I should know…I’m a Generation X who had to grin and bear it…

This is my story. As a Generation Xer, born to the Silent Generation parents – who did nothing to nurture me, comfort me nor show love, compassion or caring -I have a tale to tell. It turns out unbeknownst to me I was diagnosed at 2 years old with a PDD, high- functioning on the Autism spectrum. From there, the doctor wanted to do further testing, therapy – but No!!! My parents weren’t going to pay for that! (Oh, heck no they wanted all money for themselves. But that’s another story.) So no, special treatment for me. No help from teachers or specialists to help me progress. To help me understand, to help my fears to help me fit in. No. None. Nothing. In fact, my real diagnosis – though brief was concealed from me until I was 30 years old. You read that right. And I was told this by my Mother in one of her fits of anger and rage. I was left uncertain if what she said was true. She’s a classic refrigerator Mom. She never told any of us she loved us. Nor were we kissed, cuddled nor coddled. Just told to get away from her – she’s “busy.” My Father could have cared less about any of us. He never interacted with any of us, because he thought he was a “rock star.” Yes, for real.

What I remember Most Of My Childhood…

Rocking back and forth, constantly. For hours and hours on end. When I became drowsy, I’d bang my head into my pillow for hours until I fell asleep. When I was finally noticed/caught, my older Baby Boomer brother would mock me and punch me to stop. My older Boomer sister would shake me. But my Father would yell and say ‘Knock it off!’. Mom would yell to stop or make me get into the rocking chair. It was an open secret, but one that was never discussed, nor allowed to be shown to others. My parents drilled into me to never, ever, EVER let anyone else witness how I acted. Or else. We had to project the perfect family unit. When they were gone – which was every weekend (Dad thought he was a rock star, remember) I would stand and rock side to side and hum for hours. Make no mistake, I loved this, rocking and banging my head. This was THE only relaxation I got. And full confession. I banged my head until I was 26 years old. I rocked until I was 39 years old. I had to force myself off out it. (That will be discussed later.)

NOT Communicating Well.. I was always and still am to some extent, very afraid to speak to adults. I know that some of it is due to my rearing, but mostly because of the awkwardness. Because of that, and the realization that my parents didn’t care what I was going through, I took a lot of verbal abuse from other kids – and my other siblings.

Forced To Go To School..

No special classes for me. Oh, no, I had to be integrated with other kids. All was well for the first 5 years of grade school until 6TH grade. Suddenly, the other girls and boys were focused on topics I didn’t quite understand. The girls focused on their appearance. Trying to speak and act prissy toh get the boys attention. The boys also wanted to know which girls liked them. But I could have cared less about any of that. I was just stuck. Stuck, like I always have been. Caught up in one way, space, time or topic. And there I would stay. At school, to calm down either on the bus, or at the desk I had to constantly swing my feet. Of course, I endure TONS of ridicule and correction because of that.

Stuck. Hollow.Alone.

Conversations that my peers wanted to hold – meant nothing to me, nor did they hold any interest. At home, I sought out my younger neighbors to continue playing like I always had. I could ride bikes, play in the woods or play with their toys. (I never had any of my own). Because I would get frustrated and angry, sometimes I would be abusive to the younger kids. This got me into trouble twice with those parents. Those kids had parents that cared. My didn’t, so I was soon left friendless. I started playing with my older sisters hand me down doll, in secret. I would “act out” that I was the parent and no matter how the doll begged for me to love him and spend time with him, I’d beat his butt and tell the doll to get away. I did this for YEARS until I was thirteen easy. I’d hide secretly, and make that doll grovel, beg for my parental love, but no – he’d never, ever get it. But he got plenty of spankings and verbal abuse. At school, I’d find myself just tagging far behind the other kids on the playground. Mostly because they would mock me, because back then you would be called a tub of lard, or a beached whale if you were 5 pounds overweight. You read that right, too! Five Pounds!!! You were a fat – a**. Nowadays, I’m considered thin!!! I mean this. You haven’t a clue how cruel everyone was about this. And I stress only 5 pounds overweight.

Taught Morals By Sesame Street And Catholic School – Thank GOD!!!

I would never have been able to keep my anger and temper in check, if it weren’t for the morals taught by the Sisters and Priests, Bert, Ernie, Grover, Cookie Monster or Bob. PERIOD. And I thank them for it. Also Little House On The Prairie and Family. Thank you Kristy McNichol. I dreamed of a better world through those shows. I memorized all kinds of trivia about any teen idol, I could draw just about anything on scraps of paper or bags. I was never supplied anything except from school. Only to hear my Dad tell my older brother when he asked why we weren’t like The Waltons? “That’s not real. No family talks like that.” Oh, I beg to differ. The other kids at school had parents who came for events, to kids Masses, who participated in field trips. My only other refuge was my discovery of the band Kiss. Kiss kept me company through those tough years – and as any trur fan knows, only brought on more ridicule.

Any time alone at night in my room. I would rock sitting Indian style for hours on end. In the summer, it would be in front of the box fan. I would day dream my life away. I was always myself, but in a different setting. Usually, a mother figure who would come look for me out of concern, while I was off saving the world from bullies. (Whatever scenario I had just seen on TV that made an impression would be that week’s continuous daydream). This went on until I was 30 years old.

For many years, (even now I wonder) I felt hollow – like if I were to be cut open only a black empty void would exist inside. Like an automaton sometimes. Just going through the program, the actions, the motions of what is expected of me. Poems, love songs mean nothing to me. And they never will. When I’m forced to hug anyone, I feel – nothing. I’m not fond of being touched. I really don’t like it. I’m sure I could have learned to accept these early on, but I was left alone on my own to figure out this life. I excelled in art (I’m a natural artist) I loved history (I’m a non-fiction reader) and music. These all fascinated me, and again gave me comfort.

Huge Fear Of High School Transition

My Catholic school ended at 8TH grade, forcing my into public school. My parents never planned for any of us to attend Catholic High School, let alone any College or future hopes. So I was thrust into public school only 5 days before class began. My Mom didn’t want to be bothered enrolling me in a timely manner, so I came to school not knowing where ANY classrooms were. All of the so-called childhood friends shunned me because I wasn’t wearing any fashion – only Mom’s and my older sisters hand me downs. Mom needed the money for her flowers. She wanted to impress the neighbors with her yard and home to give the appearance that we had money. My parents could care less about our present or our futures. I walked alone in High School for at least 3 weeks every day at lunch break. Until I heard girls snickering at me saying “All she does is walk. She doesn’t have any friends.” After that I hid in the library during lunch until one boy said: “Why is she always in here?” The teacher hushed him. And I then started rotating hiding by going into various restrooms – in and out until classes resumed. Where were my former Catholic classmates? Oh, I tried the first day to sit with them at lunch. They glared at each other and rolled their eyes, suppressing a chuckle. (FYI- one is now a spinster, the other- still homely, wears her make-up with a trowel and is married to a MUTT!!!) Oh, and my neighborhood child friend? She ignored me COMPLETELY for four years until she needed to sell for her class fundraiser. But that’s another sad story…

Meanwhile, because I was accustomed to bullying, shunning and being unwanted I didn’t totally understand when I was told to get away. I thought those mean kids said it the way my family did. It meant get out of here but still be on the radar. Oh, no, they meant don’t come over again. So finally, relief came I thought, when about two months into school I was called over by a former classmate. She only attended four years of Catholic School but remembered me. She wanted me to hang with her and two of her friends. I did and was very relieved. But one of her friends was a HUGE morbidly obese girl would stand 5′ 9 inches tall and had to have weighed 450 pounds. She was disgusting. Super huge and gross. She was a HUGE bully. I had learned long ago to buy friends. I had stumbled across on a whim, bringing a huge bag of lifesaver suckers to school. Those swirled pops. I became very popular when I had something to share. So, I had brought a huge Cadbury Carmello bar to school to share. Big girl then demanded that I bring her one every week or I couldn’t hang around with them. I’m not kidding. That HUGE girl gave me this ultimatum. I didn’t bring it. She and the friends gathered around me and said: “I told you if you didn’t bring it, you’re not hanging around us.” Again, by the skin of my teeth an acquaintance overheard and said, “Come with me.” I did. She didn’t have any lunch money. So, every day, I gave her mine. So, for the next year, I hung around a huge burnout at school. We never did anything after school, nor did I ever call her nor me. We never really spoke. I just gave her my lunch money, so I wasn’t alone. You have no idea of the loneliness I felt. Of the fear. Of the anxiety of having to go to school. I hope no one ever goes through that. I had no prospects or hopes for a future. Only my daydreams. Because I’m from a rural area, I was able to attend a trade high school for my final two years. Actually, my mom told me I had to go, because I was not going to college. My older sister told me which class to take. She also insisted that my mom allow her to buy my school clothes. My sister sought out to reinvent me. She knew my issues; she knew our parents never gave me proper care. Both my older brother and sister left home as soon as they had established themselves, so home life became even scarier.

Vocational School

Because my classes were centered around my chosen trade – graphic arts, I excelled. My grades were great and our classes were only about 24 students. Much more like what I was used to at my Catholic School. There were cliques of course, but because of my makeover, I won an early friend. She was talkative, so I just went along for the ride. She did come over to my home several times for a day visit. But, sadly she moved after our Junior year. So come Senior time, I was alone again. And the same thing, shunned by so-called friends until finally the work program. Now, the last 6 months of the years we all worked part-time. Of course, I was one of the last to go to work. I had no car. I was deathly afraid to drive because of my wicked mother screaming at me while trying to drive just down the road. Once again, my older sister procured me a job – but with one other student. So, low and behold another mean girl SUDDENLY became my friend, offered to drive just so she could get a job.

Every day, she drove me into work acting all nice. I by then, became enlightened. But still bewildered by the job. I didn’t quite get it; I still did not fully believe that I was really expected to go to work. And go to work doing something that I didn’t enjoy or want. I really thought that someone a teacher – my mother – my father, would put me into a program to hone my artistic abilities. Or to pursue my archaeological interests. I wasn’t prepared for “this is it.” Everything I’ve endured has been against my grain. How could all of my hopes, fantasies be just left empty. My parents never even asked, nor showed an interest in anything about me. No, I was left to rot alone in my room. And that’s what I did. I was so petrified. Constantly under scrutiny. From my family throughout my childhood, in school and now FORCED to withstand it in the workplace. I was given no choice.

Graduation – Totally Lost

My older sister once more got me into her latest workplace. Without an interview, I was to show up at 6:00 A.M. My sister picked me up at 4:30 A.M. and I had to go to work. Terrified. Nervous, shaking. Me who could never even speak to an adult, had to go to work for 10 – 12 hours each day plus half day Saturday. And this printing shop was 1 and 1 half hours away from home. I was exhausted, I couldn’t sleep. It was technical and I was under intense scrutiny. I was 19 years old. Even writing this, I’d would never be able to fully express my utter disappointment in my life.

Workforce Misery

Put under a magnifying glass. Every imperfection scrutinized, corrected. With fiendish delight I was nitpicked by almost every co-worker. Why? Because of my condition I was a perfectionist. I RARELY made a minor mistake. So, envy ensued. Conspiracy – literally. Especially by those co-workers I was fond of. I had no idea until it was much too late. Because of my preciseness, I was made Department Assistant. Again, this brought on mutterings. After many years I gained confidence and began finding other positions, closer to home with better pay. These same scenarios occurred in every company. Over and over. And still do to this day. When I’m focused, the job or task must be completed correctly. And most subpar employees resent me. I can’t even begin to go into all of my so-called friends who conspired against me for their benefit. It took me an extremely long time – decades to try and figure out why.

ENVY – JEALOUSY- Because of my attempts at success! Yes, strange as it may seem, someone trusted confided in me that in years past, co-workers were envious of me because; I became friendly with male co-workers. The fact that I could be friends ONLY, was off-putting to others. Also my creative talents inspired jealousy – so much so that ONLY management gave me compliments. In addition, unbeknownst to me, I was considered attractive, nay, sexy by my male counterparts – which of course escaped me altogether. Because of the sum total of these occurrences I have never, ever had a best friend. And boy did I want one. I prayed for one. But each time, they would take advantage of me or back stab. So, I just started having male friends. If I wanted to go or do something, I recruited a male co-worker. I never had any problems, until they would get a girlfriend. But, there was no shortage of single male co-workers, so on to the next!

The Opposite Sex

I’ve always felt unworthy, not correct or right inside, and of course outside. I wasn’t good enough. That with the fact that my PDD Autism (though I was unaware of this) makes me process things much differently. Again, I stress love poems, sappy love songs -almost every song is a love song – to me were alien. I knew that certain men were very attractive, even sexy, but I knew that I would never be able to do anything with them. But I listened to most of their woes. I understood them. I feel it’s because I’m more analytical than emotional (besides anger). A lot of rumors swirled around me that I was gay, because I was always alone or just with “male friends.” Human love means nothing to me. I have pets whom I love and care for. Many who are my home, my little friends. I ‘love’ my family because God wants me to. I’m not sure to this day if I ‘love’ my friends, or if I’m just accustomed to them. It’s not something I think about, ever.

This Pattern Went On For Years…

I get stuck a lot. I repeat what feels comfortable to me over and over. I repeat phrases over, too, until people tell me to “stop saying that, you say it constantly.” Can you imagine a co-worker saying that to you in this day and age? I got it so-many times. So I did what I learned to do. Stop going near that person. That person was not a friend. I knew by the time I was thirty that I needed to find a way out of this life. I couldn’t foresee being working class and not pursuing my true talents. Big mistake. If I even expressed any rebuttals to my mom it was a big issue. In the course trying to ask for any guidance she blurted out that I have autism and I need counselling. If I didn’t have proof of an appointment the next day – she would have me checked into a hospital. Scared beyond fear, I called my work insurance and went for 6 weeks. I was so ashamed and embarrassed. I had never spoken to anyone about myself before. The psychologist asked me a series of leading questions. In one of them I told her why I had to come there. She asked me “Oh, are you autistic?” I had no real idea. All I knew is that it was a shameful, dirty word. You were really a lost cause if you had that. Like everything in my life I suppressed it. Until…

Mom Mentions Autism Again…this time in front of my sister years later. I was speechless. Mom had watched an Oprah episode and decided it was time to be open about me. I didn’t know how to react, so I just listened. Late at night I searched for info on the internet careful not to be seen. I was so very frightened by what I discovered. All of the characteristics, most I have. Also some testimonies on dedicated sites. At the time, there was NO way I would have ever dared to write anything, nor talked to anyone. Let alone divulge my deepest secrets. But here were these people similar to me sharing their experiences. I was so ashamed, embarrassed, to even presume that someone would care enough to know about me. Why would these others feel that anyone would care about their circumstances? It mystified me. Who did they think they are? Why did they feel worthy? Though it took years, I’ve learned the answer why.

Tried Living Alone

I attempted to live alone three times, but each ended with my fear of being isolated, not by myself but fear of being overcome by illness/disease. I essentially panicked due to thoughts of being alone in old age with no one to claim me. Then I would be institutionalized and left to die alone and locked up. I ended up having to ask to come back home. Though I was not wanted and was used to the hesitation – the power over me by my controlling self-centered, self-absorbed parents, I meekly, quietly came home. Certainly, per usual I stayed in my room and rocked every spare moment. I would bang my head into my pillow when I knew they weren’t at home. Unexpectedly, was caught by my mother and told I had better stop-or else. I tried to be discreet, so instead at night I began wagging my foot over the side of the bed until I drifted asleep. Eventually I was able to stop altogether. Rocking was much harder to stop. I later discovered that all of my actions were me decompressing. I agree and I can’t quite express the places that doing these things would take me. Yes, I was physically present, but yet my whole ‘person’ was elsewhere in whatever faraway place I thought of. This was my life.

My Peers Moved On…

All of those my age were marrying, buying homes, some starting families. Since I had even less now in common, any “friends” were even fewer and far between. Once more – I turned to younger acquaintances for any companionship. Because of my mentality/condition I looked much younger than I was, so this was never a problem. As more of the younger set moved on, I realized again that I was different. Becoming fearful once more, I decided maybe to pray and hope that God would help. I was always respectful but terrified of God’s wrath. I felt I was unworthy to ask personal favors. So, instead I asked Mother Mary if it were possible, if she felt I could do it, if I were worthy, did she know of any man who would understand me? Anyone who would want me? Anyone who would take care of me and vice versa? And I was answered very quickly. I feel that this really was a miracle granted to me. A mercy shown. We’ve been together 14 years. He’s tried to understand me. He’s worked with me. He’s patient. He lets me know if I’m becoming stuck. He explains when I just do not understand situations or conversations held in social circles, that I interpret another way. He’s also very physically beautiful. He’s a gentle soul. I’m very grateful, because I will not be alone. He understands that saying ‘I love you’ doesn’t hold meaning for me. I keep our relationship in perspective by thinking how it would be if he were to die. To me, a sadness must then be a ‘love.’

Socialization

I’ve tried to hone my social skills over the years, and yes, they are lacking. I’ve never enjoyed small talk; I like to say what’s needed and move on. I’m big on brevity, I also abhor personal questions, yet I understand that this is an integral part of society. I’m not adept, so I was able to find a profession that affords me the great freedom of working alone. I still interact with clients, but it is minimal and therefore doable. I go to extremes to earn a decent living but for me, I mostly avoid those awful judgmental, situations of the past.

Resentful Of Autism Awareness

Yes, I am. Why? Because I never received any assistance. I was repressed. If I had to conform, so can they. If I had to work, so can they. If I had to learn how to speak, so can they. Yes, I know it’s my anger. Yes, I know it’s wrong of me. Yes, I need to calm down. I know I need to move forward. I thoroughly do understand the missing puzzle pieces from the Autism logo. I completely understand the magnitude of never experiencing life like most ‘normal’ people. The fullness of life. I could expand on things, situations, scenarios, but it’s difficult for others to comprehend fully. Also, I’ve always been very aware that truth be told, most could care less. For instance, it took all of the courage I had to tell an old neighborhood ‘friend’ that I have Autism. This, I had hoped, would give some explanation to her about my actions all of these years. I literally had to fight back the tears telling her, I was so ashamed and embarrassed. The next visit I had with her I was nervous about seeing her after the ‘talk.’ And guess what she asked; “What did you say you had again?” Yes, really.