LIFEBOAT THE WALLS HOW TO

I’d always been aware that autism existed. I resigned myself to being lost, relying on my own wonky coping strategies to get through each day. No-one, anywhere, knew what was going on. Time after time I’d be signed off a course of therapy or drugs with the needle having barely moved therapists would say, “I’m sorry we didn’t make much difference for you.” I’d always learn something from therapies like CBT or EMDR, but I couldn’t really execute it like watching a gymnast somersaulting, I could see how it worked, but couldn’t somersault my own, unwieldy self.Įventually, I gave up involving other people at all, apart from a small tribe of beloved weirdos who loved me fiercely. Mental health services did their best, but never really settled on a diagnosis for me, and whatever it was ran much deeper than anti-depressants or therapy could touch. With great difficulty, I broke the pattern of generations and asked for help. Action was needed if I was to continue to function at work and as a parent – and once I became a mum, I couldn’t hide my not-coping any longer. Once I entered my 30s, I realised I had to go out and find this “chat” for myself. I’d regularly collapse knowing something was wrong, but not what, and not feeling able to connect with anyone who wanted to help. I covered it well with masking because I felt so ashamed of my inability to cope, but this exhausted me. The disconnect between the two was painful I was regularly suicidal and self-harming. It all seemed like a fairy tale, and that’s exactly what I was doing – following a narrative and waiting for the chapter where it all made sense, where I could start to feel the benefits of it all, instead of feeling scared and overwhelmed all the time. I married and became a mother, I took a worthy charity job, I arranged birthday parties and went to toddler groups. Still, I persisted in all the right things I graduated, and went on to hold down demanding work in the emergency services. I made myself small to pass under radars without anyone realising, I was getting left behind.īy my early 20s I was beginning to think that the “chat” was never coming. All of a sudden I didn’t want anyone’s eyes on me.

LIFEBOAT THE WALLS HOW TO

I didn’t know how to “hang out” with others, or obey the unwritten rules of group membership and loyalty. I would crave time alone so that I could weep, rock, and shake without attracting attention. Whatever the class, club, or clique, I could give an approximation of being a member, but would often find myself inexplicably excluded before too long. Academically bright, outspoken, and creative, I bounced through life doing reasonably well on the surface. By then I’d had some wonderful, happy adventures in this peculiar and miraculous world.

Teenage years arrived, and I was still awaiting the chat. I still didn’t know what was normal, so there was nothing to compare it with. I was probably hungry and exhausted most of the time, but couldn’t tell. I often zoned out without knowing why, and forgot huge expanses of the day, yet at night I couldn’t settle to sleep.

I laughed at things no-one else found funny, and missed things that others did. I didn’t like to be hugged or touched, preferring instead to soothe my senses with repetitive fiddling that drove others mad (particularly the few people whose arms or hands I did like to stroke for comfort). I found eating to be uncomfortable and pleasureless, and couldn’t understand why we performed this bodily function in groups. I couldn’t keep track of physical objects and was forever losing and breaking things, including my own body. They’d tell me the reasons why nothing made sense, everyone was pretending, and everything was just a bit, well, weird. Eventually I would pass the secret test, and someone – perhaps a parent, perhaps a teacher, perhaps even a benevolent committee of some kind – would take me into a quiet room, sit me down, and congratulate me. I learned to mimic and tell stories, to make people laugh, to act and to put on a good face. If I just keep pretending, if I just keep smiling, I’ll be given the keys to the kingdom and my life can really start.” I’ve always felt like an alien on this planet.Īs a child in the 1970s, I used to think, “Any minute now, someone is going to let me in on what’s really going on here. Founded in Spring 2019, its aim is to connect with adults learning that they are autistic – to offer education, entertainment, and some much-needed solace. That the time is now and the place is here and that there are no second chances at a single moment. It’s hard to remember that this day will never come again.

Lifeboat the walls