Posting because I could use a little - okay a LOT! - of help

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Please forgive me for this cut and paste job, but it's nearly midnight here in the UK and I'm tired - but in FAR TOO MUCH PAIN (physically, mentally and emotionally) to sleep.


I'm pushing 40 and, back in the 70s, when I started school, not much was known about ASD, and particularly high-functioning ASD (even now I get "Autism...?! Isn't that a boys' thing...?!"). My schooling was NOT conducive to helping me function on an interpersonal level, just the opposite, in fact. My parents sent my sister and I to a minor public school run - back then almost exclusively - by nuns.

I've nothing but bad memories of the years I spent there, I can't think of single positive thing to say about it.

When I was 6, the head (henceforth to be known as Attila The Nun (ATN)) anounnounced to the entire pre-prep, that I was the devil's daughter and nobody was to have anything to do with me.

At 6, rising 7, she suddenly decided I was dyslexic, this was despite the fact I'd finished the entire pre-prep reading scheme within a fortnight of entering nursery. In Reception, I wasn't made to feel different, because I was so far ahead of my peers when it came to linguistics, etymology, and lexicography. I was the one who my classmates asked if they couldn't spell a word, or if they didn't know what a word meant, etc. In short, I was about as un-dyslexic as it's possible to be!

By the time I entered the last of the pre-prep at 6/7, I was reading Tolkien and, by 9, Orwell, Wyndham and Wodehouse.

So, ATN tells my mother I'm dyslexic; she goes along with this, despite the fact she had a tape of me reading to her, aged about 2 (I wish it hadn't got munched by an old player; not that we could play it on anything now); I mean reading, not me parroting what she said back to her. I was writing silly little stories at 3, an age when most kids can't even hold a pencil properly!

So I turn up to this feckin' pointless, waste-of-everyone's-time, remedial lesson, with my current book, in the vain hope that it would be noticed and someone would say something along the lines of "You can read THAT...?! I don't believe you - read it to me!" Of course what REALLY happened was "What HAVE you got there...?! You can't read THAT - that's for grown-ups, now don't be silly, give it to me, and come and read this to me!" "This" was Peter and Jane book 1a, a book I'd read when I was barely out of nappies. Maybe I should have stayed and proved myself, but I was so frustrated and angry that I was being made to do this by my PARENTS - who knew damned f*****g well I could read - I fled and went and hid behind the grass bank at the back of the pre-prep block, and read my own book (which I'd refused to hand over!). No-one found you there, unless they REALLY looked, and that's how I spent my early schooldays hiding from nuns who'd drag me back to reading "Peter has the ball"/"Jane has a doll"/"The dog has a bone".

Well, of course my parents were dragged into school because I wasn't turning up (well, could you blame me...?!) and I remember being called a "nasty, evil, pathological, little liar". I had to sit there and listen to my mother LIE to ATN about my ability to read (I can remember all this as though it happened just last week, not nearly 4 decades ago!). Every time I tried to protest, I was told "BE QUIET! Nobody wants to listen to your lies! Remember what happens to little girls who don't tell the truth...?! They'll burn in HELL!"

That night, I remember having seventy shades of s**t beaten out of me for telling lies and wasting my parents' money. That was the first time I thought of suicide, the night I spent in my room, sleeping on the floor, because they'd removed all my toys and furniture.

They'll tell you I'm making all this up, of course...

I have questioned my mother many, many times about it since and the response has always been the same "Don't blame US! We were only doing what was best for you!" What was BEST for me...?! Lying to the head about the fact I could READ, and sticking me in remedial lessons to read things I was reading before I was 2 was doing "the best" for me...?! Well, forgive me if I don't see it that way!

ATN wanted it that way, because it meant she could segregate me from everyone else so I didn't "corrupt" them (she used to call me "the devil's daughter")

Everything always boiled down to money; I used to beg to go to a different school because I HATED it, and the response was always the same "Be grateful! We're paying a lot of money to send you there!" Money may not be able to buy happiness, but it can certainly buy misery.

And that's more-or-less how it's been my entire life. They will NOT accept me for who, how and what I am; I'm NOTHING like them (thank f**k!). They have NEVER been able to accept me for who, how and what I am (I've just had her (I will NOT endow her with the name 'mother') in here demanding that allow her in MY room. But apparently "It is NOT 'your' room; it is a room in OUR HOUSE!! If we want it kept in a certain way, we'll have it kept in a certain way, so if I (her) want to come in and start putting it how *I* want it, when *I* want to do it, then I will - this is MY ROOM IN MY HOUSE, NOT
YOURS! It's high time you started conforming with our way of doing things!"

She's NEVER - neither of them EVER have - been interested in understanding anything about how my autism affects me (and it would probably affect me less severely had they listened to me when I was a kid, instead of deciding that school was the best place for me "because it's costing us a lot of money..."). It's always been "Why should WE change...?! This is OUR HOUSE, you should be expected - and willing - to do EXACTLY as we want! There's no such thing as 'can't', it's 'won't'; it's not that you CAN'T change - of COURSE you can, EVERYBODY can, what makes you so special that you can't...?! You are in OUR HOUSE, and you'll DO EXACTLY AS WE TELL YOU!"

This used to be the one place in this house I felt (relatively) safe - now I don't even feel safe in here. I don't WANT her coming in here and going through my stuff - it's NOTHING to do with her!! ! It's MINE!! ! Though, apparently, it isn't, it's in HER house, therefore it's hers (yep, that's exactly what she just said to me! And *I* thought *I* was f****d up!).

They won't help me get better, either; I have to do things certain ways (it's hard to explain) ways I feel comfortable with, or my stress level goes off the scale. According to her, that's just me being "awkward and obstreperous". Some of her favourite lines are "you've got nobody to blame but yourself that you're not well you know. If you'd stop being so difficult and conform, you'd be well by now!" If it's not that it's "You can't be THAT ill; if you were, you'd be so desperate to get better you'd conform!" Or I get "I don't have any problems when I go and see the doctor, so I don't understand why YOU do; if you'd just stop being so difficult and conform, then you'd be well, wouldn't you...?!"

To them, I'm NOT autistic; she believes she's a world authority on ASD because she works for social services and comes up against autistic people all the time at work and "You're nothing like any of them so you can't be! You're just evil!"

I've spent the past year trying to get help for myself - and have failed. I found one agency which claimed to support adults with ASDs, so I emailed them (I'm so dysfunctional that I HAVE to write things down; the years of being told to STFU because "Nobody wants to hear your lies" seems to have permanently altered my brain and now I'm too terrified to speak to ANYBODY!). The manager woman came over and the first words out of her mouth were "So what can I help you with...? I forgot what you said on the phone..." I said I didn't call them, I emailed because I can't use the phone. "Oh, that's right, how silly of me!" "So what can I help you with...?" I asked if she had the email, because I'm not very good at vocalising things. "Oh no, I left the office in a hurry, I forgot to print it off, how silly of me!" (at that point I began thinking "if she says 'how silly of me' again, I SWEAR I won't be responsible for my actions!"). I told her that I had Asperger's and I'd emailed her precisely BECAUSE I couldn't put things into words verbally very well. The next thing she asked me was rather odd "Who's your psychiatrist...?" I told her I didn't have one. "Well how do you EVER expect to recover if you don't see a psychiatrist...?!" When I asked what I was supposed to be recovering from, she said "I thought you just told me you had Asperger's...?!" When I confirmed I did, "Well there you are then! How are you supposed to recover from your Asperger's if you don't see a psychiatrist...?!" I did a mental face-palm; here was the manager of an agency which claimed to specialise in assisting adults with ASDs AND mental illness believing that an ASD was a mental illness!

She then spent the next 15 minutes arguing that ASD was just a euphemism for - and category of - mental illness. I could feel my stress level becoming volcanic, I had to sit on my hands to prevent myself from wrapping them around her neck! The final straw was when she laughed her inane laugh and attempted to laugh it off "Well, I've only been working here 18 months, you can't expect me to know EVERYTHING!" First, if you didn't KNOW, then why argue; and secondly, you work for an agency which specialises in helping adults with ASDs; if you don't know the difference between autism and mental illness, and an 'illness' and a 'syndrome' after 18 months, then I'd venture to suggest you're not very good at your job! (I didn't say this to her, because I couldn't - but I WISH I had!)

So she asked me again what I wanted help with, so I told her "Oh no, we can't do that! If your GP believes you're not sick, then you're not sick; it's not our business to change her mind, we're not doctors!" And, with that, she left!

I've tried social services (I'm too old for their ASD support team, and I don't qualify for any assistance from adult community care because I don't fit into any of the categories for which they have funding). I've tried the NAS (National Autistic Society) but they only support parents with kids at school in this area, not adults. None of the mental health charities will help because I'm not mentally ill (though I'm becoming more and more depressed because I can't see a way out of this, unless I miraculously stop being autistic...).

I have BEGGED and BEGGED my parents to help me; "No - why should we...?! Why on EARTH should we help you...?! Maybe it would be a different matter if you'd conform and stop being so awkward, difficult, and obstructive - but you won't, will you...?! And don't give us 'can't' we don't believe 'can't'. Whilst you're in OUR house, you'll do things OUR way, and if you don't like it, you know what you can do - LEAVE!" There's no point in me asking for their help to get better, so I CAN leave (not that I can live alone without assistance - and there's none here, as I've just said...) because the whole thing'll start over, and then she'll turn on the waterworks "I think you're VERY HORRIBLE to Dad and I! Why can't you just be normal...?! Your sister doesn't treat us like you do!" I've asked her what "normal" means because - for me - this IS normal; this is me, how can I POSSIBLY be anything other than me...?! "Don't be facetious - you know EXACTLY what I mean!" Well, if I did, I'd not be asking, would I...?! Besides, that remark also tells me she doesn't know herself!

She's also said that she only fought for me to be kept on my disability money because "it's the easiest way to prevent you from inflicting yourself on other people - it's bad enough that WE have to put up with you!"

If you spoke to them, they are the most perfect parents on Earth, and all of this is all in my head - I'm making it all up for attention.

I've been back to the quack's once since; I deliberately didn't see my own quack; I saw a locum as I thought she MIGHT take me seriously - yeah, RIGHT!

She didn't read my notes AT ALL, an then started with a VERY bizarre line of questioning...

The very first thing she asked me was was I suicidal (apparently they ask "everyone" this; so, if they've a 4-year-old screaming because they've an ear infection, then she'll ask them if they're gonna top themselves...?!).

Then I was asked if I attended a day hospital (eh?), could I wash and dress myself, could I feed myself, was I able to leave the house and cross the road by myself... Just about the only thing she DIDN'T ask was whether I could wipe me own ARSE!

All through this - extremely bizarre - line of questioning, she repeatedly patted me on the knee (this was my mistake for questioning whether she actually BELIEVED I was ill; well wouldn't YOU find it rather weird if you'd gone to the quack's because you were convinced you were suffering from hyperthyroidism - and they start asking you whether you're able to feed yourself...?! What's THAT got to do with the price of fish (as my dad's late best mate used to say)...?!

She tried to convince me that all the questions were "perfectly normal" (really...?! It's normal to ask someone who believes they're hyperthyroid if they can feed themselves...?!)

THAT was when she began patting me on the knee and repeating "Of COURSE I do!" She didn't add "dear", but her inflection did - and it also belied the fact that it was patently obvious she didn't! Every time she patted me, I recoiled as, in common with many people with ASDs, I HATE being touched like that; she saw me flinch "Oh, don't you like me doing that...? When I confirmed that I didn't, she said "I'm sorry, I won't do it again, promise..." Another lie, as she persisted.

The condescension and patronisation I'm well used to (it's how ALL quacks speak to me) but I've NEVER had one who has repeatedly touched me - even after I've requested (more than once) that they cease and desist!

I know this sounds rather hyperbolic, but would you define that as assault...?

I'm 100% convinced she was attempting to get a rise out of me (the number of times I've been sectioned, because I start to get stressed when I realise I'm not being taken seriously!).

My only hope of EVER being well again is to - SOMEHOW - become less dysfunctional, less f****d up; I HAVE been feeling suicidal of late, yes; not because I'm ill, but because I live with 2 people - allegedly my PARENTS - who SHOULD be helping and supporting me, but won't because I "refuse to conform"; do they REALLY think that, if I COULD go to the quack's, hospital, etc., or have blood drawn by anyone other than someone I know, I'd still be stuck in bed after a YEAR...?! I'm NOT "being awkward and obstructive" - I'm being ME (they'd say that was the same thing, but you know what I mean...)!


I've spent the past year watching my once-fit body become a flabby mess; I'm surrounded by clothes which I can no longer get into (I hesitate to use the word 'fit' because I don't believe I've put on weight (even though the scales tell me I'm 12 stone (168lb) I was 12 stone for real once and, if that were TRULY the case, I'd not even be able to fit into the stuff I'm wearing now!).

Much of it is oedema, I know (well I HOPE it is! I eat a low-carb/high-fat diet and I'm hoping that means I've not gained TOO much (I've had to give up on bras; 4 months ago, I was a 27" chest (wearing a 28C on the tightest - innermost - set of hooks) and now I'm so bloated I'm struggling to fit a 32! Can you IMAGINE the devastating effect this is having on my self-confidence and self-esteem...?! I dropped from a UK 34/36 (US 30/32) to a UK 4/6 (0/2) following a very strict LCHF palaeo diet, intermittent fasting and fasted cardio. It's the only thing I've ever achieved in my ENTIRE life - and now all I can do is watch my muscles catabolise. I've a horrid pot belly, and muffin top, thunder thighs and cows (pathetic joke - they're FAR too fat to be calves anymore!).

I blame my parents 100% for this; they DESTROYED any hope I EVER had of developing interpersonal skills when I was a kid (when I become REALLY frustrated, or I'm in a situation in which I can't cope, I revert to my 3-year-old self (I'm not joking; because of what happened to me at that institution (I will NOT grace it with the word 'school'; a school is where you go to learn academical stuff - all I learnt was fear, hatred, terror - and that money might not buy happiness, but it sure as feck can buy pain!

I'm doing EVERYTHING in my power to stave off what I fear is becoming increasingly inevitable; it's like I'm being chased around a ghost town by Fear and soon - and that day is fast approaching - it'll chase me down a blind alley, and that'll be that...

Why hate someone for how they were born...?! Why do everything in your power to make them even more dysfunctional than they already were...?! Why LIE so they're put into a pointless remedial class (and then claim you had their best interests at heart...?! I knew WTF dyslexia was - and I was SEVEN, FFS!)

I can't relax anymore (partly because I'm 98.5% convinced I've hyperthyroidism (amongst other things; I believe I'm beginning to develop osteomalacia (if you don't know what that is, it's the name for the adult form of rickets, which has me extremely concerned as I routinely supplement with 15,000IU of D3 daily. It's like I've got a ton weight on my head and I'm being squashed! I can't stand upright - the pain is unbearable. I can't hold my head straight for the same reason (have you ever seen those lizards - I forget the genus - which run with their heads straight up...? That's me!

I can't talk to them - and I can't talk to anyone else ABOUT them, either (because that would eventually mean that person would have to talk to them - and I couldn't cope with the fallout).

I force myself to stay awake at night these days (hence the moniker) it's the only time I feel (relatively) safe. I had a shower for the first time in 6 WEEKS yesterday (well, Saturday as it's technically Monday here now...) a) because I've simply not had the energy and b) it was the first evening they'd been out in that time (and it's not safe for me to risk it whilst they're in the house).

I know what I've written might seem too extreme to be anything other than a work of pure fiction, a total fantasy - but I SWEAR every single word is the gospel truth.

It's got to the stage now where I feel like I'm waiting to die; I've no privacy, no safety and no freedom. I've wasted £100s of pounds on gig tickets (missed another last night that I'd been looking forward to for AGES. Unless anything crops up in between, the next isn't until 04/07 (07/04) (I'd have been even angrier if I'd a 3-day pass to the Rebellion punk festival; if I'm still of this Earth, I'm 40 next spring, so it'll be my birthday pressie to myself (yep, the only person who buys me birthday and Xmas presents is me...).

No idea WHY I'm posting here - it's not like anyone's going to be able to help me, is it...?!

AN X❤X

that's way too much D. it will make you feel worse in the long run. more than 4000, maybe even 2000, isn't safe.

I wish your parents had your best interests at heart. you really need to find an advocate. don't give up.

A lot of what you have written sounds familiar. I was not as advanced as you but I could read before I was 4. And I was picked on mercilessly by a teacher for two years, so much so that I think it permanently altered my brain chemistry or hippocampus or whatever. I do not think my parents did the right thing by keeping me in that school, but as someone who is almost 40 as well, I moved on long ago.

My health has been up and down, and I gained 15 lbs this year and have managed to shed half of it. It's a horrible feeling.

I hope you find the support you need. Stay strong. I find it hard most days.

My story might be Very inspiring. I wasn't a "good" reader till I was really encouraged I used to go to a catholic school. Not until third grade did I start to read.. But then I read everything I could get my hands on Fiction nonfiction. As a resualt most of my Academics are Collegish level. Excluding Grammer my one true weakness #Grammarphobia.