Many of the traits that we recognise as ‘Aspergic’ were observed by Hans Asperger in 1944, but the syndrome wasn’t given official recognition until around 1994.
In 1994 I was six years old, and my parents could tell that there was something different about me; they’d heard about Aspergers Syndrome three or four years earlier when my Dad was involved in the early NLP research, and working with Tony Buzan, as well as from one of my cousins who was training to be a mental health nurse (her older sister is severely mentally handicapped).
No one believed them. I was labelled as ‘spoilt’, and ‘difficult’ and ‘anti-social’ as early as kindergarten. My teachers picked on me for being slow to understand verbal instructions; I can’t remember how many times I had detention (in primary school) for not completing my class work.
Unlike most Aspergic children, I showed no particular interest or skill in math (my younger sister is the mathematical genius), or science: the areas in which we are supposed to excel. Neither did I appear to have any interest or talent in art: the only creative subject I ever did well in was creative writing. The only subjects I ever enjoyed were history and dance- I was possibly the least co-ordinated child in any of my schools, but I started ballet age three, and after a few years of HATE I discovered that I love to just move.
At age eleven, after two awful months at senior school, my parents took me to see a psychiatrist because I was depressed. Shortly afterwards I got referred to a child psychoanalyst, who in turn handed me over to the nice people who test for things like autistic spectrum disorders (ASD), of which Aspergers Syndrome is one. They told us that ASDs get increasingly difficult to test for once you pass the age of about six, and that it’s almost impossible to get a concrete diagnosis after you reach twelve-years-old.
Six months later I had my diagnosis: Aspergers Syndrome. I had a label, and we had something official to take to my school and shout HEY, LISTEN TO US THIS TIME, JACKASSES.
They didn’t, and I left, less that six months after I began there.
My parents homeschooled me for two years. I wouldn’t be half the person I am today- wouldn’t have the ability to sit here writing this- if it wasn’t for the effort they put in during those years. It was a hard time, for all of us: Not only was I trying to learn how to be ‘normal’ (and I hated some of the things I had to learn, like making eye contact with people), but I was twelve and spending every single day with my parents (look me straight in the eye and tell me that wouldn’t have made you a little crazy?) As maddeningly frustrating as it was at times, I cannot thank my parents enough for those two years.
I moved from Hertfordshire to West Sussex just after I turned thirteen, and I went back to school. It was better than it had been, but still not great. I had three great friends, but they were a little, well, weird themselves, and I got bullied a lot. About halfway through the year, I made the decision to apply to the private school in the same town, the one that my sister had just started at.
It was the best decision that I ever made, and the two years I spent doing my GCSEs there are my argument against the people who think that private education should be abolished. The school were amazing. I was assigned an educational psychologist to see me every week and help me catch up with work that I hadn’t understood because it hadn’t been explained in the right way. They arranged for me to take an assessment that would give me extra time and a laptop in exams. I didn’t like any of the girls particularly, but that was okay with me. I didn’t have to worry about bullies, or getting into trouble because I didn’t understand the work I was given. I loved it. I passed all my exams, and even got two As. I went to college.
I had chosen entirely the wrong subjects. I didn’t know anyone going there. I wasn’t prepared for the amount of independent learning that we were expected to do, and so I dropped out after six months; but that was my own mistake. The college themselves were fantastic (and they gave me my own laptop for classes!)
I spent the next two years in a variety of jobs, mostly working at TESCO until I looked around and saw all the people who work there all day, every day, and probably will for the rest of their lives, and I realised that I don’t want that to be me. I applied for a different, bigger college, where lots of people I knew were going to be in the same year as me and in the year above me. I originally applied to do a vocational course in Performing Arts, but I changed my mind. I still do that course, but I take the two-A level equivalent, rather than the three, and I take modern history and classical civilisations.
I’m nineteen, nearly twenty. I go to college with people two years younger than me. I completely screwed up my AS exams. I have some amazing friends, and some not-so-amazing friends. If they didn’t know that I was autistic, I doubt that the casual observer would ever guess it. I don’t write anymore, I’m still terrible at math (and my sister is still a genius), but I take awesome photographs.
It’s been a long, hard road (that might possibly have detoured up some mountains), and the end isn’t in sight yet, but you know what? I’m normal. Quirky, and a little obsessive, but hey, we all have our ‘things’.
I want to help people who are dealing with Aspergers Syndrome, either themselves or with their children. That’s what all this is about. I want to know what you want to know. I’ll answer any question, no matter how big or small you think it is, because the books out there are great, but you can’t ask them personal questions, can you?
My answer probably wont be text-book, because I can only go from what I know of myself, what my parents tell me, and what I’ve read, but I’d like it to help.
Aspergers Syndrome isn’t the end of the world. It’s just a new one.
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