This morning

I got up aching, tired and feeling quite drowsy. I was deep in thought with the fags and coffee. I've got my interview at the workhouse today. The man made it quite clear last time that he was put out that I'd asked a mental health professional to help me into work. He also said some things last time that have made me feel uncomfortable ever since. He said that I want diagnosis just to get a label and to get things for free. I can't forget what he said about my good degree: "I have a friend who has a masters but he's an alcoholic. The bit of paper doesn't necessarily say anything". By the way this is the same man who, when I told him I find it difficult working with people, suggested potato packer, warehouse operative and fairground ride operator as suitable occupations.
I'm feeling a bit apprehensive about the forthcoming interview, and a bit browbeaten. Public services could do with being a bit more informed about mental health issues.

A change of mind

The ASD diagnosis has been a life-changing event for me. Last week there were more downs than ups, but that is to be expected. I have had a lot to think about. I now realise that I used to be very hard on myself, and I suppose that is why I have felt depressed for all of my life. In my own mind I was a complete failure and an idiot, for not managing so well in life, and for not making a success of myself. Then, of course, I didn't know I might be autistic until a couple of years ago. Earlier on it was just a case of depression. Depression, in my mind, was the same as failure, weakness and idiocy. When I suspected autism, a new set of worries superceded the old. Was I imagining everything? Was I only trying to find excuses to blame my own inadequacy on? Was I mad? Was I just completely useless?
The diagnosis has helped me to see things I hadn't previously noticed. I now understand that the things that have made my life such a struggle are to do with my neurology, and that I am not making excuses for myself. I now know that I am not a failure. Of course my life is not where I would like it to be, but I must have coped fantastically well to have made it this far. I know too that I am not weak or feeble-minded. I have really had to be very strong to stick it out in the most atrocious jobs, and coping all the time with how I felt. I feel much more comfortable with myself than I ever have done. I am finally meeting myself for the first time. Myself, rather than the self that tried so hard to fit in with what society expected. For the first time in my life I am starting to gain in confidence.

Social media

Most of the stuff I see on social media is trite. Absolute drivel. I post daft stuff like that too. I like a giggle, but I'm naturally a serious sort of person. Lately I've been using my page to actively promote awareness of mental health issues, and to highlight any shortcomings in the levels of service being provided to users. I wonder how many 'friends' will drop off. What I do know is that any real friends will be just as concerned about these issues as I am.

Marketing

Almost daily I keep receiving text messages from the mobile phone company, telling me I will get free credit if I buy some credit before a certain date. It's really getting on my nerves. I don't want so many reminders of that company's existence. I don't want aggressive, computerised customer service. I can decide for myself whether or not I want to buy credit.
Well I don't want to buy any credit. I hate the phone, bloody well hate it. I'd rather not have one in the first place, except that in today's culture one is expected to own such a device. I don't like talking to it though. Mobile phone companies are a cunt.

A matter of perspective

I know that in the past I have appeared to be a bit weak. I can understand how people arrived at that conclusion, for I was unsuccessful, cried very easily and completely lacking in confidence.
Well I've had several long, hard looks in the mirror since I was diagnosed. This is what I saw:

1) I did not do well in the world because of my neurological and sensory issues.,

2) The embarrassing spells of crying were actually autistic 'meltdowns' (I fucking hate that word. It's become such a cliché), where my head became so overwhelmed with thoughts that I couldn't cope with it.

3) Thinking I was mad, I have spent my whole life trying to hide those things that people might recognise as mad. I didn't want anyone to know. Also I didn't want to worry anyone I was close to. I was always myself, but could never be myself. No wonder I lacked confidence.

Do you know something? The more I think about it, I think I must have been very strong to have led such a horrible life with all the autistic stuff going on in my head. I really don't know how I managed.

ASD diagnosis

In this country there is great inequality in the service levels provided by different hospital trusts. There are even different service provisions for England, Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland. I waited nearly two years for my diagnosis, and believe that I only got my appointment because I wrote to my local Member of Parliament. This is totally unacceptable.
If you have been waiting an interminable amount of time for your appointment, or if you know someone who has, I urge you to contact your MP. I wish that everyone in the same boat would flood parliament with letters. All this waiting around is cruel. It must stop.

A secret?

There is something in my life which I've never told anyone, except for two health professionals recently and my best friend yesterday. Now that I have my diagnosis, I needn't be afraid of telling you. What I am about to describe is not unusual for people with my type of autism.
I have already told you that I feel sounds, and the sensation is sometimes pleasant but generally otherwise, according to the sound in question. What I haven't told you until now is that when I listen to music,I see it. I don't see it like I can see the keyboard in front of me, but imagine this:
In my mind's eye I see something like a continuous roll of paper. As the music plays, so it unrolls. I see the melody as a continuous, undulating line towards the top of the roll. There is a similar line towards the bottom of the roll for the bass. The area bounded by these lines is shaded in, and I can mentally see the harmonies. As the music continues, so the roll continues to open. Listening to music demands my full attention. I can neither do anything or think of anything else while I'm listening. I have learned since that this experience is called Synesthesia.

Post diagnosis

My condition has been diagnosed as moderate to severe A.S.D. I think I may have had an inkling of that, hence the name of my blog 'Cliffasd'. It's good to know. The days of suspecting, guessing and wondering are finally over. YAY!!!!!!
I no longer feel like a complete failure. Having spoken with the psychologist who assessed me, I now think I haven't done that badly to survive as I have, despite my very real difficulties. I have finally spoken to someone who really understands what life has been like for me.

Today

At long last I've finally got the appointment I've been waiting so long for. I am full of anticipation, relief, worry, doing something unknown, and much tiredness. I shan't be having any gin after all. I don't really want any, at least not my own. I've still got some time to wait, as it's not until late afternoon. I just want to get it over and done with now. In the meanwhile I've written down a few things that I want to make sure the man is aware of, and so that the words mean what I want them to say.

Colours to the mast

I have adopted the rainbow flag on my social media thing. On the face of it, it represents the gay pride thing. I'm not gay, but am attracted to blokes. I'm no more proud than ashamed. However what I am doing is sticking my fingers up to prejudice and intolerance.
What it represents too is the autistic spectrum. I certainly do not want any more labels. What I am doing is showing my solidarity with other autistic people of my own age, who have found life such a struggle, and who have never had any support of any description. I'm also showing my solidarity with the younger ones, who have varying levels of success at getting the help that is available but isn't always so easy to access. It's all so very hit and miss. Thinking of you.

Sleep

I was very tired when I turned in, and managed to sleep without interruption until I woke up with a start at ten past three. I know I had been dreaming but couldn't remember what it was about. I was also deep in thought about my appointment. I wanted to get up but both my body and my mind were too tired. I was awake for more than two hours before I nodded off. I got up at seven.
I had one of those recurring dreams again the second time I slept. This time I'd been to Scotland and was driven part of the way home by someone I seemed to know (but can't remember who it was). I ended up in Settle (I've never been there) and was at a bus station. My coach was in, and I asked the driver if my ticket were still valid from Settle. He replied that it was. Then I asked if I had time to go to the paper shop. He replied that I had. I was gone for no more than two minutes. When I got back to the stop the coach had already left. The next bit is all confusion, no more buses, getting robbed etc. I've already discussed these dreams with my counselor, and she agrees with me that the buses going where I don't want to be, the missed connections, the inability to find the right bus stop, the unfamiliar surroundings are my mind's representation of autism.

The springtime of life

Last night I dreamed that my diagnosis had been sorted out. I felt comfortable for a brief moment when I woke up, until I realized it had been a dream. There are things I am unable to talk about, so I've been writing things down so I can show the man what I really mean.
Early on I started thinking about the time I 'came out'. It was terrible. It was thrashed out of me before I was ready to say anything. The whole thing was a massive guilt trip. It was all about my mum's need for grandchildren, my mum's need for security (her husband), my mum's need for me to have a 'normal' life, my mum's need for me to fit in. As usual I thought everything was my fault. It didn't occur to her to wonder how I might be feeling, or what my needs were. Her indifference to me, which coincided with her second marriage, turned to outright hostility. In the case of her husband, his dislike of me turned to blind hatred. He abused me with the most terrible words and my mum backed him up. It has taken me over three decades to pick up the pieces, and I could never have done so if my mum were still alive. Can you blame me for not wanting to talk about it?

A moment ago

I went home via the shops and had the buns I'd intended to have for breakfast. I'm permanently deep in thought at the moment and that's making me a bit jittery. I didn't feel comfortable there so I've come back to the library to use the computers again. It won't be long before I get my own seat, I'm sure. I've been looking at what I am to expect post diagnosis. If what I read is correct, the help I can get will be a godsend. I don't believe in god, but can't think of another word. I don't want things. I don't want millions of quid. I don't want to be mollycoddled and given preferential treatment. All I want is some talking support from someone professional who knows the issues I face, and has been trained in helping people to deal with them. All I want out of it is for life to feel more comfortable.

Unusual

This morning I saw someone who works with me at the historic building, and we started nattering about the Halloween 'do'. The whole event has been waylaid by an outside party and we've really got the hump with the woman fucking around with the original arrangements. Even now she keeps springing things on us. We feel that we've been treated very shabbily by the cunt.
Later on I was contacted by the person who helps autistic youngsters, and to whom my name was given. I'm looking forward to meeting up with them at some point. If they think my experiences of life can be used to help others, then I'll talk. I want to give the young 'uns the start in life that I never had.

Diagnosis

It's D-Day minus two and the thing is foremost in my mind. I'm apprehensive about it. I don't know what to expect and it's something completely different in my life. I've been going over and over how I'm going to get to the appointment. I'm going to leave about an hour before I need to, just in case there are any delays to the journey.
The thoughts were very much around all evening, but the dvds held my attention for a bit. I was tired at bed-time but didn't feel relaxed, so I put on a cd of  Boccherini's string quintets Op29. That gave me something different to think of when I dropped off.
I know I was deep in thought all night because of the fragments of dreams that I remember, and because my bed looked like it had been vandalised this morning.

Noise

I don't want to go home until after my appointment, so I'm spinning it out at the library. The ambient noise is quite excruciating; running conversations just behind me and the hound of small children downstairs. I'm getting old now, but I remember a time when libraries were oases of peace and quiet. I've got the earplugs in now which has deadened it a bit, but I can still hear everything. Very distracting.

An oddity

It's odd to me that people increasingly seem to see me as a positive role model for younger autistic people. I find it strange because I know all the things I have to struggle with in my daily life. Perhaps I'm so good at masking it that people don't realize. Perhaps people think I'm more successful than I really am. I am quite puzzled by it all. I just don't understand what there is to like about me.
What I do like is that people feel I have something worthwhile to give to those who may be finding life even more difficult than I do. I know about that too. I've been there.

Just now

While I was outside having a nice fag in the cold, damp weather, I thought again of Munch's painting The Scream. It was the bands of colour that got me thinking. They are like the pulses of physical energy that so affect me when a sound is unpleasant; the pounding on the arms and chest, the scraping, the near-hysteria. And the colours are just as aggressive as the sensations.

Time

Diagnosis, diagnosis... It's all I can think of. I've waited two years for the appointment and now I feel so impatient. I know it's no good thinking like this, but I can't help it. I know it won't come round any faster. I think that I'm going to feel very deflated and perhaps a bit odd once it's been done, so I'm going to do something very rare for me and have a drop of gin in reserve for afterwards.

More thinking...

On the bus I also started thinking about relationships. I've never had a 'normal' relationship. It's always been a case of 'pickups'. Notwithstanding my issues with physical contact, when I was young I wanted a relationship above all else. With hindsight I suppose I just wanted to try and be like 'normal' people. If anyone did show interest in me I felt very strange and froze. I could not understand why someone should want to know me.
My one long-term relationship was an unmitigated disaster. It cost me very dear, both in terms of my worldly goods and my mental health. From the beginning he was off shagging all and sundry, and fleecing me at the same time. I was belittled and crushed, both in private and in front of people. I spent nine years being ordered around and told what to do, because I thought I was supposed to. It was awful when I think about it, but I didn't realize it at the time. Sometimes people would have a quiet word with me about the way I was being treated, but I wouldn't listen. I thought they were just making trouble.
When the final separation came I was completely lost, confused, dazed, traumatised. It took me nearly twenty years to finally come to terms with the experience and let it go. Of course I still remember everything, but it's not so near now.
Something inside me still wants a relationship, but I know I could never cope with one.