Much to my shock I realised that I could be autistic when I was 53, roughly 7 years ago. And it was a shock, even though I suspect a very small, well hidden and very much ignored part of me, might have suspected. No one told me about it, or suggested that it might be the case. I did not see myself in relatives, the way so many of us do. I just happened to come across an autism test online and for no particular reason, took it.
It was that, that started me on my path to realising and finally accepting the truth that I was autistic. But, looking back, I sometimes find it hard to understand how I didn't know earlier. So much of my life now, just screams autism at me. But even ignoring the horribly ableist and medieval view I had of what autism was, the main reason why I didn't was probably because I could mask, both from myself and others, so well.
It was, I realise now, a life lived in denial. A denial of how much things bothered me, how much effort I had to put into things. Even a denial of the things I knew I couldn't do. Because this is the thing about appearing to mask so well, for so long. It is, in a sense, a lie. I couldn't mask well, if at all. Not all the time. Not in all situations or circumstances. There were things I just couldn't cope with, or even begin to deal with. But the trick was, that I either knew about them, or learnt the hard way about them and then I could manage my life to avoid them. Because they were things I could live without, without affecting how I appeared to be coping. Things that didn't affect the way I lived, even if they did affect my sense of worth. Because, how broken did you have to be, not to be able to go to crowded events, like a sports match, or a concert? Or to be able to deal with the socialising of a large gathering, or a family event, without having to hide in the kitchen, or forever outside, or break down in a toilet?
It was all part of how I masked myself from myself. The internal masking, as I like to call it. If I couldn't cope, then I was broken. If I couldn't stand something, then I was too picky, or sensitive, or I simply needed to learn to ignore it. And somehow I did learn. I learnt how to cope with noise and smell and visual overwhelm. I learnt to not let things bother me. To a point at least. There was always a step too far, when I couldn't, or didn't have the energy any more to maintain it. And this did take energy, a lot of it. Something I've only realising now that I don't have the energy to spare to even try it. Or the ability to, in many respects now that I know what I was trying so desperately to hide from.
Because when the truth is known, it's far harder to deny it. It's far harder to live the life where appearing to cope, is as good as coping. Where blaming yourself, is easier than seeing others faults. Where ignoring the pain, makes the pain go away. It's hard to see the mask as a benefit and always a good thing, rather than the shield and tool it always was.
