The Old Me Exploded
I sat frozen on my sofa, numb and empty. Speech itself was unavailable to my mind.
Yep, that is right – me, the overtalker, overthinker, overachiever – unable to retrieve vocabulary, decipher proper grammar structure, or apply appropriate meaning. I was literally and utterly speechless.
Just moments before, all of my masks had exploded off of me. My psyche was naked, raw and untethered. All of my assumptions, scripts, traits, habits, dreams, and hopes went up in smoke. My entire personality was a vibrating pile of twisted and disassociated shards. I was completely devoid of any grand scheme or direction.
I did not move from that couch for 3 days, suspended in the ethers. I sat there, nearly comatose, unbathed and unfed. The stench of broken promises lay heavy in the air. The rotting corpses of everything that came before lay at my feet. I saw only the harsh reminders of all I had so epically failed at accomplishing. I have never felt so alone.
The Old Ways Were No Longer An Option
The darkness was no longer my friend. Even as someone who relishes their solitude, I took no relief from the emptiness. I could muster no forward motion, so I just sat there. I know now that I probably should have called an ambulance.
Worse of all, I could not find any way to even care. I was shockingly aware of the collapse of my self-identity. Emotions were too far away. I felt I no longer embodied life. Even as I instinctively knew that was not true, I felt stuck there in limbo. My desperation was palpable, but everything was gone beyond recognition. I mean, honestly, what was there to save?
I was so completely destroyed that even eating my gun was no longer a viable final solution. I had relied on that idea as a comforting backstop. I considered it a last ditch willingness to let it all go, if things got that bad. Yes, I had experienced my share of those opportunities before. At that moment, though, I couldn’t find that place of escape.
I was bloodied and bruised, beaten. I was a blank canvas, no definition, no color. I was the defeated captain of an abandoned lifeboat, with no rudder to steer me, even if I had known where to go.
That moment was when I hit rock bottom and had to face my Autistic realization in its completeness. I could no longer hide behind quirky. I could no longer duck and weave around weirdness. I could no longer imagine my struggles were normal or workable. My life and self, as I had known them, had disintegrated, and I had nowhere to retreat.
The Only Words I Could Muster
In that stillness, for whatever reason, I said out loud “it is done”. These words were the only words I had found in 3 days.
The utter ridiculousness of finding that phrase in that moment made me laugh. Who the hell did I think I was, Christ on the cross? I had never felt very aligned with victimhood nor established religions, so it was quite the subtle joke. Delivered to myself from beyond my broken reality, it found me somehow in the deafening silence.
Oddly, this utterance triggered something else in me. I was filled with acceptance. I was being called to rebuild. A vision emerged from the mist and slowly dawned on me. I was destined to take those shards, sift through them, discard the ones no longer suitable, and build again. I knew I was to build a life better suited for me, for the real me, the Autistic me.
My zero point was to be my beginning, not my end. This was my moment of full Autistic realization, and that moment is why I am here with you now.
Community Saved Me
We Autistics are all unique, yes, and have experienced our coming out realization, unmasking, and trauma in our own unique ways. Yet, our arcs of healing have so many similarities. It’s eerie sometimes how similar our stories are, in fact.
Along the way of accommodation and recovery, I have met many beautiful friends. I have been blessed to meet people very much like me, who have also had their pivotal Autistic realization moment. These souls have found me, lifted me, educated me, and calmed me. My gratitude is boundless for them all. The Autistic community saved my life.
So, here I stand, with all the vulnerability I can withstand, to share my story. What follows are the insights I have learned about my late realized adult Autism. They are the things I wish I had known when it happened to me. My sincerest hope is that you find some comfort, perhaps even some understanding, in these sharings.