My travels on the Asperger path have shifted. I’m still travelling but I have left some baggage somewhere. My diagnosis has disappeared from my mind.
I started this journey because of it. That label was hung, albatross style, so the world could see my pain, my shame and my hurt. The diagnosis became my symbol. It was never the problem, nor was the syndrome. I was running away from the hurt that was caused in the process.
My hurt is healed. I forgive those who probed and delved into the private spaces of my psyche. Forgiveness too for those who made me doubt myself and left me second guessing every situation. My career was taken but my skills were not. I am in a different place. I am a different person.
In fact, I am almost the person I was before all this diagnosis thing happened. Happy and able to be lost in my own thoughts, I had forgotten the joy of being me. I allowed my differences to medicalised and categorised. I am too magnificent to be captured by one word. The landscape of my interior is stunning, bleak and beautiful. I have reclaimed it because I am not Asperger’s, I am my own special creation.
I live in a war zone. Not the tragic carnage that causes death or refugees, but more a civil war carried out in the hinterlands of my psyche. Understanding where we have been can help us decide where we are going.
The first phase of my life was cold. I never saw love and so never learnt love. I was missing a vital organ and bleeding but no one knew, not even me. In this emotional Siberia, I learned that doubt can conquer ability and hope is easily choked by regret. My childhood was survived but the scarring was never soothed and the livid welts remain.
The second phase was a stagnant surrender. I gave up my dreams, my happiness and even my sense of self in order to assimilate. A great pretender I thought that if I looked happy, I could be happy. I became chameleon in my eagerness to please. However because my offers were empty, they were rightly rejected. My heart grew dark and seething grudges found homes in the cavernous silence.
Then I thought about reconciliation. I read that an adult hurting hurts others. I was told I needed to break the cycle. This journey was long and torturous. In order to change I needed to move. My life was built and destroyed over and again. Each success was bigger but merely meant the fall came harder.
Finally I realised there was no resolution. I am not a fairy tale prince and I won’t live happily ever after. Once the architect of failure, I have stopped building. I live in a now that is formless and temporary. There is no plan, no great design and no success criteria. I have that learnt that my life will be all journey and no destination. This path I limp along is mine. It was not chosen but neither was it preordained. It has been shaped by my responses. My life will always be fight and flight. I am both soldier and refugee. In flight, I feel a strange power and without love I have become one of life’s fighters.