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.

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.

Thinking

My last workhouse visit has been playing on my mind. I had to discuss my health issues, and the man obviously had no idea of what I was talking about. He said a few things which I found odd at the time. The more I think about it, what he said was quite inappropriate, even nasty. I'm not sure if I've understood properly, so I'll discuss it with my lady this afternoon. I think I am right though, so I want to find out what I can do about it.

More autism stuff

I'm trying to unravel another of those knots in my brain. I've been thinking about my relationships, or rather my lack of them.
While I used to have very strong sexual attraction to some people, I've never really enjoyed physical contact. Any contact I did have was never too intimate. Well it was intimate, but not too intimate. I used to think I was a prude, but actually I'm not. Prudes don't like the things I used to like. The more I think about it, I am coming to the conclusion that this great difficulty of mine is nothing more than autism. Of course at that time the idea had never crossed my mind.
Another thing, when I think back, is that it was faces and intellect that have always attracted me. I hadn't a fucking clue how to start a conversation, so wouldn't say anything unless I was spoken to. I certainly couldn't do small talk then, any more than I can now. I couldn't talk about my feelings either cos I don't think I understood them. I'm only starting to understand that side of things now.
No wonder I've never been able to get relationships off the ground. Talking to me must have been like talking to an encyclopaedia.
I had great difficulty maintaining eye contact too. I used to feel terrified when I caught someone's eye, and would always look slightly away from the person. People must have thought I was a head case. Perhaps I am. Who knows?
I feel very sad when I look back. Because of the great handicap caused by my almost complete inability to interact with people, the only experiences I've had with people have been of the casual sort. For a seventeen year old it can be quite exciting, but the thrill soon wears off.
I have gone through life feeling desperately lonely on account of my inability to bond with people. Now that I'm older I don't feel like that anymore. What little wisdom I've obtained tells me that that sort of close relationship is completely impossible for me. I simply could not cope with having someone so near all the time, and I daresay they wouldn't be able to cope with me either.
I don't want anyone to think for one moment that my generally chased life results from any feelings of purity. It doesn't. Oh if only things had been different. What a cunt.

Thinking again

I'm still thinking about the diagnosis stuff, but all the frustration and the feeling of being ignored and not mattering have gone. It's full steam ahead for me now. There's no going back.
The workhouse are definitely trying to push me into places where I don't want to be. The man is definitely put out that the mental health team are helping me with the employment stuff. The fact is that they understand not only my qualifications but how my mind works. The workhouse man definitely does want to help me, but it's patently obvious from the things he said that he understands neither. I'll have to ask my people about it.
I'm also thinking about the sea today. I could see from the library window that it has cut up rough. I love the sea in all its moods, but the mind-blowing quantity of water under the surface terrifies me when I think about it.
I'll be seeing my best friend at least once this week, which will be lovely. I wonder what back-breaking toil he has lined up for me!!!

A musical interlude

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dT-gMgb2hqI

I've just referred to La Morangis ou La Plissay by Forqueray. I wasn't thinking straight just now. I'd like you to hear it, so have attached a link. I don't like most music, but what I do like I know and understand in great detail. This sort of music really makes me tick. I can feel it in my upper arms and face when I play it.

Thinking...

Over the last few days I've noticed that a few 'friends' have been dropping off my facebook numbers. I don't mind that in the least, because none of those people are my real friends. They are just people I know socially. I'm really quite indifferent to it, but tending towards the happy side of indifference. The only people I really want to know are the people who really want to know me.
Of course since yesterday afternoon I've been thinking all the time about my forthcoming ASD diagnosis. It doesn't matter whether or not I am autistic. The outcome will not alter the person I am one way or the other. What I do expect though is an answer that will enable me to make some sort of sense of my life. I don't like interviews and am dreading this one, but looking forward to it at the same time.
At this present moment I believe myself to be autistic, but don't actually know whether I am autistic. Belief and knowledge. I'd much rather know something than not know it. If one knows something then that knowledge is based upon facts. Belief may be based on facts, as in my particular case, but isn't necessarily based on facts. Belief is nothing more than an assumption, something one feels to be right for whatever reason. Belief can even fly in the face of facts, for example the belief that the Earth is flat, or that it is only some few thousand years old. I don't want to believe anything. I want to know.

My journey

I bit the bullet, took the fifteen-mile bus trip, and hiked up to the offices of the people who are to conduct my ASD diagnosis. I'm glad I did. They gave me a cup of coffee, asked me the preliminary questions they would have asked on the phone (I explained that I find phones difficult), and have booked me in for an appointment in a fortnight. That is the best possible result, and such a relief. I have written to my MP to let him know, and pointed out that because of the timing, I don't think this is mere coincidence. My long, agonising wait is nearly over.