It's not my place to say Sinéad O'Connor was autistic. I'll say, unimportantly, that would make sense.
My shaking hands and heaving heart do want to say though that her death and the resultant conversations are, within me, bringing up loads of #AutisticTrauma .

I don't know if it's projection to suggest that her exquisite gentleness and sensitivity made her unyielding fierceness about uncomfortable truths so unforgiveable.

"Well, are you here for my pleasure or not?," the world seemed to greet her with.
Rather than respond within game, she'd repeatedly sound, "Here, here I am. Here is what I care about."

I am grieving the difficulty of her life. I am grieving her messages that still go unheard. I am grieving all the gentleness that never rose to meet hers (or mine).

Asking about autism during childhood:

"You're not autistic, we had you assessed when you were a baby."

"You showed all the symptoms, but fell just below the criteria for a diagnosis."

"You have a lot of the same tendencies as people on the spectrum, but I think you have social anxiety and maybe sensory processing disorder."

Asking about autism during my adulthood:

"No, you met the criteria for a diagnosis, but they didn't want to diagnose you."

"They said they didn't want to label you or have you deal with the stigma."

The other day, when I decided to look up the organization who I did occupational therapy with when I was ~2-5 years old:

"Research shows that behaviourally based intervention programs are the most effective way to teach ASD and foster functional life skills."

"The AIP (Autism Intervention Program) uses evidence based approaches that have been endorsed by [...] the Surgeon General of the United States."

I only remember a nice lady coming over a few times to help with my motor skills. I didn't know it was years of #ABA 😭

I guess that explains the intense masking and loss of identity, the grooming and abuse I experienced later in life, the anxious attachment style and fear of abandonment, the dependent personality disorder, the inability to make decisions, and all of my fucking trauma!

#ActuallyAutistic #AutisticTrauma #CPTSD

The other day I had a brief interaction w a stranger at the library. I adopted the persona I know people like: eye contact, smiling, friendly banter.

I charmed her. And she thought I was absolutely delightful.

It was both an act...and not an act.

And I have intensely conflicted feelings about that - who I am internally vs externally; the impact of #AutisticTrauma; how I feel about #autism & society.

It's complicated. 1/14

#ActuallyAutistic

@MistyMelanie This is very relatable – and I’m only leaving this reply here rather than just favouriting your posts because they empowered me to do so! 😊

#SocialAnxiety #AutisticTrauma

I've edited the first 2 posts to indicate this has turned into thread.

The difficult thing about #SocialAnxiety & #AutisticTrauma is that it builds up over time. Every social misstep; every painful & humiliating interaction. Each one just becomes another layer of #trauma in my brain.

The thicker that trauma gets, the more smothering it becomes. And I'm at a point where the fear & doubt is so all-consuming it's hard to even speak at all. 3/

#ActuallyAutistic

I've been working on the "basic human instinct" of "noticing what my body needs," so interoception kicked in first:

My throat hurts.

Per habit, my response was to curse the meatsack. (I also curse, generally, evopsych.) Often, resenting corporeal existence (and societal bullshit) is my *entire* response to noticing something awry.

But, I had an insight about this particular response the other night when I got fucked up:

Resentment is futile.

(Thank you to @HandgunYoga and Seven of Nine for leading me to this thought.)

So. Acknowledging the pain; abandoning my *resentment* of the *literal fact* of the pain; accepting the *basic human need* to *address* the pain; what next?

Next up was problem-solving brain (theory division): "Perhaps some distraction? Maybe I'll *notice* the pain less if I pour something over my throat."

Problem-solving brain (implementation division): "Maybe. ... Tea! Tea is an item in the cupboard. ... And it's a *known fact* that human beings drink tea *for* sore throats! GOOD JOB TEAM!"

I don't think this last bit was sarcastic (although I would accept sarcasm as a valid response to the epiphany that tea is good for throats). I think it legitimately took me getting fucked up the other night to reason my way to the belief I deserve this solution, same as other (corporeal) human beings.

That there is #AutisticTrauma.

But since I now believe resentment is futile *in relation to my meatsack too*, I am optimistic about my prospects for healing.