I’m autistic.
I grew up in a time when what we now call Autistic Spectrum Disorder wasn’t recognised, and as such no one realised that people like me need assistance to pick up certain knowledge and skills that non-autistic people take for granted. I was lucky enough to be raised in a stable and loving family environment, and go to a small primary school that itself was similar to a family – all of which was wonderful, but sheltered me from the harsher aspects of the world. I grew up not just trusting everyone around me, but barely cognizant of the fact that there were people out there who shouldn’t be trusted. I thought that the world was a nice place, full of nice people who would never intend me harm.
Then I moved on to high school. I went in believing that everyone would be nice, and literally believing – as we autistic so naturally do – the old saw “just be yourself and people will like you”. So when I encountered people who didn’t like me for no reason I could see, I was puzzled. And then when a group of those people abused my unthinking and universal trust in a genuinely nasty way, it utterly shattered my worldview and left my soul in pieces on the floor.
The details of the incident are unimportant – in hindsight it was nothing more than run-of-the-mill schoolyard bullying. But it damaged me so deeply that my reaction was to shut down. I locked everyone out and threw up walls to protect myself. The message “If you let people in, they will hurt you” was seared indelibly into my very being in letters of fire. And almost 40 years later they’re still there.
I have lived my entire life with those walls up. I never, ever, let people know what I feel. I handle every emotional challenge on my own. I support myself without the support of anyone else, and I’m damn good at it. No confessors, no confidants, no lovers, just me.
But, it’s tiring. And while I’m good, there are have been challenges that are too much for just one person. And when I’ve come up against those challenges, rather than ask for help I’ve run. Being so profoundly damaged at such a young age means I never developed the skills for emotional intimacy. I don’t know how to open up to people, or even how to judge who would be safe to open up to. I just don’t know how to ask for help.
And to date, that’s been OK. I’ve managed. I’ve managed well. There are things in life I’ve missed out on, but I’m alive. I’ve come through every crisis with body, mind and soul intact, even if – on occasion – I’ve do so by fleeing.
But now things have changed. There are people that I care about – that I love – who need my help and my support. And I’m doing my best to give it to them – because how could I not? – but I’m sinking. I have the emotional strength and resources to support one person, and every ounce of support I give is one less that I have to support myself. My foundations are starting to crack.
I have three options. Keep going and hope that I adapt before it destroys me, cut and run, or ask for help. And while the urge to run is overwhelming, I. Will. Not. So I guess that’s what this blog post is. The best attempt at asking for help that I’m capable of. Maybe I’ll send it to my friends. Maybe I’ll just leave it here and hope someone notices. Maybe I’ll delete the whole thing tomorrow. I don’t know. But at least it’s an attempt at something.
