Why I Wish I’d Been Diagnosed With Autism As A Child
By Rosemary Collins
When I was a child, my favorite fairy tale was The Snow Queen. I used to imagine that like Kay, the boy in the story, I had been frozen by a splinter in my heart. The splinter is what changed Kay, what prevented him from caring for his childhood friend, Gerda. I always felt like I couldn’t connect with other children, either.
I’ve never understood exactly what it is that allows people to grow so close they almost merge together — to get to a place where they are relaxed and open with one another, talking easily and making jokes without pre-planning it. I’ve always had tremendous difficulty forming and maintaining close friendships and relationships. In primary school, I spent lunchtime standing in a corner of the playground by myself, unconsciously flicking my hands to help me concentrate as I made up fantasy worlds in my head. I preferred this to any physical activities, such as crafts or sports, at which I often struggled — as if my body was blocking me instead of working with me.
At the age of 7, I was referred for an assessment for dyspraxia. According to medical records I only managed to access as an adult, I was given a dyspraxia diagnosis, but my parents were never told about it and the occupational therapy I received was haphazard at best. The Asperger’s assessment I received…
