Hello, My Name is Aiden, and I Have Asperger’s Syndrome
I used to be afraid of saying it — not anymore!
I know what you’re thinking. Why were you afraid of saying it? To tell you the truth, I think “afraid” was an understatement. I was more embarrassed than anything.
Growing up, I was similar to the majority of the children in the 90s — yeah right! I wasn’t. I was pretty darn strange.
I used to venture out in the dark and collect stones and put them all in a Ferrero Rocher pyramid box and gaze at the shiny limestones I had collected.
Not strange enough for you?
Okay.
Another odd mannerism I had was I could be sitting in my mum’s car, see a can of Pepsi on the pavement, and feel sorry for it for being alone.
Still not unusual enough?
If it is, then skip the next bit. If not, then read on.
Like I said, as a child, I was quite the peculiar one. This one I am about to mention stands out the most.
I used to have a precious little made-up bed made out of toilet paper on my bedroom windowsill for my little friend.
I used to wake up in the morning, talk to them before school, tuck it in, and when bedtime came, I knew the little one would be waiting for me to say goodnight.
Who was that friend I hear you ask?
First, try and guess (you will never guess!). I will give you ten seconds…
Writing this now, after all these years, I recognise that was setting me up for failure.
Times up!
Drum roll, please!
My little friend was a popped balloon! I know right, it’s quite strange. But, that’s how I was. Looking back now, I smile at the adorable little boy who could see and touch any object and create something wonderful.
Looking back now, I am happy I didn’t lose that way of thinking — It’s just accompanied by a crap-load of anxiety and depression, but that’s for another time.
Yup, I was a strange one. And, the more I aged, the more I became suspicious of myself.
When I hit my late teens, my insecurities caused me to query myself.
Questions formed in my mind: why do I struggle to feel like I belong? Why do I feel the need to run and hide and be alone? Why did I feel like the odd one out in school?
I began to do research and found stories written by other aspies who were in similar situations.
I came across symptoms that painted an exact illustration of myself.
The more I read, the more I realised that it was me.
It wasn’t until the age of 25 when I was diagnosed and all the relief and frustration of not knowing came pouring out. I felt a planet and a moon lighter!
It was sensational.
Magnificent.
Sublime!
Mum cried.
I almost cried.
Now, our lives could continue without the blindfold.
However, that didn’t mean it would get any easier. I had this feeling inside of me. This feeling of, perhaps I shouldn’t go telling everybody about this — after all, this is too personal to share.
I thought this because I considered it to be something I needed to protect — like a vulnerable piece of treasure — or, an odd friend or relative that I didn’t wish to share with the rest of my circle.
You know the ones I mean right? The one’s that are awesome, but only you can see their awesomeness. Also, it didn’t help that I was embarrassed.
I assumed if I was to reveal this to anyone — work, casual friends, acquaintances, family members that weren’t close — that they would feel the need to treat me differently.
In his article, Should I “Come Out” as Autistic, Devon Price describes my concerns magnificently:
When I came out to my friend Alan, he immediately started treating me in an overly delicate, precious way. He said he found it so “cute” that I did things like lay out my outfit for the next day before I went to bed each night. He told me he found it ‘inspiring’ I had a job and could rely on public transit instead of driving a car. He seemed to think Autism made it impossible for me to drive, when in reality, not having a car was a financial and environmental choice I had consciously made. Any time Alan learned about my habits or preferences, he treated them like some wacky, adorable feature of my Autism.
I didn’t want that to happen.
I didn’t want them to see me as a delicate ornament that needed to be wrapped in bubble wrap.
I didn’t want them to see me as if I had gone away for tens of years, underwent facial reconstruction, and come back.
Writing this now, after all these years, I recognise that was setting me up for failure.
Life didn’t get any easier — it got harder. Having this secret that I had forced upon myself created an inner child that wished to get out. It was as if I had pushed them into a cage and locked the door.
Now, it was crying and shaking the bars, “let me out!”
But, I didn’t want to let it free and roam around in its multicoloured clothing for all eyes to see. It was my special little friend.
Nobody else's.
Only I could understand it — they wouldn’t be able to. That’s what I kept telling myself over and over again. As I said, I didn’t want to be treated any differently — I was still me.
After explaining, her attitude towards me changed and the ooooh-I-get-it-now reaction was given. Following on, she made sure that she did the best she could.
Fast forward nine years later — at the age of 33 (soon to be 34)— I have barely realised how exhilarating it feels to simply say it.
Of course, it takes time, depending on the person — Nonetheless, I wish for you to understand how it felt for me.
Anyhow, I will get to the point.
Last Tuesday, I was at work. I am a cleaner at my local hospital. I was doing overtime in the morning, and being that my contracted hours are in the evening, the pace of the job and the atmosphere of the workplace was a lot different.
On that Tuesday, I was sent to a ward and told I was going to be there all shift. The ward was one of many Covid wards within the campus.
I had to prepare myself.
To control my anxiety.
However…
It wasn’t what I was expecting. I was anticipating what I’d been enduring on the news every single day since this whole pandemic began: the intense atmosphere, the panicked tones, the hazmat suits, the constant movements of the nurses and doctors and the lack of space to move around in.
And, of course, being surrounded by patients who could die in any minute.
Nope.
None of that at all.
Working on this ward, I was astonished how relaxed it was. Of course, the staff were busy attending to the patients. But, the patience seemed comfortable.
Looking back to that day, I know how literal I took it. Being a part of the ASD community — plus, if I had told them I am a part of that community — my supervisors and managers may have informed me it wasn’t what it seemed.
It was more like a recovery ward.
So, the shift began as a dream. It was smooth sailing and I worked with an easygoing and funny guy who I got along with.
We spoke about the job, our childhoods, our families, the pandemic — obviously — and the future we hope to encounter.
We spoke about it all.
I even told him I had Asperger’s Syndrome.
It’s incredible when you connect with somebody, no matter how long you have known them for, you sense the trust needed to reveal certain things.
Or, it’s simply me being naive.
Comes with the territory of being an Aspie I suppose.
Unfortunately, the dream didn’t last. Later on, I got a phone call from a supervisor demanding I work somewhere else. I was given my tasks and I got right to it.
On arrival, I was approached by another supervisor who was checking how clean the ward was. She then tasked me with different objectives which left me overwhelmingly confused.
My first supervisor said, “I want you to focus purely on the rooms. The others will empty the bins and clean the toilets.”
The second supervisor said, “just damp dust around, especially the pipes behind the beds.”
I was in a state.
It felt like I had one person on each side barking different orders at me — pushing me there — pulling me here.
I couldn’t cope.
Too many details.
Too many directions.
I simply wanted transparency. I was like a lost little puppy wandering around the streets trying to spot the right person who could guide them to safety.
That’s when I had to let her know.
After asking numerous questions and receiving numerous obscure responses:
“Just damp dust here and there.”
“Wherever you feel that may need doing.”
“Look, behind this bed,” she pulls the bed out, “and then get to these pipes,” after I asked her what next, she said, “just check around.”
Just damp dust here and there?
Just check around?
I had an issue with them both.
The language used was baffling. I found it difficult to discern. That’s when I had to let her know. To simply state that she isn’t dealing with someone who can put the pieces of her puzzling sentences together.
“When interacting with an adult with autism, be literal, clear, and concise. Avoid the use of slang, nuance, and sarcasm. These forms of communication may be confusing and not easily understood by a person on the autism spectrum..”
― By Margaret Walsh, M.A., BCBA
My call for help went something like this: “I’m finding it difficult to understand you. I have Asperger’s Syndrome, so it doesn’t help that I have you here telling me one thing and another supervisor telling me another. Sorry for getting frustrated, I don’t mean to be this way, but I need you to be clear.”
After explaining, her attitude towards me changed and the ooooh-I-get-it-now reaction was given. Following on, she made sure that she did the best she could.
I could sense the empathy in her words. The attempt to hit the right note.
I felt a lot better after that.
Being part of the ASD community should not be hidden inside of us. It should be shared with pride.
With only having one more hour left until my shift ended — I received another phone call to hurry somewhere else.
The cleaner on there was desperate for assistance, so I rallied myself and made my way there.
It was another Covid ward.
This time, the intensity levels were felt.
This time, I definitely needed clarity.
On arrival, I found the cleaner. She looked exhausted. At the end of her tether. A woman who also had only one more hour remaining.
She was not happy. I couldn’t blame her. After hours of telling the supervisors she needed help, they finally sent me.
Seeing her like this, I was relieved to not have been there myself when it was at its worst. I was also hoping it wouldn’t get that way again. Currently, the ward was relaxed.
She had done all the jobs that were needed to be done.
Unfortunately, she was given somebody who hadn’t worked on that ward during the pandemic.
Unfortunately, she was given somebody who needed transparency.
Unfortunately, she did not have the energy to do that.
After observing her expression and sensing her agitation, I knew this shift was going to end horribly.
I was correct.
The first words I said were, “so, where do you want me?”
“I’ve nearly done now. Do the corridor if you want?”
This was fine. It was clear for me to understand. So, I got to it, made my way down the corridor and began doing what was asked. However, what came next shook me.
The mood of the ward swiftly transformed. I was not prepared for it. The cleaner approached me and told me a bed-space needed attending to.
“I will leave it up to you. I will finish the rest.”
What she should have said was: “Do it quickly as another patient will be arriving shortly.”
I worked at my own pace. Without knowing how urgent it was — and without being properly trained on how to clean a Covid area — the other patient came in and had to be placed somewhere else. That’s when the other cleaner had to help me.
She was prompt.
Done in no time.
Did everything right and corrected what I did.
“You have to be quick on this ward. If you aren’t quick, things will get messy and we will fall behind.”
My anxiety levels had risen. Her tone was irritable. I was frightened to say anything else.
However, I knew I had to. Like before, I needed for her to understand who she was dealing with.
“I’m sorry I was slow. I struggle with Asperger’s Syndrome, and they didn’t tell me what this ward was like. If they had, I may’ve been better prepared.”
Subsequently, she mentioned my cleaning, “you cannot leave under the mattress. You have to clean that too. You have to clean everything in the area.”
“I didn’t know. I wasn’t trained.”
This is when I knew she wasn’t one for understanding and knew nothing about Aspergers: “Its common sense really.”
“I lack common sense because of Aspergers. If I’m not given proper guidance, I get confused.”
She may have lacked the ability to understand. She may have not shown any signs of caring. Her tiredness may have shrouded her senses. This may have caused my frustration to boil.
However, when the shift ended and I got a chance to recollect my day, it was then I realised something special.
What followed was a feeling of elation, freedom, and a thank you from the child living inside.
I had let it free.
Free from the cage I had locked them in many years ago.
No longer was I going to feel ashamed and be frightened to be treated differently.
From now on, if I am in a situation where I have to explain my condition, I will.
So what if they don’t understand.
So what if they find it difficult.
This may not be for everybody as we are all different, but if I meet somebody, and I know that individual is a manager or somebody I wish to befriend, I’m going to tell them.
If they feel the need to do their research or have experience with ASD, they’ll know how to interact with me.
I’ll know I may not be shoved into a situation without clear-cut guidance.
And, at least then they’ll know what weird and wonderful scenarios will appear if we were to be friends.
Being part of the ASD community should not be hidden inside of us. It should be shared with pride.
After all, we are incredible!
We are unique individuals that excel in what we set our minds to.
In an article written in 2011 for The Guardian, journalist Yousif Nur wrote the article, The upside of living with Aspergers Synrome:
For all the talk of Asperger’s being an albatross hanging around our necks, it’s not all bad. Why do I say that? Because of our tendency to care passionately, even obsessively, about the things we love dearly. Not wanting to be bound by the rules of society, we may be seen as unique and original.
We can use our talents in an environment where we often achieve, if not excel, in certain fields. Music is my passion/obsession/vice. I find solace in the words of Morrissey and Jeff Buckley and, if anything, it confirms that people with Asperger’s can prosper. And then some.
I hope you know that too.
I would like to thank you for reading my article. I hope wherever you’re in the world you’re staying safe and well.
Thanks again!
