VII- When your autistic protagonist is just like you, but you aren’t autistic…right?
I’m not.
I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m not.
I was never labeled as such as a child, never even had the possibility come up. The only reason I’m questioning now is because of the research I’ve done writing Saeli (and Cinder, but mostly Saeli), and how much writing Saeli is just writing me. She thinks the way I do in situations, she reacts to things like I would (or would want to), and even the specifically autistic traits I gave her aren’t completely beyond the pale of something I might do (or feel the urge to do). Is that enough? How does it work?
People who go on as adults to seek a diagnosis…how do you know? Do you just feel it, somewhere deep in your heart? Do you mentally go over everything that happened to you as a kid and ask, “Was this normal?” Do you fear being wrong? Specifically, do you fear that you’re secretly someone who wants to be autistic because “neurospicy is cool on the interwebs” right now? If you’re 99% sure every loved one in your life would answer the question “is she autistic?” with some variation of “what? no?? of course not???”, does that mean you’re probably not? Self-diagnosis is a thing, but how much conviction do you have to have in your soul before you can claim something publicly?
Things that make me think I’m just over-internalizing my research:
I don’t have stomach or digestion issues
I can function in loud, colorful, overstimulating spaces (I don’t like it, but who does?)
Clothing textures don’t bother me, ie, tags in clothing are annoying but ignorable, starched clothing is uncomfortable but I can wear it
I can read facial expressions. I’ve never had a problem recognizing when something is a joke. I usually know when something is meant literally or figuratively.
I don’t stim uncontrollably*
I don’t have meltdowns**
All of the symptoms I have, I feel could be attributed to other things
Things that make me wonder:
I’ve always been a frustratingly picky eater. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve branched out a little, but also discovered many of my “squicks” are texture-based. Plenty of foods make me physically gag.
I was an unusually quiet child, so much so that people coming over to our house would ask where I was and not believe my mom when she said I was playing in my room.
I don’t know how to react to jokes that are more complex than “hear funny thing, laugh”. Like, I can recognize kidding around, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do in response. (I remember one specific instance as a kid where one of my friend’s mother was jokingly pretending to be upset with a group of us, and I reacted in such a way that she felt the need to explain it was a joke and that she wasn’t actually mad. I don’t remember what my reaction was, but I do remember feeling awkward that she pulled me aside to explain that.)
I don’t do well with vague instructions or “find something to do, figure it out” sort of situations. I like tasks laid out clearly. Weird specific example: don’t give me a random, undisclosed amount of money thirty seconds before I need it and expect me to properly divvy it up, ie, “here’s a handful of odd, random bills, can you pay for the pizzas and tip the driver who is waiting right here for you to give them money and bring the rest back?” I will screw that up; I don’t know why, it’s happened on two separate occasions.
I hate socks. I hate the sensation of my toes being compressed. I hate collars for similar reasons.
I get unreasonably upset at minor things that feel targeted at me. Getting scratched while holding or petting my cats (not other cats; specifically my cats) feels like a betrayal, as does traffic making me late to something. Or if I’m trying to explain something and whoever I’m talking to just doesn’t get it. Obviously, it’s not personal, and it’s minor. My tear ducts do not seem to understand that.
If I make a plan for the day and something unexpected happens, I can’t simply move on with my day once the unexpected thing is dealt with. I’m cut loose, I have no idea what to do with myself. I make so many plans and schedules for myself, and have an almost impossible time keeping them because I woke up half an hour late, or we’re out of something and I have to run get it at 9am, or some other fifteen-minute errand needs doing.
Sometimes I catch myself staring very hard into space if I’m thinking about something, and it takes effort to stop even after I’ve noticed myself doing it. I call it my gaze getting “stuck”.
*If I’m not paying attention, I rock back and forth while standing and constantly jiggle my leg if I’m sitting. I feel weird if I don’t. I bit my nails constantly as a child. (However, I can make myself not do these things and still function fine.)
**Our son is about to go on a trip to Australia. I spent a super frustrating week trying to get his visa sorted out, which ended with me crying on my husband’s shoulder. With no prompting from me, he referred to this as a meltdown. But I feel like crying from built-up frustration is a thing that happens to neurotypical people, too?
I could go on in both columns. I have a million examples of me being a weird child, but are any of them proof I was an autistic one? Even laid out like this, I don’t know. How do you know?
How do you know??
Anyway, turns out Saeli hates super creamy cheese, and I don’t have to dig very deep to bring that across on the page.
