A couple of days ago I made the decision to schedule an appointment to see a therapist. If ever I was to see a therapist, now seems to be the least likely time. More appropriate would have been when I was 16, trying to figure out how to feel comfortable when surrounded by large groups of people. Or when 21, feeling isolated and lonely during my first year at the university. It wasn't until I was 23 that I began to feel a sense that everything was fine, that all I really had to do was just Be.
I cured myself, but of what I did not know. The years of silent struggle were known only to me, and this was made clear when one of my college friends once derisively said, “what have you ever had to struggle with?” I laughed and cried to myself when he uttered those ignorant words. I forgave him his ignorance, for how could he know what I had passed through – it all happened inside my mind, and I never spoke of it to anyone.
Today, at 44 years, my mind has mellowed and matured. Being recently confronted with a dissolving marriage caused only a ripple upon its alert, tranquil surface. My cure, found 21 years ago, remains solid and secure. But the root cause of my earlier troubles is still intact, intertwined with my life, and something which cannot be removed.
One day last year I sat down to read my favorite running blog, and began reading “The Autism Post”. The only thing I knew about autism, was, well, after finishing The Autism Post, I realized I knew nothing of it. But that day I learned that I very well could be afflicted with one of its variations. Many of the symptoms described in the post applied to me. What startled me most was discovering that I could possess such a condition since birth and not find out about it until I was 43 years old. It reminded me of the stories I had read of people on their deathbeds, realizing they had never done what they really wanted to do, and if only they had a chance to go back in time they would tell the people in the world to go fuck themselves, because now they were going to do what they wanted to do! - Alas, it is too late, and they take their last defeated breath in silent anguish.
While I felt a sense of relief at finding out about my possible condition, I was disappointed that knowledge of it had come so late. I had already worked through the most troubling symptoms, and maybe it was a good thing I had to do it on my own, but if I had known earlier it could have perhaps prevented some unnecessary grief.
The recent event which tipped the balance inside my mind was a retirement party at my place of employment. The familiar dread of having to attend a social function for 4 hours inside a small, brightly lit room packed with people began to creep its way into my consciousness, and as the day drew near I searched for excuses for nonattendance. With the event a few days away it occurred to me that the feelings which I felt about it were not logical of cause and effect - why would I choose to skip a work event, knowing that not attending would make me look bad and thus harm my reputation with people I see everyday? I was happy that I was cognizant of this fact, and is the only reason I attend the annual Christmas party and autumn retreat. It would not be an exaggeration to say that I would prefer to experience physical torments, e.g., spending 4 hours in a dental chair with a continuous intrusion of drills and needles, than to sit in a room filled with people whom I know, but do not understand. I questioned how something which appears so innocent could give me the impression that I was being asked to commit a great crime, such as murder or rape - attending was such an affront to my senses that it felt like a breach of personal ethics.
The odd thing is that no anxiety or fear accompanies this sense of dread. Indeed, one of the things which I discovered in my early 20's is that anxiety is useless, and fear one of the stupidest things a person can abuse themselves with. So if anxiety and fear of people is not the cause of my dread, what is?
Not being able to answer the above question, I decided it was the correct time to seek out a therapist who knows something of mind disorders, and to discover if I am afflicted with a type of autism. Never having been to a therapist I do not know what to expect, but I keep thinking back to my negative experiences with guitar teachers – one did not listen, the other listened with too much ego. I know that who I will be speaking with is a fallible person who possesses no absolute truth, but maybe hearing a dose of relative knowledge could help put into perspective what I have had to experience throughout my life. After 44 years of botched attempts at fitting in when forced to by external circumstance, I shout emphatically - uncle!
