For the past few months I have been seeing a psychologist, the lovely Miriam, who normally works with children with Autism. Luckily for me Miriam found room for me and we have been having some very nice chats indeed.
Based on observations, clinical interview, questionnairre data and corroborative information from Kim’s daughter Veronica, I am on the opinion that Kim does meet DSM5 criteria for Autism Spectrum Disorder.
Miriam has been able to answer some questions that I have, actually Miriam answers lots of questions. It is nice to be able to admit that people mostly baffle me and that I find interacting with people exceedingly difficult and exhausting. I enjoy people and I adore being the centre of attention, opening TCA shows and giving Presidential speeches, organising book chats and open days. But it is very hard work mentally and that is why I spend so much time alone up here in the hills with my hermit husband. I need the time alone to recover, to give my brain a rest, to relax and just be my own quirky self. All by myself.
The process of acceptance, of understanding my own Autism has been a slow one. I have mostly been prodded along by the gentle nagging of my daughter and by observing my first grandchild Amy, who could be a perfect behavioural clone of me, except obviously Ames is the better Mark 2 clone version. Watching as Veronica struggles with Amy’s perfect defiance and glorious wilfullness, makes us both miss Mum with a sharp longing. As Mum would surely see the glaring similarities between Amy and I and Mum would be the perfect sympathetic ear that Veronica needs. I quietly revel in my grand daughters misbehaviours as I see exactly where she is coming from and I am not very sympathetic at all, even though I try. I do try very hard to do sympathy.
The Spouse did not want me to write about my autism here on the blog, he was concerned about his family’s reaction to my diagnosis. I just rolled my eyes at him as I walked away composing sentences in my head. Well actually, to be truthful, I might have also muttered something profane about his sisters opinions being the least of my concerns.
It has been interesting talking with Miriam, as her questions have helped me to order some of my thoughts into a cohesive pattern. It is also nice to be able to ask someone all the Why’s I have. Why did I forget a sexual assault that happened when I was seven or eight? Why do people deny disability exists? Why are some people so stupid?
This quote resonated with Veronica and I a few years ago and I am slowly coming to the realisation that I am not responsible for the actions of others and that some people are just naturally arseholes and that is their problem not mine.
“You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” Anne Lamott
Another thing that Miriam does, is question my flippancy. I made a flippant comment halfway through a session that I would happily go home and just eat white food, I was hungry and thinking about a chicken and cheese toastie. It was a throwaway line that Miriam didn’t let me throw away. I didn’t even realise the significance of the subject of white food until I began to talk about it and then think about it on the long drive home.
Hey you guys, I would happily just eat white food.
I like red food and green food as well, as long as the red and green foods are crunchy, but on close examination my diet is mostly white food.
I remember that mealtimes as a child were fraught, my father was of the school of thought that you ate what was on your plate OR ELSE, there was a lot of OR ELSE-ING in my home around mealtimes.
Everyone would have left the table except for my father and I and the battle of wills would begin. Dad would crack a bottle of beer and sit at the end of the table, drinking and smoking and glaring at me. I would be crying into my cold dinner and frantically trying to flick spoonfuls of food under the table as far away from my place as possible. The longer this farce went on, the angrier my father became and I would invariably end up with a belting.
I copped a lot of beltings growing up and it took me over thirty years to lay the ghost of my father to rest.
Watching my Amy, I can see myself so clearly in that child and I can understand my fathers frustrations with me.
To any parents of autistic children out there, a preference for white food isn’t the end of the world. Your child’s palate will develop over time and they might even introduce some loathed foods into their diets. Eventually.
Realising that a preference for white foods isn’t entirely “normal” was the first step in accepting my own Autism.
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