I don’t like being wrong. My dislike of being contradicted and my over the top reactions to it is one of my openly acknowledged character flaws (of which I have been assured I have a great many). However, in this case the repercussions of being wrong are much greater than normal.
After a lot of research, revelations, and beginning the process of obtaining a diagnosis by going to my GP for a referral, I finally found the courage to talk to my mum about the fact that I think I might have AS. Because I find talking about things that are important to me very difficult, I approached it by telling her that the councillor I sometimes visit at uni suggested that I might have AS. Her reaction was rather upsetting: “Of course you don’t, what was that stupid woman thinking?! Don’t listen to a word she says!” None the less I soldiered on and tried to explain why I agreed with her, about my social and sensory issues and how wonderful it was to find people that I can relate to, and finally understand why I’ve always felt different and struggled so much. At which point she dropped this bombshell: “the psychologists you saw during your horrible faze (how she refers to the time when I suffered from severe depression) considered that you might have autism and decided you didn’t, if you had AS they would have picked up on it.”
To say that I was shocked by this is an understatement. I had no idea that autism was ever considered… but then I didn’t know that they had diagnosed me with social anxiety and major depression until I found one of their letters to my parents several months into therapy. They never told me, and my parents never thought to mention it as they assumed that the psychologist I was seeing had told me. Anyway, I was very upset by this news, I had apparently already been assessed for autism and it had been confirmed that I did not have it. My “eureka moment” and the sense of understand myself for the first time in my life, was false.
After some consideration I’m simply unsure. Back then when I was having “therapy” with these people, I identified them as “incompetent morons”. Looking back with an adults perspective I really can’t find much wrong with that assessment. They diagnosed me after spending half an hour chatting with my parents about, how long I was breast fed for and whether my dad hugged me. The entire time I waited for them to talk about something relevant which I could contribute to (bullying, the terror I felt at talking on the phone or walking down the street, my self-harming and suicidal thoughts) and it never happened. They never once asked me what I struggled with on a daily basis or why I felt the way I did, they never explained either their methods or conclusions to me. I felt at that time, and throughout my therapy, patronised and belittled, they treated me like I was too stupid to understand anything. As a result, they came to wrong conclusion after wrong conclusion, ignored me when I tried to correct them, and my “therapy sessions” consisted of staring contests to help my eye contact issues (which I won because I was actually staring at his forehead) and relaxation exercises which I had taught myself years before and already used on a daily basis…
Anyway, the point of all this rambling comes down to this: It had previously been established by psychologists that I am not autistic (I’m assuming thy included AS in their consideration). The people who established this made many incorrect assumptions about me and never discussed with me any of the things which have led me to believe that I have AS, but they were professionals and they did correctly diagnose me with social anxiety and depression so I have to assume that they knew what they were doing… right?
*sigh* I can now foresee that I when I get an appointment for diagnosis I’m going to be told that I’m wrong, I don’t have AS and am in fact just too lazy, stupid and weird to fit in with normal people. I’m going to go anyway.
(wow, who knew that writing is so therapeutic? I’ll have to remember this for next time… sorry for the epically long and rambling story
)
After a lot of research, revelations, and beginning the process of obtaining a diagnosis by going to my GP for a referral, I finally found the courage to talk to my mum about the fact that I think I might have AS. Because I find talking about things that are important to me very difficult, I approached it by telling her that the councillor I sometimes visit at uni suggested that I might have AS. Her reaction was rather upsetting: “Of course you don’t, what was that stupid woman thinking?! Don’t listen to a word she says!” None the less I soldiered on and tried to explain why I agreed with her, about my social and sensory issues and how wonderful it was to find people that I can relate to, and finally understand why I’ve always felt different and struggled so much. At which point she dropped this bombshell: “the psychologists you saw during your horrible faze (how she refers to the time when I suffered from severe depression) considered that you might have autism and decided you didn’t, if you had AS they would have picked up on it.”
To say that I was shocked by this is an understatement. I had no idea that autism was ever considered… but then I didn’t know that they had diagnosed me with social anxiety and major depression until I found one of their letters to my parents several months into therapy. They never told me, and my parents never thought to mention it as they assumed that the psychologist I was seeing had told me. Anyway, I was very upset by this news, I had apparently already been assessed for autism and it had been confirmed that I did not have it. My “eureka moment” and the sense of understand myself for the first time in my life, was false.
After some consideration I’m simply unsure. Back then when I was having “therapy” with these people, I identified them as “incompetent morons”. Looking back with an adults perspective I really can’t find much wrong with that assessment. They diagnosed me after spending half an hour chatting with my parents about, how long I was breast fed for and whether my dad hugged me. The entire time I waited for them to talk about something relevant which I could contribute to (bullying, the terror I felt at talking on the phone or walking down the street, my self-harming and suicidal thoughts) and it never happened. They never once asked me what I struggled with on a daily basis or why I felt the way I did, they never explained either their methods or conclusions to me. I felt at that time, and throughout my therapy, patronised and belittled, they treated me like I was too stupid to understand anything. As a result, they came to wrong conclusion after wrong conclusion, ignored me when I tried to correct them, and my “therapy sessions” consisted of staring contests to help my eye contact issues (which I won because I was actually staring at his forehead) and relaxation exercises which I had taught myself years before and already used on a daily basis…
Anyway, the point of all this rambling comes down to this: It had previously been established by psychologists that I am not autistic (I’m assuming thy included AS in their consideration). The people who established this made many incorrect assumptions about me and never discussed with me any of the things which have led me to believe that I have AS, but they were professionals and they did correctly diagnose me with social anxiety and depression so I have to assume that they knew what they were doing… right?
*sigh* I can now foresee that I when I get an appointment for diagnosis I’m going to be told that I’m wrong, I don’t have AS and am in fact just too lazy, stupid and weird to fit in with normal people. I’m going to go anyway.
(wow, who knew that writing is so therapeutic? I’ll have to remember this for next time… sorry for the epically long and rambling story
)
