Autism. My Journey.

When I was 25 years old, I got officially diagnosed with Autism. On March 9th I got my diagnosis, black on white. Typed out in a stapled together diagnosis that told anyone who would ask in the future what my IQ was, how I did in general on these tests and basically that I was autistic. I was on the wide spectrum of autism.

It took me years to find out what was wrong with me. For years, I felt like I didn't belong completely. For years, I struggled to find out if I had motor skill issues or if I was just clumsy. But a few days before my 26th birthday, I got my answer.

The road to that answer was long. It took 2 psychologists and a lot of tears and doubting myself to figure out that, maybe, I wasn't just the clumsiest person in the world. Maybe, my brain just processed information differently. It wasn't until one psychologist told me: "Don't take this the wrong way, but I suspect you may be autistic". I told my mom. Who immediately became worried. If I was indeed autistic, how would the world view me? Would my life become more difficult? What would future employers think of me? What would those, closest to me, think of me?

I had a long road ahead of me of tests. Tests, that at times seemed too easy. But in reality they were testing my IQ, they were testing every inch of my brain to see what exactly was going on.

And on March 9, I finally got my answer: Autism Spectrum Disorder, ADHD and Generalized Anxiety Disorder.

Two of these, I could have told you. The ADHD came as a surprise. In my further research, I read that both ASD and ADHD often go hand-in-hand. But I had no idea I had ADHD too. Surely the thoughts at night that made the minutes tick by in bed, were just that... thoughts.

But no, it was ADHD. No wonder, my mind would never shut up. I was thinking, overthinking and coming up with a million ideas to write. No wonder the hundred notebooks, with at least the first five pages filled, became a problem. Not just for my wallet but for the wallet of my parents.

I didn't hoard notebooks, my mind simply had one thousand ideas, and it wanted to use one notebook per idea. Not that the ideas stuck. Every month I had a new idea.

From a thriller novel, to a fantasy YA novel that went from faeries, to dark evil creatures.

One such idea centred around the main character dying in the first chapter on the operating table. Being transported, in a magical way, to the land of the creatures she would live in.

Now that I think back to it, maybe it would have been an isekai novel...

You know, the Japanese animated shows that have the main character give up their mortal life in the modern world, only to be wake up in either the villain's body or be born as the hero, but way before the hero actually is the hero? Yeah... my story would have been an isekai novel, for sure. Yet... I never even wrote the novel. It lingers, for sure. But I never wrote it.

And that story isn't the only one that keeps lingering.

A lawyer by day, a witch by night situation also popped up in my brain. So, I have been struggling with these ideas. Trying to find my Harry Potter, sans train ride. With my old Samsung Galaxy J6+ in my hands, desperately hoping not a single creep would talk to me on the bus ride to god knows where.

But my Harry never visited me. My Harry never spoke the magical words or lured me into his fantastical world. I'm not a famous author. Neither am I a writer. Sure, I write. But, I don't publish any of my works because they never end up reaching the end.

While one chapter may have closed: the journey to my diagnosis. The other chapter, is still very much being written: my writing career.

Trust me, I'm not sitting in a dimly lit bedroom with a cup of tea, nipping away while I type away on my fancy laptop keyboard. No. I'm writing in my bedroom, seated behind a messy desk, the only light being my desk lamp. My eyes being tortured by the light, and it sometimes feels just a little too bright.

Other times it lights up my keyboard just right. Probably sensory issues. Maybe I'm sensitive to light after all. I never thought I had sensory issues when I got diagnosed. But, it seems to me, I just managed to live with them. Without them, controlling much of my life.

I do need to eat lunch at 12:00 on the dot. I do need to get a train or bus at the time it's meant to be there. But I've managed with slight changes. Because change was always there in my life growing up.

I never had much of a social routine. Let alone a routine in and of itself. My routine, currently, consists of: waking up, coffee, clothes and social media until lunch. After that, I sit my butt down behind my laptop and watch a TV show or blog, or maybe even write until dinner. I don't have many friends. And those I did have, in the past, never really knew the real me. Because my interests were childish. I once got told that I needed to read a different genre of books. So what if high fantasy and romance are my favourite genre to read? So what if I like Marvel and DC Comics?

Superhero shows helped me a lot. They were entertaining, and they tackled serious topics as well.

There's nothing childish about The Flash losing his parents in one night. His mother dies, and his father is accused of her murder. If I had children, I wouldn't let them see any of that until they were at least 12! Some shows they would see when they're much older.

I'm trailing off.

You see, autism gave me an answer. But it also gave me more questions. Being who I am, the questions only grew. Recently, it only gave me hatred for the diagnosis. Or maybe a strong dislike. It'll always be a part of me, but that doesn't mean I'll always like it.