noted that this loose definition has often led to problems, because "too many people are assholes."
Page 2: ... overwhelmingly interested in the Libertarian Party.
Page 4: ... frequently mentioned the Libertarian Party.
Page 6:... when asked when her interest in the Libertarian Party began, she stated, "September 17, 2014 at noon."
Page 7:... conversations with her tehnd to be one-sided and restricted to her area of interest, which is currently the Libertarian Party, which appeas to be all-encompassing for her.
Anyways, it goes on and on including a painful recounting of my sensory issues and my tendency to upset other women without having a clue why.
And ouch... she takes pride in her self-reliance and lack of sentimentality, but at times experiences intense insecurity. Her MCMI-IV profile also suggests she display an at-times abrasive self-assurance as a defense to counteract past humiliations, rejection, and her traumatic history.
But at this is good... her overall intelligence was found to be in the High Average range and at the 90th percentile, representating stronger cognitive abilited as compared to other adults her age and with a strength in the area of verbal comprehension and short-term memory.
Oh and my sister got to describe in excruciating details how I would fly into temper tantrums as a young child and ram my head repeatedly into the wall. You would have thought that would have given my parents a clue...
I understand myself, and the shame is going away.
My life could have been so much different. And I resent that.
Well true to above, there are too many assholes, and who knew so many of them were in the Libertarian Party. Ableist bullshit is alive and well and ignored.
I also have OCD. And this bigotry has numbered days, and I guarantee, you will give up before I do. I put my OCD to good use.
And now, I am going to claim my autistic privilege and....
So haters. Listen up.