I am a fiat punto with a ferrari badge stuck on it x

& other things my autism diagnosis has made me realise

I got my autism diagnosis yesterday, and I feel a whole lot of things, and a whole lot of nothing all at the same time.

Part of me still thinks, am I a phony? Did I tailor my answers so it would come back as autism? Did I research autism *so* much, that I learnt the behaviours and made myself autistic?

But then I read back my report and I think ah, yeah. That’s all true.

It’s weird reading someone writing about actual me, rather than masked me . My knee jerk reaction was shit. How could I let her see that side?! But then I thought christ, this is the first time as an adult I’ve felt *fully* seen by someone, and in an objective way. Not like the times I’ve felt ‘seen’ before, when parts of me I’ve self labelled BAD suddenly BURST OUT like a jack-in-a-box when I’m anxious or overstimulated, and I immediately, instinctly bash them back down and slam the lid shut. Then spend the rest of the day trying to make out I’m just leaning my elbow on the box for comfort, when it’s actually to stop jack popping back up again. You can’t have a socially inept jack-in-a-box popping up every 30 minutes in a pub, or a baby shower, or in a meeting, I thought.

These behaviours, emotions, reactions are all things I’ve tried to rub out my whole teenage/adult life. I hope I’m acting in pencil, thinking I’m never fully giving my opinion, never fully letting myself go, but it’s all in pen, isn’t it?

So I’m stuck tipex-ing harshly over my thoughts/feelings/behaviours, and rewriting over the top of them. I briefly convince myself no one will notice, but those words are still on the page, and the tipex always eventually cracks. Then I’m left with merky words, some that are real me, some masked.

No wonder it’s so confusing. For me, for others.

At this point I feel the behaviours I’ve learnt I’ve used for so long, it’s hard to even access what I *actually* think or feel. But I can feel it’s not right, I know the tipex is there.

I’ve decided I don’t want to tipex anymore. I want to let real me write the story. I want to go back to Year 5, when Mrs Pearce would make us put mistakes in brackets rather than crossing them out. That way I can still show people how I really feel, but also decode bits for neurotypical’s.

I have ADHD, anxiety, moderate OCD, autism, pathological demand avoidance and Alexithymia. No wonder things have felt hard.

I feel relieved it’s not that I’m just not trying hard enough.

However I still wish there was an empirical measurement I could use to workout how much leeway I can give myself. I wish there was a Rightmove for my being. I could put all my details in, how many diagnosis’, how severe, my privileges, my short comings, and it would produce a verifiable amount of leeway I’m worth.

I’d like to not suffer in silence anymore, not in the evenings after plans, inbetween Whatsapp replies, or during work requests I can’t handle.

I’d like to stop using my reserve tank like it’s just an extension of my main tank. I don’t want to drive everywhere with the anxiety of the orange fuel light flashing on my dashboard. I want my reserve tank to be for emergencies, not for obligations.

Things I currently use my reserve tank for:

• 11.30pm at a 30th, in a loud pub that’s just turned the music up to dancing volume, whilst we’re still in the talking phase. HOW IS YOUR JOB GOING? HOW’S THE HOUSE MOVE? DO YOU ALSO FEEL LIKE YOUR BODY CLOCK IS TICKING SO LOUDLY, WHILST YOUR BRAIN IS STILL WAITING FOR IT’S FRONTAL LOBE TO START DEVELOPING?

• a plan on a Sunday. I’ll arrive with a big smile on my face, but will have driven there with tears in my eyes

• a Whatsapp full of messages and follow ups that fill me both with dread and guilt, as I overthink my responses & double down on my apologies

I want to live my life just in my main tank, and to explain to people I made out my main tank was a Ferrari, but actually I’ve just stuck a Ferrari badge on the front, and I’m actually driving a Fiat Punto.

I’m not being unkind to myself, I know my brain is a Ferrari. I am smart, an incredible problem solver, a skilled pattern recogniser, creative beyond belief and have a real talent for seeing things for what they are, beyond social norms and nice-ities. I just have a Fiat Punto engine, and mirrors that don’t always show hazards for what they actually are.

Apologies, I have really warbled on here, I will keep future posts more concise.

If you’re still her, thank you. It means a lot to be seen.

The Lousy Digest is going to be a virtual magazine, as magazine’s are good at being filled with lousy advice, aren’t they? Take all the shit we’ve been force fed online and in print, hold it up to the light and ask: was this ever helpful?

Sometimes I’ll offer alternatives, sometimes we’ll just laugh at the absurdity of it all, and sometimes I’ll just offer you up the most lousy that have happened to me this week to digest. Hopefully together we can decipher things that have been disguised as not lousy, that actually are. Or think about things that feel lousy, that really aren,’t. Digest & redefine lousy, if you will.

I hope you picture me: hair in a claw clip, fluffy pink pen in hand, perched in a slightly run-down noughties office with blinding overhead lights, the constant whuurr of a printer that hasn’t worked since 2006, and a flipboard prepped for big ideas. The Devil Wears

Prada vibes—except I’m hunched over a 2008 bubble MacBook, typing out my little articles.

What do you want to see in The Lousy Digest? Please do let me know.