When anyone asked me if I was looking forward to some event or other, such as a visit or a trip away, (why is it called a ‘trip’ as in a falling over?) I couldn’t find any feeling of anticipation, nor excitement. And this has been the case for years. Although I longed to reciprocate the thrill in their eyes or their voice, all I saw were the problems around leaving home, even for a day, even, back a few months, when I only had to go shopping for food supplies. In short, I looked forward to nothing at all, even though I felt certain that I was not right, my head not right, that faulty wiring thing again. Until, that is, I discovered that I am autistic. I had never even considered it, felt far removed from what I believed autism to manifest in human form. I am extroverted, a crazy and colourful dresser, excellent at showing off, talking to strangers and one who loves physical contact. However, having read the book recommended to me by a doctor, called Unmasking Autism by Dr Devon Price, I found myself. There she is, all out-there, noisy, loving people, colourful, high functioning and not wired faulty at all. I never was. All those decades of counselling, of studying ‘self-help’ books on how to be a better fit, all those days and nights of angst and self-doubt, gone in the very moment I heard the diagnosis. I felt relief and immediately, because at last I am seen, recognised, respected. I felt my strength returning, even if I had almost no knowledge of what it means to be an autistic.

Overnight, it seems, I grew more confident in my my decisions. I know, now, that my dislike of chaos is perfectly fine, and the fact that I lived inside chaos for years and had small chance indeed of changing that, tells me how resilient I am and was. I know that, although I love people, that people are my absolute passion, I don’t like a whole load of them all together, nor do I like anyone coming too close, unless invited by me. I know that I need more rest times than ‘neuro-normal’ folk (who is ever ‘normal’?), that I don’t like being forced to stay when I want to leave, that my independence and solitude are very important to me and so on. All of these fit. I am not wrong. I am not disabled, but more unable to be what the world expects of my out-there, high functioning, colourful self. For the very first time since I was five years old, I am free, freed from the chains of stereotypical human-ness. I am unafraid of life. I can say, and with confidence, that I am looking forward to my travels, whether abroad or just into the little harbour town for avocados. I am more definite in my No and my Yes. When I wake each morning, the day is not a challenge, not a bank of potential troubles and worries, but a fascination of hours within which anything can happen, and so be it. Even when I meet a female adder in my garage, I feel excitement rising (as she did for a strike) for she is beautiful, all 3 feet of her, her markings breath-taking, the work of the Master Painter. She is lethal, yes, but only if I upset her, so I don’t. Nonetheless, I will be wearing thick gloves for weeding, just in case she still lurks.

It thinks me a lot. To find myself, even at 70, to know how well I lived inside a life that never really fit me, despite the depression, self-harming, insomnia, self-doubt and self-abuse, I know I am a strong and powerful woman, and not the misfit I had always believed myself to be. I feel no blame, no regret, no wish to go back and to do it all again, because it doesn’t matter to me. What matters is that now I am found and the glass is no longer dark. I am deeply thankful for all that research on autism and all other mental health states that now free all those of us who have felt trapped and faulty, perhaps for a whole lifetime. Understanding of Difference and the subsequent exposure of those differences to all people is progress. Recognition of how uniquely we are all wired and the acceptance of such will ripple out into work places, schools and colleges, homes and communities, changing lives as it tickles every shore. And I am glad of it.

In my youth, we were ignorant. Anyone showing ‘alternative’ behaviour was judged as mentally dodgy at best, shunned, marginalised, abused and hidden away at worst. Labels were handed out like sweeties. It wasn’t right but it happened anyway. Nowadays, a curious and questing person or two has dived into a probably aggressively resistant sea of research, and come up with treasure. We all are needed in this life, all of us, no matter who we are. People broken down by impossible expectations need to be seen, not judged and dismissed as weirdos. It is coming and there’s a looking forward to it. So, if you ever wonder who the hell you are inside a life that fits like a hair coat, I get you, and, sincerely, I hope you can find out who you are because the best freedom of all is to have the answer to that.