I was first relieved to finally have my life make sense and I think most of us who were diagnosed late in life feel that way. It's an explanation as to why life has been so difficult for us when everyone else seems to get through so much easier. But there are other emotions as well and my biggest one is frustration over why did no one seem to notice or even care?
I look back at my childhood and wonder why. I was sent to a speech therapist when I was in 2nd grade on the schools recommendation. The therapist taught me to speak and to make and keep eye contact. The therapist wanted to do further counseling but my dad refused.
When we visited cousins or friends I stayed back in the shadows, walking behind and never mixing in. I stayed in trouble at school for misconduct and my parents didn't seem to care. I had marks on my report cards but no one ever discussed them with me or ever told me how to behave at school. I got poor grades, unless it was something that really caught my interest, then I would excel. But I mostly daydreamed in class. I was clumsy. Sitting in the living room watching tv with family I kept my chair turned so no one could see me. I chewed on leather. I was clumsy and made fun of because I ran into trees all the time. I was always looking down at the ground. I rocked. I had attachments to a jean jacket and 1 stuffed animal that I had from birth that my mom would try to throw away and I'd drag it back out of the trash. I followed my sister around to finish telling her a story. I stayed in my room as a teenager and had no friends. When forced to go out, I'd go out and get high. I cried every day in first grade because I didn't want to go to school and I begged in every grade there after for my parents to let me quit. I never liked any of the things most kids my age enjoyed. If I got hurt, I tried to hide it. I had bathroom accidents if I was at a cousins because I could not ask to go to the bathroom. I could just go on and on - but WHY did no one pick up on any of that? Why did everyone just ignore my misery? It makes me angry at my family for not noticing or not trying to help me somehow.
I feel cheated because I wonder if my life could have been easier if I had know sooner and been able to make adjustments. I spent my life hiding who I was and never even knew what it was I was in fear of someone finding out. I could have had help to come out of my box that grew so small at times I couldn't even move. Now, I no longer have to work or fit in and it doesn't matter any more. The diagnosis only helps me finally accept who I am, and that's plenty big, but I do resent that I could have been made aware earlier in life and not had that particular, major struggle for 58 years of my life.
I look back at my childhood and wonder why. I was sent to a speech therapist when I was in 2nd grade on the schools recommendation. The therapist taught me to speak and to make and keep eye contact. The therapist wanted to do further counseling but my dad refused.
When we visited cousins or friends I stayed back in the shadows, walking behind and never mixing in. I stayed in trouble at school for misconduct and my parents didn't seem to care. I had marks on my report cards but no one ever discussed them with me or ever told me how to behave at school. I got poor grades, unless it was something that really caught my interest, then I would excel. But I mostly daydreamed in class. I was clumsy. Sitting in the living room watching tv with family I kept my chair turned so no one could see me. I chewed on leather. I was clumsy and made fun of because I ran into trees all the time. I was always looking down at the ground. I rocked. I had attachments to a jean jacket and 1 stuffed animal that I had from birth that my mom would try to throw away and I'd drag it back out of the trash. I followed my sister around to finish telling her a story. I stayed in my room as a teenager and had no friends. When forced to go out, I'd go out and get high. I cried every day in first grade because I didn't want to go to school and I begged in every grade there after for my parents to let me quit. I never liked any of the things most kids my age enjoyed. If I got hurt, I tried to hide it. I had bathroom accidents if I was at a cousins because I could not ask to go to the bathroom. I could just go on and on - but WHY did no one pick up on any of that? Why did everyone just ignore my misery? It makes me angry at my family for not noticing or not trying to help me somehow.
I feel cheated because I wonder if my life could have been easier if I had know sooner and been able to make adjustments. I spent my life hiding who I was and never even knew what it was I was in fear of someone finding out. I could have had help to come out of my box that grew so small at times I couldn't even move. Now, I no longer have to work or fit in and it doesn't matter any more. The diagnosis only helps me finally accept who I am, and that's plenty big, but I do resent that I could have been made aware earlier in life and not had that particular, major struggle for 58 years of my life.