Venting Autistic Captivity

[E.T]

This is the best metaphorical explanation I can provide of my experience as an autistic woman, specifically late-diagnosed and with low support needs. (To be clear, I do not believe ASD is a death sentence, only that having ASD in this particular society and time in history certainly can be).

The world is a prison in which I am both the captor and captive.

I wasn't always an inmate. A social prisoner. I used to be free, but always roaming around with an ankle tag I had no idea I was wearing.

Society put that there. And I wear it like a performer wears costume.

Ankle tags as we know them track movement and location. Mine tracks how effectively I communicate, how long I successfully manage to maintain eye contact for, how often sarcasm flies over my head, how much ridicule I have or have not avoided, and above all how "normal" I have managed to appear during the day in the eyes of others.

And I see the judgement in their eyes.

I eventually found out that about the tag.

The worst part is that I spent my whole life thinking I was free, thinking I had the same opportunities and future to look forward to as everybody else. I had hopes and dreams of having a close circle of forever friends and one day, even a family of my own. A love I could be myself around.

Everyday since then was a painfully slow realisation that these dreams would likely not come true.

Then I got my assessment. I was right, I had autism.

My diagnosis felt like both a life sentence and a release warrant - both of which had arrived 21 years too late.

I had been a prisoner all along. To judgement. To stereotype. To gossip. To bullying. To ridicule. To indifference. To soul-crushing hatred. Eventually to abuse.

And after the sudden, deceptively liberating release of my diagnosis, the more I read about the condition, the more trapped I felt. I broke.

I reached out for help, to no avail.

Therapy and medication are as fulfilling for me as yard time is for an inmate. For a brief moment, you feel the cool breeze you've longed for on your skin, but you're only entitled to know that freedom exists elsewhere, for others, and that you will never be lucky enough to feel it again.

The difference between me and a prisoner is that I didn't even get to feel it once.

I lived the illusion of freedom while walking around in social shackles.

The one coping strategy I adopted is not one I was given in therapy, I came up with it myself - if the knives I use on myself are sharper than the ones others can use on me, what do I have to fear?

And now I am no different to those who put me in this cell.

Because I have learned to hate myself more than anyone ever could.

Autonomy and courage wait for me by the open cell door. They try to lure me back out into the world.

But I can't leave now, no matter how much I want to.

I'm a shell of a person. A social pariah. An alien.

And this is how my life sentence became one of death.

 

[ceilng_tile]

This. All of this.

 

[banger12]

I am so sorry that you have gone through this. I'm also autistic so I can relate to your pain and I appreciate you sharing your story. Suffering loves company I guess.

 

[E.T]

This. All of this.

I'm sorry you were able to relate. It's rough, and I'm so tired.

I am so sorry that you have gone through this. I'm also autistic so I can relate to your pain and I appreciate you sharing your story. Suffering loves company I guess.

Thank you. It's comforting to know I'm not entirely alone. Even finding people to relate to/talk with is difficult when you hate yourself so much, because you think everyone is just going to get tired of you and leave. I hope you found this somewhat reassuring though, in some way.

 

[RosebyAnyName]

I relate to this a lot, especially about not realizing how other people perceived me until I was an adult.

 

[xxpinkmoonglitterxx]

I relate to this a lot, especially about not realizing how other people perceived me until I was an adult.

I wish I still lived in my ignorance. God that girl was dumb, but sometimes just sometimes she felt happy.

 

[Lostandfound82]

How did you go about getting a diagnosis if you don't mind me asking?

 

[E.T]

How did you go about getting a diagnosis if you don't mind me asking?

Hey.

So, I'm in the UK, for reference. The process of getting a diagnosis and accessibility obviously depends on where you are located.

I got mine privately which cost nearly £2,000. I had been on the NHS waiting list for about a year by that point but found out I'd be waiting for years to be diagnosed and didn't really need a clinician to tell me I had it. I knew, but I needed a diagnostic report as evidence for my poor academic performance this year, so it was about timing, really.

Do you suspect yourself of having ASD?

 

[pulleditnearlyoff]

This is the best metaphorical explanation I can provide of my experience as an autistic woman, specifically late-diagnosed and with low support needs. (To be clear, I do not believe ASD is a death sentence, only that having ASD in this particular society and time in history certainly can be).

The world is a prison in which I am both the captor and captive.

I wasn't always an inmate. A social prisoner. I used to be free, but always roaming around with an ankle tag I had no idea I was wearing.

Society put that there. And I wear it like a performer wears costume.

Ankle tags as we know them track movement and location. Mine tracks how effectively I communicate, how long I successfully manage to maintain eye contact for, how often sarcasm flies over my head, how much ridicule I have or have not avoided, and above all how "normal" I have managed to appear during the day in the eyes of others.

And I see the judgement in their eyes.

I eventually found out that about the tag.

The worst part is that I spent my whole life thinking I was free, thinking I had the same opportunities and future to look forward to as everybody else. I had hopes and dreams of having a close circle of forever friends and one day, even a family of my own. A love I could be myself around.

Everyday since then was a painfully slow realisation that these dreams would likely not come true.

Then I got my assessment. I was right, I had autism.

My diagnosis felt like both a life sentence and a release warrant - both of which had arrived 21 years too late.

I had been a prisoner all along. To judgement. To stereotype. To gossip. To bullying. To ridicule. To indifference. To soul-crushing hatred. Eventually to abuse.

And after the sudden, deceptively liberating release of my diagnosis, the more I read about the condition, the more trapped I felt. I broke.

I reached out for help, to no avail.

Therapy and medication are as fulfilling for me as yard time is for an inmate. For a brief moment, you feel the cool breeze you've longed for on your skin, but you're only entitled to know that freedom exists elsewhere, for others, and that you will never be lucky enough to feel it again.

The difference between me and a prisoner is that I didn't even get to feel it once.

I lived the illusion of freedom while walking around in social shackles.

The one coping strategy I adopted is not one I was given in therapy, I came up with it myself - if the knives I use on myself are sharper than the ones others can use on me, what do I have to fear?

And now I am no different to those who put me in this cell.

Because I have learned to hate myself more than anyone ever could.

Autonomy and courage wait for me by the open cell door. They try to lure me back out into the world.

But I can't leave now, no matter how much I want to.

I'm a shell of a person. A social pariah. An alien.

And this is how my life sentence became one of death.

I can relate so much to this!

I wish I still lived in my ignorance. God that girl was dumb, but sometimes just sometimes she felt happy.

Exactly, wish that too!

 

[Lostandfound82]

Hey.

So, I'm in the UK, for reference. The process of getting a diagnosis and accessibility obviously depends on where you are located.

I got mine privately which cost nearly £2,000. I had been on the NHS waiting list for about a year by that point but found out I'd be waiting for years to be diagnosed and didn't really need a clinician to tell me I had it. I knew, but I needed a diagnostic report as evidence for my poor academic performance this year, so it was about timing, really.

Do you suspect yourself of having ASD?

Yea, I have suspected it for a while and holy shit I didn't realize it was so expensive to get a diagnosis. Iv had many people ask me if I have ASD and it always confuses me because my mom used to take care of people with special needs and you would think she would notice being in that field of work. Now it's always in the back of my mind and I guess I do have a lot of common traits of autism.

 

[E.T]

Yea, I have suspected it for a while and holy shit I didn't realize it was so expensive to get a diagnosis. Iv had many people ask me if I have ASD and it always confuses me because my mom used to take care of people with special needs and you would think she would notice being in that field of work. Now it's always in the back of my mind and I guess I do have a lot of common traits of autism.

I mean, I was seen by literal psychiatrists at age 15 and they completely missed it. I was only diagnosed with severe anxiety, depression, and PTSD.

Multiple schools also missed it. I'm very high-masking which is common in women, but some men do it too.

It may be that you require less support needs and so they just missed it. I had to work it out myself aged 21 and thank god I did.

If you do get a diagnosis, I'm sorry your traits were missed as this can have a significant impact on one's mental health. I hope you are able to get answers soon.