The Process of Becoming

Thank you all for your answers regarding your sleeping patterns. :-) You guys are awesome. 

The reason I asked was that my mum told me, as many have before her, that my problems with falling asleep was due to my ‘oversleeping’. I sleep approximately 10 hours a night, and though I often wake up in the early hours, I don’t feel ready to wake up. 

I am going through yet another depression, but it seems to me that I have been needing more sleep since my very deep depression 4 years ago. Even when I’m not depressed (it happens sometimes, like 3-4 months a year) I still feel like I need a lot of sleep in order to function. 

When I was a child I could do with 3-4 hours a night, but not anymore. 

It kinda feels like my mind is ‘broken’ in some way. That I’m more fragile and that I’m not sleeping as deeply as I used to as a child. 

I’m glad to hear I’m not the only one who sleeps a lot and suffers from insomnia/bad sleep in general. Hope that doesn’t make me sound too horrible. <___< 

Listening to one’s body seems important to me. When I feel like I’m ready to get up earlier than I do now, I will. But if that never happens, trying to force a ‘normal sleeping pattern’ upon ourselves seems a bit cruel, though I suppose it can be necessary. 

There are many positive aspects to the whole ‘autism awareness movement’. It means not having to begin at Adam and Eve every time you’re trying to explain your needs/behaviour/differences that stem from your neurology. The general public know the word, but when it comes to the people, the and the science behind it most seem to know very little if anything at all.

Let’s get one thing straight; if you are not autistic you are not fit to speak on behalf of autistics. No, not even if you’re a parent. Living with an autistic person doesn’t make you an expert in autism.

Now, as I’m sure many on the spectrum have noticed, some allistics have taken up this ‘adorable’ habit of using autism as a personality trait (‘haha I totally didn’t know what to say to ___. I’m so autistic!’) and the source of casual, ableist ‘humour’.

Even if it’s said jokingly you are not qualified to make such ‘witty’ remarks if you don’t know what it’s like to be autistic. Autism is not just a word. It is not a character trait. It is a different neurology and unfortunately a neurology that is far from welcome in our modern world. In a fast-changing world built on flexibility and adaptability, autistic people like myself find the pressure hard to bear.

Add to that the movements of parents, relatives and ignorant ‘well-meaning’ people and organizations that seek to ‘cure’ us, who compare our way of processing information and viewing the world to be the equivalent of diabetes and cancer, who portray our very existence as a tragedy and you might understand why mocking us or misusing the word that is such a fundamental part of our lives, whether we choose to adopt the word as a great part of our identities as well or not, is not okay.

It is not okay to pretend you’re autistic if you’re not.

It’s not okay to make us the butt of your jokes.

It’s not okay to regard our opinions as invalid.

We are constantly told by people who do not listen, that we lack empathy (some do and that’s fine, but some allistic people do too).

We are constantly told that we need to adapt to systems within society primarily built by allistic people who accuse US of being inflexible. Surely, as the ones who claim adaptability as one of their common traits, it is not fair to require the same of ones that are UNABLE to meet those requirements due to a difference of neurology. If allistics insist on calling us the rigid ones they must first prove that they are capable of creating the room for others to exist on their own terms, lest they decide to adopt the same open rigidness themselves.

Living in Denmark I’ve often found it excruciatingly hard to meet the demands of the county, the government and the general public. My way of being seems to be inherently wrong in the eyes of others. Not that they view me as a bad person, but my way of being is simply not accepted. It seems to be very difficult for others to believe that I DO know myself, I DO know my own needs and I’m NOT making up excuses just to avoid meeting their precious demands.

Some on the spectrum adapt better to their surroundings than others. In my case I most certainly belong to the ‘others’ category. My sensory issues and general frailty of mind means that I have very little energy for anything. I cannot work. I cannot. End of discussion.

Why would anyone think that I wouldn’t if I could? I dreamt of going to Cambridge, I dreamt of becoming a professor of English literature. I dreamt of nights of slaving over dusty books and living in a small attic flat working my butt off. I am ambitious by nature, but also depressed, anxious and prone to pushing myself beyond what I have the energy for.

I have spent over half of my life being depressed, not sad, not a little down, clinically depressed. I’ve been in different kinds of therapies since I was eleven. I’m on medications. And still ‘experts’ repeat the same advice I’ve listened to my entire life: ‘eat healthily’, ‘go to bed early’, ‘exercise’, ‘maybe it’s your attitude’, ‘what if you just pushed yourself some more’. Not helpful.

I am autistic. I do not wish to be cured. I wish my depression would be treated as an actual illness (which it is). I wish ignorant people would shut their gob and realize that their words have consequences. I wish I wasn’t constantly criticized for ‘ruining the fun’ when calling people out on their damaging ableism.

I wish there wasn’t a need for autistic people to stay strong and vigilant in order to demand common respect when faced with mistrust and horrible, demeaning accusations and hurtful jokes.  

I hate when things don’t go as expected. I suppose no one truly like such occasions, but in my case it’s the source of many panic attacks.

Today I was taking the bus to get to Århus, a town no more than 30-45 minutes away using public transportation. I knew where I was going, I knew when the bus left the station, I knew when it’d arrive and where to get off. Except, as it turns out, I didn’t.

The bus left 13 minutes later than expected. Oh well, I thought, so I was gonna be a bit late. Annoying and stressful, but I’d manage.

I texted my psychologist, with whom I had an appointment with, which was the reason for me going to Århus in the first place, saying I was going to be a tad late to which she replied: that’s fine. Phew! No worries.

Nonsense. Did the bus stop where I expected it to? Nooo. Instead it turned and drove into a strange area further and further away from the clinic. This was about the time that I panicked. I might have been tearing up too.

I decided to stay on the bus until it reached the bus terminal. I was now 25 minutes late. Sad, frustrated and confused I texted the psychologist again and ten minutes later she came to pick me up.

Luckily she’s an amazing human being and she’d set off extra time should such an occasion arise, and the session wasn’t shortened. She even offered to drive me home, but I declined. A foolish decision some might say considering that I had to walk far to get to the next bus stop due to roadwork.

I was extremely cold and wet when I got home. My mum, having received quite a few panicky texts from me along the day, had lit up the wood stove in the living room for me to warm myself by.

Being autistic is confusing at times and the world wears me down, but I’m thankful for knowing such wonderful people. <3 

[the living room wood stove]

[me enjoying the fire whilst wearing a scarf]

[Fenris - my family’s large, male dog of the breed: cane corso italiano - comforting a frozen me]

I had my first session with my new psychologist today.

It went really well and I’m so relieved.

She had read all my papers from doctors/therapists/etc. through the years, but decided she’d like to spend the few sessions just listening to MY words, MY side of the story.

AND she’s used to working with women on the spectrum.

I feel understood…

Nanna is very happy.