“Does your autism make you nasty?” is what I was met with when I told my toxic mother that I was diagnosed with autism on September 30, 2013.
How do I remember the date? The only appointment that was available was my birthday and only appointment that was available. I thank my toxic mother for holding onto my ADHD report from when I was diagnosed at 6 years old.
Today I saw a meme a certian person who tried to have my children removed from my care had posted that said that self diagnosis is a privlege. That people who are “really autistic” have no choice but to be diagnosed.
When I was 6, my teacher told my parents that something wasn’t right and I needed to go to a child psychologist. After a few appointments a a long series of tests, I was diagnosed with Attention Defficiet Hyperactivity Disorder in 1988. At that time girls weren’t diagnosed with any neurodivergence so I consider myself lucky. It still came with heartache.
Autism isn’t just a label to me like these anti neurodiversity activits say. The labels I had growing up were”
the r bomb
I am sure there are others I am forgetting.
Not being diagnosed because of the lack of information when I was a child was not a priveledge.
I was suicidal since I was 7 and I was told I was faking it. As an adult, I thought I wasn’t good enough for my kids and actually tried drinking cleaner because they deserved a mother that was more stable. Around this time my mother offered to help me die. This was before I figured everything out.
When filling out the checklist for bug’s autism evaluation, I realized that he was just like I was as a kid. This realization is not uncommon. This was about the time I met Emma. She saved my life. She made me feel like I was worth saving. I never told her this.
So when you say self diagnosis is a privlege, please check yourself. Not being diagnosed until I was 32 came with great heartache and suicide attempts. I know Connie and Fiona wish I suceeded. I’m here to stay.