Tag Archives: Therapy

I Know You Are, But What Am I?

So, for the past couple of months, ever since the diagnosis, I’ve been working coming to terms with the whole thing, and learning how to manage the autism. Which is not what I meant. Yes, I do have to come to terms with being neuro-atypical, but given that I’ve managed to get this far while not knowing I was autistic means that I have already developed ways of dealing with it. Maybe not always the best ones, and now I have an explanation for why I am the way I am, so that’s good.

The thing about being in therapy, for me, is what you (can) learn about yourself. I’ve come out as both bi and ace in the past couple of months. It feels a bit odd, to be experimenting when you’re in your mid-30’s. And it’s not even experimenting per se. More things I’ve discovered about myself recently. Still, there’s the thought that at this age you’re supposed to have figured yourself out. But I guess not. It’s only been about 6 months since I found out I have autism, so apparently it’s never too late to find out new things about yourself.

Like the realisation that you’re not as cis as you’ve always thought you were. This is not me coming out as being male. This is me coming out as not being female. I don’t really identify as one or the other. I don’t mind being called a woman. I like being called a man, mostly because it’s a sign that I don’t come across as my sex, if that makes sense. (I had to go maintenance the other day because of equipment-trouble, and they called me a man the entire time when talking between themselves, and talking to my supervisor about me. I have short hair, and at that time a super-low voice because of a cold. It made me feel all giddy inside. The being gendered as male, not the cold. Colds just suck.)

My gender-identity is something I still haven’t worked out. For now I would call myself non-binary, neither one nor the other. Still me, of course, regardless of pronouns (she/her are still fine).

Of course, this is all up to change. Maybe it’s just an effect of therapy and the things I work on in there, that my head is in such a state of flux that I am questioning even what doesn’t need to be questioned. On the other hand, if my gender-identity doesn’t need to be questioned, then that doesn’t explain why I am in the process of doing so. sighs It makes you wonder how other people deal with this kind of thing. Are they putting this much time and effort into determining who they are, or do they just know? A somewhat pointless question in the end, because people’s struggles are their own.

Maybe I should bring it up during my next therapy-session.


And now, we wait

Have the autism-thing tomorrow, where they’ll tell me whether I am on the spectrum or not. If you ask me, then no, I am not, but I am not sure how I can tell if I am right. So we’ll just leave it to the professionals.

Not that I am looking forward to it. My therapist will also be there, so that the results (in the case that I am on the spectrum) can be incorporated into my treatment. On the whole, I am not sure what I am feeling about the whole thing. Something, I guess. I am just not sure what I am feeling. Some apprehension, yes, and I am already a bit nervous about it. Not so much about the diagnosis itself, though. Just everything surrounding it. The diagnosis itself…, eh, whatever it turns out to be, I am sure I’ll deal with it. Or learn how to deal with it. And that’s about the best thing I can say about it. We’ll just have to wait and see.

So, I am depressed

The diagnosis has been established this time last year, but it took a long time before I got any kind of treatment. Waiting-lists and all that. To be more accurate, I score high on symptoms from the depressive spectrum. I don’t know why the change. Maybe because of the DSM-V? I can’t say that I care all that much. It’s something to be getting on with, and that’s the main point.

I went into the doctor’s office with this complaint, this suspicion that the depression had come back, or resurfaced from 9 years ago, in August 2014. A while ago, I agree. I don’t like that it’s taken this long either. I get that there’s waiting-lists, but I don’t have to like it. It feels almost disrespectful of those who need help.

I went in in August, but I didn’t get tested until January 2015. In the meantime, while I was waiting for that to happen, I did see someone at the GP’s office. Sort of like a liaison-officer, for want of a better term, between the GP and the mental health-professionals.

Anyway, I got the diagnosis, and then I had to wait again. I had been placed on a waiting-list for treatment, and I got called for another intake in September, I think. I didn’t get my anti-depressants, which I am on because I need them to stop the negative thoughts that are part and parcel of a depression, until December 2015. Therapy started this past January.

I spent more than a year to get this far. *sighs* I don’t like that anymore than other people would, and I can’t say in all honesty that the wait was worth it. I mean, the meds work, and so does the therapy, but still, it’s not something that I would care to repeat anytime soon.

Annnd, I am stalling. Circumventing the issue. It’s not the waiting that I wanted to talk about, even though it’s been an annoyance. It’s more why I waited this long to tell other people. In short, it’s because I’ve been ashamed. As I said, I’ve dealt with depression about 10 years ago. I don’t remember much about that time. I don’t have many records of it either.

It feels…odd, and as something that I shouldn’t be having to deal with again, that I am depressed (still, again. I don’t know that I can say that I was healed back then. Dealt with it, maybe, but not over it the way you can get over a broken bone.)

Ashamed that I am not neurotypical, and right now can’t say that I ever will be. It’s not that I am afraid of being dependant on the meds, because if my fears are right and this is a chronic thing, it would be the same as having to take meds to handle one’s diabetes.

Just ashamed that I have this, really. I know that this is not the end-all be-all of who and what I am. I am more than just this depressive state, this illness, this disorder. That doesn’t make it any easier to deal with,  not right now.

But I can’t hide this either. It’s not something that I can deal with alone. True, this is what the depression would like, to keep you alone and away from other people. Because it doesn’t want you to get better. It just wants you to suffer. Because it’s a jerk.