When The Light Goes On...

For all of my life, I've felt...well, different from others. I never really had a label for it, at least not initially. I guess I would have been considered shy during my school years. I don't recall having particular difficulties in interacting with others, but I am looking back on something that was a long time ago, so my memories might not be accurate. I went into the Navy after I graduated from high school, and again while I felt different than my shipmates, the only thing I'd say to describe myself was that I was shy. I didn't date during my six years in; I was not comfortable in striking up conversations with others.

Going into my late 20s and 30s, other symptoms began to manifest: anxiety in social settings, increased difficulty in maintaining eye contact, and the need for a structured routine. I was also beginning to exhibit other symptoms, such as the need to touch objects or to rub my fingers together, or rub on my arm. I just assumed it was anxiety (which I'm sure part of it was) but never even began to consider it could be something else. In my second marriage, I was step-father to a kid with Asperger's Syndrome yet didn't really recognize any symptoms I was experiencing with what he was (which I do now). And a quick note: the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders added Asperger's into its diagnosis for autism, calling it now Autism Spectrum Disorder.

Looking back on my life during that second marriage, it's pretty clear now that I was dealing with autism without knowing it. I had a nighttime routine that, if changed, caused anxiety and just a general sense of discontent. I was dealing with insomnia (like I am now) and I liked to have the living room to myself to watch TV or do whatever, and if one of the other house occupants came out to join me, I'd do what I could to dissuade them of this action. I'm kind of surprised back then that my psychiatrist didn't think I could be on the spectrum, but it's also pretty uncommon for an adult to be diagnosed.

As I headed towards the age of 50, some of my friends and loved ones with experience dealing with children on the spectrum thought that maybe I should look into a diagnosis. I finally did in 2016, finding a therapist with extensive experience dealing with autism, and he thought that I was indeed on the autism spectrum, although on the high functioning end of things.

To tell the truth, it was a relief to finally know why I was the way I am. It explained a lot: my difficulties with eye contact, my struggles with interpreting body language and social cues. I even took one of those online assessments where it shows you pictures of facial expressions, and you have to identify the emotion. Not surprisingly, I was not very good at identifying the emotions.

So, I know why I am the way I am. I like who I am. I struggle with stuff, probably the same sorts of things everyone struggles with, but in a different way. Communication is a challenge for me, and being in a relationship with someone on the autism spectrum probably isn't easy. I take things literally, so sometimes it's not easy to joke around with me. I struggle with eye contact a lot, and I know it's off-putting for some people. I get upset if my routine changes. I'm hoping to be able to get to a point where I can better interpret body language and social cues. I talk to myself a lot, and when I talk to people I don't really know how to manage the volume of my voice, so either I'm too quiet or too loud.

I do like who I am. I like that I can easily access useless information in my brain if I'm watching a movie and want to know more about the actor or director. I guess that's my autism super power, having my own IMDB in my brain. I don't want a cure for what I have. I do want to improve how I communicate with the people in my life, because I know it can get frustrating for everyone. It probably wasn't easy for my family to get used to my having this diagnosis, and I can see a parent maybe thinking they somehow did something wrong in having a child with autism, but that's just not true. It's just how my brain developed, and the only thing we probably can blame is biology. Autism isn't completely understood, even now, and it's hard to pinpoint what happens in the brain, or why. There are people who are convinced that it's caused by vaccines, an idea brought into the public consciousness by a British doctor named Peter Wakefield, who published a paper in 1998 linking vaccines to autism. That study was later found to be fraudulent, yet people to this day still believe it to be the cause. Whatever the cause, at this point in my life I am happy with who I am: a 48-year-old man with autism. I'm perfect for trivia teams!