I am No Longer Annoying - the Aftermath part 1

Notes on an autism assessment - part 5 - with ZERO revelations

Frosted roses by me

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Hello All,

If you are new here, part 1 is here, part 2 here, part 3 here, and part 4 here. This is the 5th part of this particular series of essays.

It’s been a journey. That’s something I have to say. A real journey. And it ain’t finished yet. Now I know we all harp on about life being a journey and taking the road less travelled. And we all talk in metaphors and spin marvellous yarns about self growth and how we are so much better for travelling that journey no matter how hard. And the rosy light surrounds us and it’s all so idyllic and wonderful, to have reached the end and come out glowing. To be so much more than when the journey began, to be better, to be more.

And yet I don’t feel that. I feel less.

Photo by Jerin J on Unsplash

Let me explain, or at least try to.

I am newly diagnosed autistic now, I have the papers to confirm it. Just a few weeks ago this became my truth despite living it for 57 years. The lovely lady who did my first assessment appointment, did my second and again at the end of a hour or more of talking about my life and how I experience the world very gently told me I was definitely autistic. And then she asked me how I felt.

Unlike the previous session where I unexpectedly burst into tears I felt nothing. I was numb. No glorious heraldic music blown from angels’ trumpets to usher in this new state of being, no halo of relief and understanding, just a blankness that has pervaded ever since. I’m so very nearly 58 years old and my world has been turned upside down and shaken like a snow globe and all I can do is watch the snow settle. Like the snowman in the middle I do nothing. I am still and stoic and my life passes by just as it always has. I still feel nothing. Except …

I can sense a little something there, a kernel waiting. I think I’m burying it, no - I know I’m burying it, refusing to face it. It feels so anticlimactic and also so huge all at once and I don’t know if I have the strength at the moment to go through that I need to go through, that which is waiting for me. I haven’t a clue what facing it would involve. I have a follow up session with a therapist booked (all part of the service) for the middle of October and I haven’t a clue what we will talk about. (Maybe my lack of knowing what we should talk about.) So until October I can ignore the kernel and refuse to face the fact that my life now needs looking at through a different lens. I can refuse to rewrite my history. I can refuse to analyse my actions, everyone else’s action. I can refuse to change and just let it be. But …

What was the point then? Why did I pursue a private and reasonably costly diagnosis when the NHS one failed? Why didn’t I just let it be and say ‘it’s fine, I am enough’? Why did I need to fill the void? For void it was, the lack of understanding, the feeling of the world just getting harder and harder and not understanding why, the emptiness that was beginning to consume. And I am enough. I love that fact that my brain isn’t broken but different, that I am autistic. My autistic being is completely integral to my being. I am not a person who happens to have autism, I am autistic and it is a very important and special part of me. I do not want to cure it, to solve it, I want to accept it completely and wholly. And yet still I baulk.

Photo by Katie Moum on Unsplash

So why do I feel less? This is my view now. The road ahead completely uncertain and if I spin around the road behind also fogged and shrouded in uncertainty. How will my family respond to a new autistic me (and yes I am aware I’ve been autistic all along but masking has been hard and furious). If I lift that mask will important to me people still love me? Will my friends abandon me - not that there are than many left as many left when I became chronically ill - though I’m fairly sure of those who will stay and those who will quietly ease out of my life? Has my whole life been a lie? I thought I had it all figured out, I mean, if you are nearly 60 (and how the fuck did that happen I’m still 25 inside) shouldn’t you have life nailed down and sorted?

So this is the personal wrestling I am refusing to do right now. I’m refusing consciously. But I know I will eventually do it. The fact I’m even writing here now shows me that it will happen for this is the beginning. It may be slow, it will probably take years. But I will try. And maybe I will experience those sunlit uplands, the metaphorical gold at the end of the rainbow with a joyous rush of intense knowing, or maybe I will just gently reframe my life with calm and acceptance.

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash

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And that’s it, any more will go into the realms of hard work.

Til next time.

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