Autism and Identity

What does, Autism, mean for one who is Autistic?

As a diagnosis, and thus an identifier, it can mean much.

For myself, it helps me to be better at being myself.

There once was a time where I was not so good in being myself. Doubtlessly should I write that I am bereft of any belief that I can ever be so good, for I am preyed by a dreadful fate that is forthcoming for all humans. Such is our death without full knowledge of ourselves, so that we thusly can be any good in being ourselves – for our mind is an irresolvable puzzle and no resolution can be achieved before that idiomatic bucket is so finally kicked.

Though some in their lives will be nearer to a sort of achievement than most. Those nearest are they who are leastwise aware of the total irresolution of themselves, but who nonetheless yet persist in their effort to try. For myself, as of now, I am assured that I nearly have resolved the puzzle of myself and that I can boast a mastery over my mind.

But the chaos of our world does upheave that mastery. I feel assured for a time that I understand myself utterly, and that there is no part of me that is misunderstood. But then the woes of a changing and chaotic world are imposed upon me, and my brain acts and reacts in a manner that I may not yet understand. Then I am baffled, but I know that I have been shown to have not yet explored all potential parts of myself. And then I know that it is not ever achievable that I be a master of my own mind, for new acts of chaos and change are suffered and my brain thereto reacts in many fresh and strange ways.

It may be likely that those reading can empathise with how startling it is for your own understanding of yourself to be upheaved very suddenly. You may know of how it is to live contently and assuredly in yourself, but then for the plight of tragedy to be taken by the unkind hand of the cosmos and then placed as a burden onto yourself.

And how likely is it that your sense of self has been split, and you react with many mannerisms, but you can be sure that so many of those manners are not known to you? You may act hurtfully towards those dear to you, and maybe act hurtfully towards yourself. And then there is the horror, that your surety in who you are and what you are capable of, is dissolved. And thusly is it rectified with the reality that, in episodes of trauma, there are parts of your unconscious mind that will deprive your conscious self of autonomy – and unrecognised aspects of your mind shall begin behaving leashlessly. In Autism, such is how our minds are.

And why is any identification with a diagnosis of Autism thusly encouragable, if not for anyone else, then solely for myself? It is odd that my mind has grown to put itself to the pondering of such a curiosity. Only a few years ago was I deterred from any consideration on my diagnosis.

And so drastically has this changed.

And so drastic were the causes.

But I should start herefrom with ample emphasis on the predicaments of identity and the perils of any effort to apply any sort of definition for the purpose of labelling oneself before the gaze of the world. And my issue has arisen from my fidelity to the maxim that the individuality of any person is impaired or imperilled by any effort to catagorise themselves by an -ism, or by any other denotation of identity that negates the ultimate idiosyncrasy of each and every person.

And there is rigidity in this. I am a witness to the world, and of the world am I able to see the modern quandary of the interrelation of the races on this planet of ours. There are those who speak of themselves with stress on the descriptor, white, and then there are those who speak of themselves with stress on the descriptor, black – and then there is myself, who once was confused by this emphasis on the pigmentation of ones’ skin.

But I now can understand that this issue of a common identity has ascended far beyond what is physical and now occupies a more abstract space. These adjectives, black and white, describe not so stringently the visible characteristics of identity, but the cultural and sociological commonalities that are defined by the properties of these adjectives. They ever more so stringently describe communities, and the histories that are their substance.

Black and White – Autistic and Neurotypical…

With hesitation have I looked on fretfully at the uptaking of these identifiers by people, but it is now with more sympathy that I look on at what is uptaken. These labels of identity are emphasisers of common histories and grievances and then the pursuits for their end. They emphasise a distinction that is necessitated by our society.

It can pose its hazards, and it has. The purpose of identification historically, and even in modernity, has been mutilated by ideological inclusion and exclusion. We are a species that abide by a neurology of we and them, and this malformed purpose of identarianism has killed millions.

Hence have I been so fretful to agree peacefully with my diagnosis on this philosophical basis. If I acknowledge that I am Autistic, then I acknowledge that I am dissimilar from others. I also abide by the acknowledgement that I share a commonality with other Autistics, and that we altogether are dissimilar from others, but that I am similar to them. And is being alike to others in identity not an impediment to individual idiosyncrasy?

It is on this concern that my curiosity has been given. And this curiosity has mustered some thought from me, and at the end of this thinking have I the surety to say that it perhaps can be an impediment to individuality to possess a common identity with others. Such can allow the submission of oneself into a collective identity, wherein tribalism does form, and inclusivity and exclusivity do develop as ideals which define how one treats another.

But there is still a right manner. An identifier, such as Autistic, should be rightfully a pillar for my individuality. For I now do understand that it is the predilection of our species that we sort what we can see and touch and treat. And this sorting is done by how we see the inherent qualities within each and every dividable entity. This is done with material items and immaterial ideas – and it is done also with animated persons. We oft sort people.

And this can be so harmful that it can break the world. But it can be helpful. For if we sort things by what we know of them, then thus must we be able to learn thereabout to know at-all. We humans are all unalike to each other, but patterns of commonality do persist and thus can they ably be learnt and studied for our betterment.

Identifiers rightfully should be our tools for learning, for each identifier possesses attributable qualities whereby can we learn and come to know about someone and act with consideration and without expectation.

In the phrase, this man is a salesperson, a hundred certainties, and a thousand possibilities, can be inferred about who the man is, for salesperson is a quality for which we may study and know. And this goes onwards and upwards to considerations on how identification by qualities can be employed properly and improperly.

This man is black, is where this dichotomy of properness and improperness can arise. What is proper, is for one to know by the quality of black that there is a history that allows for the inference of a hundred certainties and a thousand possibilities. And in the study of the qualities inherent in that history, is one then able to act with consideration. How they are treated by another as an individual is not to be changed – yet, in those times when a struggle can be beheld, thus can another be more understanding of what their many needs may be.

Improperness emerges from presumption – not from one not knowing, but from one thinking that they do know. Thus can one act with expectation and inconsideration for the needs of another; thus can individuality be mutilated. It is a skill, that one should be able to place tenderly the mind of a person, which is unalike to the mind of others, on an equilibrium with the attributable adjectives and qualities that do cause them to be alike.

Then there is the phrase, I am Autistic, and the meaning that this has to me will not be the same as the meaning that it has to others. I see clearly the dissimilarity of the semantics between the phrase, I am Autistic, and the phrase, I am a person with Autism, and the penchant for either is decided by how one views themselves and how one engages with language to identify themselves. Yet the singular idea of Autism still is invoked from within another by the usage of either phrase.

I can say that I am Autistic, and from those who are learned on that identifier, and who know what my needs may be by their awareness on Autism, there is empathy. Autism is a neurological disorder for which there does exist patternicity and symptoms, and wherefor exists a likelihood for study and learnedness. I thus can say, I am Autistic, or, I am a person with Autism, and by what awareness others have about Autism, I can be given help and insight from my fellowship of friends.

It is in my nature that my moods change swiftly and drastically and that the joy with which I may emanate on one day thus may become dread and stress on another day. And I can write on that dread and stress with an excruciation of detail on each facet of my despair, and those writings then are put forth for my friends to read. Through awareness, my dread and stress can be treated with insight and care and not misunderstanding.

I did not begin so freely with myself towards my friends and I was not always so open. But there once came a time in my life where I needed help, and I chose to write and talk with people about my dilemmas so that I could be availed of them. Of the friends to whom I share my problems, each share between themselves an awareness of Autism, and how it causes for my mind and my view of the world to be truly unalike their own mind and views.

So where once the acknowledgement of my diagnosis was deemed hastily by me to be a labelling of myself and a placing of emphasis on my difference, now do I see it as a means to my overcome the chance for misunderstanding. It is a means for others to learn about how my mind has been made, and to be insightful in what help they can give to me. If I do something wrong to my friend, I have studied myself and I can offer the reasons for that mistake. If that friend is aware of my diagnosis, then are they thus able to be tender and caring in their reply, and they can give to me what I may need from them to regain my esteem and my confidence.

The descriptor of Autism does not inflict any harm to my sense of uniqueness, as I once had thought it to do – nor does it inflict any harm in the accentuation of my difference from those who are neurotypical. We all descend from a mutual ancestor and we possess an interrelation. Autism is a form of relational patternicity, and I cannot write that I was right by my earlier fear of identifiers, for the identity of Autism describes a symmetry of similar symptoms that resides in the mind of those on the Spectrum, as well as a mutual history and a mutuality of dilemmas on their journey in this world. It may seem pedantic that so much pondering was needed – but my mind is my own mind. People do identify so fervently with -isms, political, ideological, racial, and so forth. Identities can shape how one sees themselves and how they see and treat others, rightfully and wrongfully. The rigidity of my focus on individuality does cause me to be sceptical of common identifiers in this world of tribalism.

And so that I could peacefully identify with my diagnosis, some thought was needed so that I can be sure that it does not harm how I see myself, and how I see others, and how I treat them. For my mind is as tribal as anyone’s, and a we and them dichotomisation of my worldview would do not too well, for it never does anyone too well.

Autism is not, for me, a label that accentuates my difference to others. It is rather a word that enlightens myself so that I can relate more to my peers. I believe that the most ennobling of deeds is to do all that you can to know yourself. I once believed this in a malformed way, in which I thought that it was enough to have the faith that I was good and truthful, and that my diagnosis could be forgotten, for any label only would hinder my understanding of myself. And I did not like to think on my diagnosis, for I feared that it made me be seen as lesser or more frail, and so I wished for it to be forgotten and I never studied it, nor those aspects of myself.

And as my adult life begun, so too did I begin to make more aggrieving mistakes. And the pain from the grief of those mistakes then put me on a search for answers to why I made them and to what I could do better. And the most amount of answers were given in my employment within the discipline of Autism guidance. I spend ample time reading and talking and learning about this diagnosis. I know now more about my mistakes and why I had made them and what I can do to overcome their reoccurrence.

And now am I more open and freer with this diagnosis. My friends can understand and learn about my view, and those who I newly meet may be aware that there are some expectations they may have of others that they should not have of me. Though I do not need to be so loud about it. As awareness spreads, the need for any declaration is diminished. Folks simply are coming to know more.

And perhaps I am judged to be lesser than others by those who are unenlightened to what Autism means. But any imposed judgement is forgettable, for in my sense of understanding for my own mind, there is a triumph – and the feeling is ever much more grand, this feeling to know myself and to be learnedly aware of my mind.

And I call for this awareness to be uptaken by others. There are many who are diagnosed with Autism but whose needs are not answered, for either they protest the idea of a label, or they possess custodians who similarly do. And calamity is ensured in this protestation of truth – and the calamitous consequences have been endured by me, and I have disdain for any consideration that judgement should be the cause for an unexplored mind.

The mind should not be an afterthought. I thus am happy to be an agent for awareness, and for my agreeability with my diagnosis to be a source of inspiration for those who share in my diagnosis, and for those standing therearound who may not be agreeable but who yet must be aware of how such a mind has been crafted.

It is meaningful for me to do so with children and adolescents, so that they may grow with no doubts of themselves and with the skill to find friendships with those who can support their esteem tenderly, carefully, and insightfully. Lastly, they should have the skill to know of their needs and to ask that they be seen by others.

This is what the common identifier of Autism creates: A world of more insight.

And a more insightful world is a worthwhile thing to argue for.