#this is the biggest chunk of writing i've done on autism i think

[aspiedistra]

I Am Autistic

I was intending to message @butterflyinthewell​ about this, after reading their responses to an anti self-dx post, but as it happens, my reaction felt too strong, too personal, and too emotional to put that all on one person. So instead I was going to reblog the post and add this on, but it spilled out of all control, and now what we have is an essay of my experiences, triggered by an anti post and a few throwaway comments that have created this. 

Let’s call it an open letter to anti-self-dxers. 

Upfront, I am saying all of this as a self-diagnosed person, but this is my perspective on this topic. Maybe some of you feel like I don’t have the right to weigh in on this topic, but this is my blog, and these are my feelings regardless. 

I have seen the support from autistic people with pro-dx who have stood up and supported people like me, and I want to thank them for it, I appreciate that deeply, I do. And I understand the weight and meaning that their voices carry, perhaps more than mine. But I also want to make my voice heard. Because I will not allow myself to be silenced on this matter any longer. I have done that for 22 long years, and I’m not doing it for another fucking second. 

I am autistic.

At first I was going to quibble, I was going to question, I was going to ask the permission of those who have a professional diagnosis if they believed I was allowed to say that. But, quite frankly, fuck that.

I will call myself autistic. I will say that I am autistic. I will tag posts upon my blog as ‘actuallyautistic’ because this is who I am.

It took a very long time for me along the path of self diagnosis to have the courage to say those words, even to myself. At first I whispered them in my mind, something that was just for me, that no-one else would ever hear of or know. And I felt guilty. I felt guilty, even after months and months of intense, detailed, continual, literally daily research, and 22 years of experience, I felt guilty even whispering those words to myself.

I do not feel that way any more. I can say those words to myself now and I do not feel guilty. Instead I feel proud. I feel comforted. I feel right. Because I finally understand myself. I finally know who I am, after 22 years of hiding it, of hiding from it. I know who I am. And I am autistic. I finally belong.

I have no words to explain that emotion. I cannot tell you how it felt. It was not a sudden lightbulb moment. Oh, in many ways it was. In many ways, from the moment I heard the word ‘autistic’ something snagged in the back of my mind. Something whispered of familiarity, of a community, of a place where I might be understood, accepted, where I might feel at last like I fit.

But I was denied that lightbulb moment, because of ideas like this. I rejected that community, I rejected that rightness that I felt in my soul because I felt I had to earn this. I had to earn what I am. I had to be sure, I had to be certain, I had to do things properly*.

And I did. I researched. I researched every day. I looked up lists of traits and symptoms. I dug inside my self, more deeply than I had ever done. I began to piece together my fragmented reflection and constructed it around these ideas, these fabulous ideas, these words I now had to explain my experiences.

Social deficits.

Sensory sensitivities.

Meltdowns.

Shutdowns.

Stimming.

Each one felt like a friendly little wave, a gentle pull towards a place that already knew me, even if I did not yet know it. 

I read blog post after blog post by autistic people. I crawled through their tags. I read question after question after question sent to wonderful ask blogs. I listened to those voices, and I heard echoes of them within myself. And for the first time I made sense. The world made sense. My entire life, that had always seemed just slightly wrong made sense. 

Yet still it took time. In my heart, I knew I was autistic. I knew it, but I still couldn’t say it, still couldn’t acknowledge it. It was a secret, now. My secret. A secret I intended to carry with me and never let anyone else see or know. 

But that damages a person. There are countless posts about how being a closeted queer person is damaging to that person, how it is not a positive experience, how it scrapes away at a little more of you each day. And it does, from my perspective on being a closeted queer person, it absolutely does. But so does this. 

I slowly began to make my voice heard. I dared to whisper the words aloud to myself. I dared to allow myself to reblog a few, very general, very subtle posts about autism, the kind that any socially conscious allistic blogger might reblog. I began to say the words a little more firmly to myself, and with each repetition, they felt more right. 

Finally, months after I had reached that internal, unassailable conclusion within my heart that I was autistic, I felt able to say it, to truly say it. I told the people closest to me, and while there have been some negative reactions, some cases I wish I had never entrusted them with this knowledge of me, in the most part, they reacted well, and each time they did I felt like crying with the relief. Each time I felt more free. I felt more like me. And it was wonderful. 

That was my journey to being able to say those three words. ‘I am autistic.’ They are all I have, right now. And they mean the world to me. 

I do not have access to a professional diagnosis at the moment, for many reasons, and may not have access to one in the near future, either. But from my perspective, I AM autistic. My ability to consult a doctor and have this put down on paper right now does not, cannot, fundamentally change who I am.  I was autistic when I was born. I was autistic all those years growing up where I fell through the cracks, where bias and prejudice and ableism meant I was missed. I was autistic all those years bullying and abuse suppressed those traits and forced me to hide who I am, to the point that even I didn’t recognise it. I was autistic all the long months I struggled with myself to find the courage to say those words: I am autistic. 

I am autistic now. I will be autistic tomorrow. I will be autistic every day of my life.

This will not change if I some day manage to see a doctor and have them confirm this to me. I will not suddenly become autistic on that day. The truth of that statement will not suddenly become real only upon that day when a professional nods in agreement with the words that I bring to them, the knowledge I have carried with me all my life: ‘I am autistic.’ 

Maybe I’ll receive hate for making this post. Maybe I’ll even deserve it. But I do not believe that anyone has the right to define my experiences, or to deny me the words and the courage to speak them that were kept from me for too long simply because a professional has given them a formal confirmation of their experiences. 

This is long, and messy, and emotional, but the bottom line is that I don’t think a professional’s opinion defines or creates a fact. I am autistic is a simple statement. It is either true, or it is not. I do think that I should consider myself ‘allistic until proven autistic by a doctor’ because that feels ridiculous to me. That feels like the lie I believed for more than two decades due to internalised abelism and various other insidious factors. So, now you know my feelings on the matter. 

*I don’t think I should have to add this, but just in case: I do not believe in on-the-spot diagnosis, either self or professional. Brains are complex things, and they require a good bit of digging around in to wring the truth from them. Research is absolutely necessary, fuck knows I did a lot of it while working things out. Which I feel like any person who has self diagnosed and says ‘I am autistic’ knows and has done. But I thought I should just put a little footnote in here just in case.