Hello everyone,
My name is Katerina and I'm 29. I guess I've felt there was something "different" about me most of my life, but I realized I could have AS only a few months ago.
I don't remember much about my childhood and I don't really want to dwell on it either, but here are a few things. My parents have been secretive about what happened to me when I was a child, but somewhere in my late teens, I learned that I had a birth trauma and cerebral palsy (I was lucky to make a complete recovery). Obviously, I couldn't walk or move much until quite late, and I didn't talk until I was about three and a half because of it. Then, all of a sudden, I was talking very much, very fast and in a more adult kind of language. My mother jokes that I had "verbal diarrhoea" and tells me it was near impossible to shut me up or squeeze a word in edgeways.
She also says my imagination was too vivid and I fantasized aloud all the time, which was embarrassing. At the time, UFOs and space exploration were something of a fad here in Lithuania, and I caught on to it somehow. I made up things about being an alien, having been in a flying saucer or in space, and could then tell about it to complete strangers, loudly and without caring whether they're listening or how they're going to receive it. Once, I ended up talking about it with a group of teenage girls at my school who must've thought I was crazy, until my mother dragged me away and told me off (I had no idea for what at the time). Another incident happened in a bookstore where I rambled on to the staff about having come from another planet and making hissing noises and odd shapes with my hands; my mother says the staff also thought I was crazy and whirled fingers about their temples, and I didn't notice. There could've been other such instances I don't remember. I do recall being told continually to be silent and "stop talking gibberish" or "stop talking about overly complicated subjects". I would get upset at this and didn't really understand why I was told so. Another thing I remember which I often seemed to hear is - "don't take offense, I was only joking! why do you have to take everything so literally?" Since then, I've developed a good sense of humor but it seems I continue to misunderstand things.
In the very first grade, I was taken out of school because of frail health. My mother was afraid that, having just recovered from cerebral palsy, I might do badly in the school environment. My immune system was weak, too, and I kept falling ill with colds or flus. It was decided that I study at home according to an individual program (later, my parents' ambitions must've set in too). I was considered "gifted", but I don't know how much of it was my actual abilities and how much was the school's need to have a "special child" of its own. All I really remember was that I had good rote learning skills (especially when it came to visual memory and memorizing words straight from the written page), so it was quite easy to cram all the things I needed to learn in a short period of time. I was fascinated with animals (still am) and was crazy about biology. I used to read all books on animals and plants I could find, including university-level ones, and then go about trying to tell everybody what I had discovered. Usually I was told to be silent. I think this was one of the things that eventually made me think that speaking my mind is bad, and that others aren't interested in what I have to tell them. Until grade 5, we would finish the necessary school material and then rest; then my mother decided this was a waste of time, so we did five grades in two years. I ended up graduating from high school at 15. It was then that I finally went to school with the other children.
My childhood was pretty sheltered. I had close to no contact with my peers until that final year of school. I wasn't allowed to go out alone, only to the yard, and then I was watched from the window and told off if I spoke to other children. I had no friends until high school was over and I was at university. My parents put a lot of emphasis on studying, even at the expense of everything else, which meant I was often barred from doing the things I loved - reading my favorite books, playing with toys and the like. I used to wait until my parents left, and would put on some music, pace my room and fantasize. When they came back, I'd snap out of it. Sometimes I did this when my parents were home, too - I'd tell them I'd like to have a break, and would dance to the music while wandering my worlds. I liked pacing better, but if my mother came in and saw me in some strange corner of the room, she'd start asking me what I was doing, and I didn't like that. Still, I think I was happy back then - I was an exuberant child, and though I was a bit sad about not seeing other children, it didn't upset me a whole lot. And I also had a chance to go to the woods with my grandfather every day, or every other day, to pick mushrooms or herbs or berries or simply for a walk. It gave me lots of joy, and without it, I don't think I'd be the person I am now. I've always loved nature a great deal, and my grandfather was the closest to me of my whole family; he taught me many of the things one needs to know, and was always the one to understand and support me when nobody else did.
When I did come to class, it was embarrassing. I was eager to make friends, but I evidently acted a bit strange, and my classmates saw me as a sort of intelligent freak. I don't think I was wholly aware of that at the time, though I did want to "be like everyone else" (whatever I understood by that); I was too much in my own world. I ended up being depressed because of the stress, and a child/adolescent psychiatrist diagnosed me with major depression and prescribed Prozac. In spring, I felt a surge of high spirits and went through what I later recognized as a (hypo)manic episode. I still think of it as the happiest time in my life; everything had seemed so beautiful back then, and I was like an entirely new person. I wonder how I managed to take my final exams and receive fairly good grades, though. All I really cared about at the time was walking around the city wondering at how things were glowing, enjoying the freedom and joy, and talking to people when I got the chance. I'd miss classes a lot and get into trouble. I think I could've studied extremely well, though, except that by then, all willingness to do so was gone. I'd always been thrust into learning things rather than encouraged to do so, and I guess I just had enough.
I chose to go on to study psychology - a sort of compromise with my parents, who were being a bit too controlling when it came to my choice of profession. University was a struggle. I tried hard to get good grades, but I wasn't coping. I was still somewhat disoriented, didn't seem to understand spoken intstructions well, and kept doing things that were out of line without wanting to (none of it really went away). My movements were clumsy, - they still are, only I've become more cautious and have learned to laugh about how things keep falling out of my hands or I seem to trip over on a smooth spot, - my voice was strange and I had trouble sustaining a conversation. I also didn't seem to get what people were telling me sometimes. I'd reply to rhetorical questions, get upset at things that were said in jest, and I have a feeling that I didn't understand much of the subtext of people's words, too. I didn't care about my looks much, either. I was growing more and more aware of those things, but often there was little I could do about them. Looking back, I'm glad that the people I studied with were two or three years older and were mostly accepting, or, at least, didn't say anything. If I were among peers, I'd probably be bullied.
That year I got more badly depressed than the first time around. I stressed over my exams (or rather, over how my parents would receive my failing them or getting poor grades), over my inability to plan my day and organize my studies, over the unhealthy situation we had at home. My mother was getting more nervous and depressed herself, and we fought often, sometimes
over very trivial things. I was still not allowed to go out and was shut indoors most of the time, studying or at least pretending to do it.
I was tense inside and thought badly of myself. I felt I was upsetting my mother and wondered what could I be doing wrong and what I have to change about myself. I wanted to make her happy and be useful to her but didn't know how to do so. I'm normally not socially anxious, but I started to have panic attacks when I was to make a presentation or speak in class (maybe it's connected to the depression). In the end, I had to quit psychology and start studying English language and literature. I did this for three years while struggling with the depression. I thought that, since it was a much easier subject for me, it'd make things less stressful, but I was wrong. It did turn out easy, but I couldn't stand it - or rather, simply didn't care about it enough, which was worse. I was surprised how difficult it was to make myself study something that didn't matter to me, and that felt like an empty waste of time. I constantly had to make efforts over myself, but I was still bored (until then, I didn't know what "to suffer from boredom" really meant) and that in itself was torture. Group assignments were difficult. I had trouble understanding the point of them and didn't quite know how I should contribute. I and ended up either sitting silently and doing nothing at all while others did all the work, or, when they tried to get me to take part, I'd tell them they should do everything "how they see fit". I had trouble organizing my time and, though I taught myself to always check the notice boards and ask my friends whether there are any assignments coming up or anything else I have to do, things still get out of hand too easily sometimes.
In the third year of my studies I had a brush with the dean's office and was thrown out of the university; I later learned that they had no legal ground for doing so and probably just decided to take advantage of a person who appeared vulnerable enough. I spent quite a few years working as a translator until finally enrolling again last year.
As a teen I continued to fantasize in the same way as I did when I was a child. By the time I was 16 I was using it more as a sort of escape, and did it a lot more than I used to earlier. I still liked pacing to music, but I'd delve into my worlds whenever I got the chance - while walking, on the bus and so on. I had an imaginary friend and liked to think about the most elaborate situations involving him. Around the time I turned 19, I made an effort over myself and stopped fantasizing, and started to channel my stress and my feelings into writing and drawing instead.
Nearly two years ago, I had a period of rapid cycling and a (hypo)manic episode again, and was diagnosed was BPD. This helped put many of the things that happened to me into perspective, but many others still seemed not to fit. I was increasingly aware of other people calling me strange (even if only affectionately); I wondered why it was so, since so many of the things I did or felt have always seemed natural to me. At the same time, I too was starting to feel there was something distinctly different about me. Some time ago, I met a woman with AS and she remarked once that I acted somewhat "autistic", as if I was AS/HFA too, and this had me curious. I started to research AS in various books, and realized that I match the description in many ways. I don't think I want to go to a specialist to see if I really have it or not, and to receive a formal diagnosis if I do. I've had a few nasty experiences with the mental health system which put me off seeing an MHP again somewhat. But if I do have AS, it'd certainly explain a lot of the strangeness and the things I had to cope with throughout this time.
30 Dec 2006, 3:14 pm
