Misdiagnosed With Asperger's.

Yeah, bet that title got the Asperger's Syndrome sufferers blood up.

Most people have this idea that Asperger's is everywhere, and in fact, that the female portion of our populace just simply can't nail down a diagnosis anywhere.

Well, that's untrue for me. My doctors and Psychiatrists couldn't wait to nail that over-encompassing disease/disability to my impressionable little fifteen year old forehead.

And yeah, I'm a girl.

Well, in body. I'm also transgender, go figure.

I never thought the diagnosis of Asperger's fit. Not really. But at first, it was better than being told I had schizophrenia, so I went along with it. Trying to get in on diagnosing all my favorite authors, saying how intelligent Asperger's made me. At the time, Asperger's was stilla very new, faddy thing in my part of the world, so there was a lot of misinformation swimming about that I readily lapped up.

But it didn't fit.

Don't misunderstand me, the doctor that gave me the mis-diagnosis was very kind, and told me in a very kind way. He was just wrong. Very wrong, as it turns out.

I began labouring under the thought that I just wouldn't fit in if I tried. I was under the impression that I would never understand social settings and never have friends -- even though I did and do understand social interactions and settings, and did have friends.

But I was so run down by my depression, by my grandmother telling me how black and white I was, by my school telling me there was something wrong with my perception, by social workers chirpily telling me how to learn things I already knew -- etc, etc, that I began to shun anything and everything.

I stopped talking to my friends, I stopped talking to people, I hid in my room. I thought that even though there was never anything wrong with my social skills before, that they must have been so disgusting and my facial expressions so wrong, that I needed to keep myself hidden away, so as not to bother anyone else. I read books, I played computers, I became myopic from lack of sunlight. Fat. Spotty. Ground my perfect teeth to a pulp.

It went on like that for seven years.

Then I went to a psych. I talked to him at length, and even though I mistrusted psychs like the plague, I told him the truth. He was afraid for me. I even told him about the rapes, the one by my uncle when I was a kid, and the one in the bathroom stalls by my school bullies. I told him about the death threats the kids in primary school made, and how one day I barely escaped with my life, having been pushed in front of a school bus.

He asked me questions, he was very kind. He told me he thought that I didn't have aspergers. That my practicing facial expressions in the mirror was not the only way out of a life of darkness, that I instead had bipolar. That the medicine that the doctors had put me o for my Asperger's had sent me strange for a reason. That because I had been bullied, because I taught myself how to read at three years old, because I'd taught myself Spanish and Ancient Viking in Highschool, weren't good enough criteria to say I had this debilitating disorder.

I was bored, I was disillusioned, I was hurting, an they told me I was a social idiot and sent me home. After seven months of a hellish prison called Underage Mental Health Facilities.

I thought I'd killed my Uncle, my only father. I didn't know my father. My mother has schizophrenia, I was raised by my grandmother, my sister is in foster. The list could go on about how damaged I was at that age.

But no. Instead they jumped on the band wagon and gave me something that helped me none.

But you know the sickening, sickening thing?

When I got home, my grandmother didn't believe me. She dismissed me out of hand, and so did the rest of the family. I laboured two more years in teh dungeon that was my room, never seeing my friends again. I moved out soon after that. Then I stayed in my home. It's hard to get a job when you had to drop out of school because your grandmother sent you to a mental health facility.

It's hard to function when you're always tossing up if you have a personality disorder, when you're so close, so very, very very close to suicide, and no one knows. When you're not sure who's right.

When you don't write about social interactions, in case. In case you do have Asperger's and so you just simply would disgust anyone you came in contact with. I say write, because I do that sometimes. Even though it's hard to keep my attention on it. I was also diagnosed with an underactive thyroid at fifteen.

I don't speak to people any more. Just in case. I had a job, briefly, and I was so happy. But you know, you don't keep it, just in case. Just in case you deserve the money the government gives you for a diagnosis you're not sure you have.

I'm so close to suicide right now. I'm told I'm funny. I'm told I'm witty and charming. I'm told when I'm on, I'm on. I'm told lots of things. But no one really cares.

I feel so guilty, because of my diagnosis. Because my poor little cousins and several others have been diagnosed with Asperger's because of my Asperger's. They're so smart and talented. They display no signs of social retardation. Just low self esteem. Because they've been told they have social retardation. They don't even seem to have obsessions. It confounds me how people can do this to their children.

But please, there must be more than just me that's had to suffer through this. I want to go out and make friends again. But I'm scared.

This diagnoses has fu**** up my life. There has got to be someone out there suffering like I am.
RollingFish RollingFish
3 Responses Sep 26, 2012

not suffering like you my friend... but thinking about you.

Thank you. I wrote this a long time ago. I get a lot of really kind replies. I should really update this.

you seem like a nice person, despite all the sh1t youve had....one of the good'uns on here.

Thank you for sharing your story. It is enlightening. I hope your life is better now.

I'm so sorry. It seems like a whole lot of people have let you down, and that is f*cked up. You are obviously intelligent, so I say trust yourself. Maybe you do have a legitimate diagnosis & maybe you don't. It's sad to me that no one will give you a straight answer because it leaves you stuck, kind of in limbo. Guilt is an emotion that is a total waste of time. You didn't cause this to happen to your cousins, so let that go (easy for me to say, right?) And most importantly, If you feel like going out to meet people, go slow as to not feel overwhelmed, but get out there. You'll never know what's out there, or what you're missing if you don't venture out. It's a beautiful planet, the warm sun feels healing and there are actually good people out there too. Good luck to you.

It's true.....all of it. Beautifully put.