Notes From A Tricky Brain

Despite having struggled with my mental health for almost all of my adult life, I never received a diagnosis of Autism until the age of 38. I was referred into Mental Health services in 2011 after being signed off work with anxiety and in the years since have been labelled with Generalised Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Borderline Personality Disorder and Anxious and Avoidant Personality Disorder…to name a few. Autism was floated around as a possible diagnosis in those early days, but I was never well enough to undergo formal testing. The brief tests I did have, along with some input from my parents about my early years, proved inconclusive and it was put to bed. I will go on to talk about those intervening years in later posts.

However, with time, a better sense of self-awareness and a much improved insight into my past and the difficulties I had faced, in actual fact all of my life, around three years ago I decided to look at the possibility of further tests with a view to a diagnosis of Autism. I spoke to my Psychiatrist about this, and explained I’d been doing a lot of reading, research and introspection and that I would quite like it reconsidered as a definitive diagnosis. Perhaps a little unconventionally, he asked me to write to him, detailing the reasons why I thought Autism was a condition relevant to me and, if I could argue my case well enough, he would give it some thought. As someone who struggles with executive dysfunction, the idea of making time to not only sit and sort through the jumble of thoughts in my head, but to get them down articulately, was a bit off-putting. Nonetheless I did it, and sent it off to him (hoping that one of the most disturbing autobiographies ever written landed on the right desk!). I’m not going to go through the entire contents of that letter here, mainly because it was about four pages long, but I will outline what I view are the most important points.

From around my early teens, I became acutely aware of how uncomfortable I was in my own skin. I never felt like I belonged anywhere, and I didn’t have the same interests or experiences as my peers. However, I worked hard, achieved good grades and never set fire to the gym hall, so I was never on anyone’s radar. I suppose you could say I slipped through the net. These feelings of crawling inside my own skin were never as intense when I left school to go to university, but I chose to commute rather than move away from home. It never occurred to me to “move out” and have the full “student experience”. Things really started to go wrong when I graduated and went to work in a Finance job. I moved role a couple of times (within the same building) and each was a nightmare; I struggled to cope with the sudden change in office, colleagues and work duties. I found it difficult to regulate my emotions, especially during these times. On a couple of occasions, we moved office as a department; I wanted to roll up my sleeves and help, but I never knew where to put myself or how to fit in. I hated meetings with more senior staff, suffering from imposter syndrome, never thinking I knew what I was doing. I was a perfectionist to the point that it was a problem; I liked to square a budget to the penny, which was never necessary. I had sensory issues, which made sitting in a busy, noisy office a nightmare. I often left the office to go and sit somewhere quiet while I tried to do what I now know was self-regulate. I’m sure people found me odd. In addition, I can’t stand the television or radio being too loud, or noise coming from more than one source. I don’t like bright light. I hate the feeling of my hair on my face, or the back of my neck. I don’t like clothing that isn’t loose fitting. I am a chaotic eater, preferring things that require little effort/chewing. I have never shown any interest in an intimate relationship with anyone.

So there it is. The beginning of my diagnosis journey. My Psychiatrist, true to his word, read the letter and agreed to dig out what were now very old files and reconsider those inconclusive tests. Shortly thereafter, I was given an official diagnosis…and left to get on with it. I’m sure those readers who have had a diagnosis of ASD or ADHD can relate to that anticlimactic feeling post-diagnosis. What do we do with this massive piece of information?

I think that’s for the next post.