I haven’t blogged in awhile because I’ve had to put some things into perspective, and to get used to something new to me—high-functioning autism, or Asperger’s syndrome.  Last year I was diagnosed with OCD.  I started therapy for it, but eventually I realized there was something missing—a piece of the puzzle that we had not yet identified.  About that time I picked up a book by Temple Granden, the famous animal scientist who is also autistic.  Over the next year, I read her book (a long time for a book, I know) and began to see myself in those pages.  Each page seemed to leap out at me—a three-dimensional description of who I really was.  Not liking to be touched.  A fascination with words, sentence structure, and puns. Being hopelessly locked into routines that made little sense to others.  A lack of genuine connection with people and a simultaneous belonging with animals.  Enjoying repetitive activities like rocking and watching the same TV show over and over again.  Social anxiety.  Dressing weird as a young person, and inappropriately for someone my current age.  Not liking to talk for too long.  Difficulty remembering names and faces.  A fascination with twirling objects, like fans. And finally, a pattern of making hasty decisions without any real regard to consequences.   

I was seeing a therapist for my supposed OCD—but I found that I did not really struggle with the things I should have been struggling with, such as fearing impending doom if I did not stick to my routine.  Rather, I became irritable and anxious if I could not follow my rules—something more characteristic of a person with autism.  My therapist accused me of trying to be different; she pointed out that I dressed strangely and liked off beat things simply because I didn’t want to join the status quo.  I thought about that, and concluded that while that may have been the case for a couple of years during adolescence (although I can’t be sure), at 29 years that was unlikely.  I simply was different, but I did not know why.   

 And then I sort of started to spin out of control emotionally.  I felt more alienated than ever before—I felt as if I was collapsing inward.  I started to think about suicide again, despite being on two heavy anti-depressants.  Then I came across a little tidbit on the Internet that changed everything.  I read that often people with high-functioning autism (or Asperger’s syndrome) are mistakenly diagnosed as having OCD.  With a diagnosis of OCD, treatment is of course totally focused on that one area—repetitive thoughts and behaviors—and autism is not generally considered after that.  So I asked my therapist.  She laughed outright and said, “you’re not autistic”.  But why not?  Because I could talk?  Because my vocabulary may be unusual?  But talking, and talking well at that, is quite normal for people with Asperger’s.   

So I decided to see someone else—someone who would take me seriously, whether or not I was autistic.  And that’s what led me to this current place.  My new therapist sent me to be evaluated by an autism specialist—and you know what?  We really do know ourselves best.  I wasn’t simply seeing what I wanted to see in the pages of Temple’s book.  I had spent years considering myself, compulsively thinking and rethinking about who I am.  And now I know (and you do too).

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