Three years ago I knew almost nothing about autism. I didn’t know what sensory sensitivities were, what a meltdown was, or why a weighted blanket might be someone’s lifeline. I had been diagnosed with depression, anxiety, anorexia, and subclinical borderline personality disorder. I had been in therapy for almost seven years, including two intensive programs, multiple groups, individual therapy, and family therapy.
Three years ago I would have laughed if you told me I was autistic. No therapist had ever suggested the diagnosis to me. I’m highly emotional, not analytical. I’m overly sensitive, not someone with flat affect. I’m highly successful in school, I don’t struggle at all.
Here I am three years later with an autism diagnosis that makes sense of my life in a way that no prior diagnosis ever has. And I have to be honest; it was luck and privilege that got me this diagnosis. Not only that, it was luck and privilege combined with my own determination, curiosity, and NEED to understand myself that got me the diagnosis.
That is entirely unacceptable.
If you want to read the rest of this post, head over to the new site, Aut of Spoons.
We Got So Far To Go 