TL;DR: Yes, I think my life would've been better with a childhood diagnosis.
Since the diagnosis didn't exist (here, at least) until 1994, and few people knew anything about it until years later, there's no way I could have been diagnosed. But I suspect my life would have been far better if I were. Even though disabled kids more often get bullied, teachers (except the ones that took part in, or even initiated, the bullying) would have had reason to pay more attention to me. Instead of being traumatized and close to suicidal at age 12 (that was, ironically, in 1994...), I could have been spared for a lot of the bad experiences (if I were lucky - I'm aware that diagnosed kids are bullied, too).
Thankfully we moved to where my family came from after my first year at the second school I went to (the first one only had grades 1-4), since one of my teachers there was a complete psychopath. He was wildly popular among my classmates and other teachers, but terrorized me. Because of that, my classmates loved him even more. Later, I've heard rumors that he picks one student in each class, and of course that makes him popular, since he's "cool". No wonder I was close to suicidal the year after that; one thing is being laughed at by a group of students, quite another is when the teacher initiates it, in the classroom, and forces you to stay. Or when he exploits your asthma during gym classes by forcing you to exhaust yourself (my asthma is triggered by exhaustion), and then refusing to fetch your medication when it triggers an attack. Or when you get enough and tell someone what he's doing, just to have that someone tell on you, causing the teacher to come and yell at you, threatening to beat you senseless if you say anything bad about him again. Over the course of that year, my voice went from lively and musical with a weird tone and articulation, to completely monotone. The same happened with my face.
At least the bullying went away when we moved, as most kids there were nice people, and the teachers somewhat better at handling bullies (to be honest, I think the difference was that they cared at all...). But then puberty hit, everyone else magically realized the rules of flirting, getting girlfriends, being cool and so on, and I was oblivious. I had more intense crushes (or rather obsessions, I guess) than anyone else, and I had no idea how to act, and hence absolutely no appeal - I still don't, really :p . Being totally un-cool and a chronic nerd, there were tendencies toward bullying from older students, but at least that was fairly well handled, and after that psychopath teacher, I'd become too hard-skinned to be affected from the rather toothless teasing attempts.
Long story made semi-short, when I hit my 20ies, I was a complete wreck. I had been bullied, not given the extra help I needed for twelve years of school, I had even been tricked into an ultra-charismatic religious setting for a short while, due to love bombing combined with a promise of magicking away any and all problems and illnesses. At least that was short lasting, since I pretty much realized their teaching was incoherent even within their own ideological framework. And I realized their recommendations of not seeking doctors, and under no circumstances psychologists or psychiatrists, was dangerous. But no matter how short lasting that was, it kept me from seeking help at the time I probably needed it the most, during high school. So the first year after completing high school, I got a major depression, and ended up in hospital. The next four years consisted of repeated stays at the psych ward, wasted study loans since I refused to give up university, and failed treatments.
I finally found working medication for my bipolar disorder, and combined with therapy and some more adjustment of my medication, I had my mood under control. But even after years of observing me, they interpreted everything as bipolar traits (even though I kept telling them there had to be something in addition to my mood disorder). After a while, I realized that my emotional and social development had virtually ceased, compared to everyone else my age. That gets really noticeable in your mid-twenties. I especially remember having to suppress a major meltdown when someone at a LAN party decided to play something other than planned. That was perhaps the first time I realized my emotional reactions were far from normal. I also started worrying about my need to correct even the minor mistakes (or misconceptions) of others, especially if we were doing something related to my special interest(s). And over the years, I noticed more and more traits that just weren't "grown-up". I had a nagging feeling this might be autism-related, part from knowing others with a diagnosis, and part from reading about it. Some friends also said some things that made me start thinking in that direction. Then, when I moved back home to apply for jobs, and failed every job interview I went to, I realized it was time for an assessment. Three months later I had my diagnosis.
So the point is: As I already mentioned, at least the (non-psychopath) teachers would've known I had special needs, and (perhaps) paid some extra attention. During puberty, I would've had more opportunities to talk with someone that knew about my additional challenges. I would've had more proper training in social norms and behavior from day one. Instead, I had to figure all of this out myself, which took tremendous amounts of energy. And I probably would've figured out more with training than I did without. My parents would've known that I was vulnerable when I was seduced by that religious group, and protected me from it. Not that they liked it any better without knowing, but they underestimated how dangerous getting into stuff like that was for me. And if they knew, they probably would have got me a therapist as soon as they realized how bad that teacher situation was, and then (perhaps) I wouldn't have been depressed and vulnerable to promises of easy solutions. And in either case, I might not have lost several years to depression after I moved out. I would also have had disability services at university, and perhaps not spent six years on a three-year bachelor's degree (that's not counting the years when I was too ill to study at all).
So yes, I'm rather sure my life would have looked different, and better, if I had an early diagnosis. And it makes me angry. Angry that I was born too early to be diagnosed before I was 12, angry at teachers and health professionals for not paying attention after I was 12 (or at the school authorities for not teaching teachers about AS until much later), and angry at psychiatry for being so focused on their traditional diagnoses that it took personal research and a neuropsychologist to figure it out in the end. And I'm glad that it's "over" - my problems are far from solved, but at least I now have extra rights, counseling and an explanation for why I am like I am, and why I have suffered like I have.
24 Apr 2012, 8:55 pm
