I spent a year on a waiting list for a test and I that time, I began to adjust to this new perspective.
Right off the bat, I feel compelled to apologize to all those people whose feelings I hurt. In many cases, I reexamined what I had said, or didn't say, and realized that I must have sounded a little insensitive or oblivious. Times when my jokes fell flat or when someone wanted me to do something I knew was beyond my capacity and I turned them down. Those are the times when I could see the flickers of disappointment or a lack of understanding.
I didn't understand, myself.
Many times, I went along but felt miserable. Social events drained my batteries. Not enough to disable me but I usually felt tired for a few days leading up to and after. It took so much to mentally prepare. Far more than I ever realized.
So now I am in a period of grief as I process the half century of missed help and support. I know there is nothing that could have been done. I was a good kid in school. I did what they asked of me and could ace tests easily with minimal study. But there were the many nights I locked myself in my (shared) room and listened to music. To anyone else, it would appear to be teen angst.
I just knew there was something wrong with me and it had to be because I was what used to be called a nerd. Beyond help.
I remember seeing a classmate sitting in a hallway getting assistance with a test once. It was someone who I never would have guessed was dyslexic and I remember a slight twinge of jealousy that he had someone to help him.
But I was supposed to be normal. Just gifted. Psychology was never something the schools were concerned with. They wanted to fill our brains as fast as we could consume information.
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"The army doesn't care about your head. Just get the enemy in the crosshairs and blast away!"
-- Maj. Frank Burns, MASH, "Deal Me Out."
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We made the school scores look better in state reports. Few, if any of the teachers felt the need to be concerned for their students mental well being. Unless a student broke down and started acting out.
I knew a few who had the system figured out and decided not to play. They put their efforts into other, more self destructive, pursuits.
To me the only way was through. Finish school, finish college, get a good job. I didn't have time for the side trips into substance abuse. Besides, I don't like the taste of alcohol. In fact I am very taste aware. I don't like strong flavors or condiments that don't stay put.
Statistics say 17% of all teens and adults have substance abuse issues. In the autistic population the number is between 1%-36%. That is so ridiculously wide it is meaningless. It says to me that there is a wide variety in the testing methods and conditions. I imagine for many autistic people alcohol or drugs help with tolerating social situations. For myself, I can't imagine that the loss of control would feel good. And, again, there is the taste issue.
In my entire life I can count on my fingers how many drinks I have had. Even what they were. In order.
For example, a sip of beer as a small child, a sip of red wine on a camping trip, a "Black Mambo beer" on my 21st birthday, a rum and cream soda at a friend's party. (The only drink I liked because the alcohol taste was masked.) Two Zimas several years apart, a few wedding champaigns, and a couple of wine coolers.
Big drinker, I most definitely am NOT.
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