A Christmas Memory
Whether as a result of trauma cutting deep scars in our memory or our natural talent for memory retention, autistic people can often remember events and experiences down to minute details long after they occur. Some are what we would rather not remember. What my life was like five years ago today, to this very morning, will give everyone a stark glimpse into what life can be like for undiagnosed autistic people.
In August 2019, at age 37, thanks to a fortunate hunch, I was diagnosed as autistic. But in the early hours of this special day, only nine months earlier, I had no idea that I was autistic. Neither did I know just how severely my life had been affected by not knowing soon enough. Blinded to the truth, here is my Christmas memory.
Between 1–2 a.m. on Christmas Day in 2018, I was alone downstairs as my parents slept upstairs. I normally stay up late from previous college and work schedules. This morning was no exception. I had randomly decided to nudge myself more into the Christmas spirit by doing something that, at the time, seemed otherwise harmless and really quite sincere.
My idea was to post individualized Merry Christmas greetings to my friends on Facebook. At the time, many of them were former high school classmates. Maybe it was the Christmas spirit. I felt ambitious. I wanted to send the greetings to as many as 50 of my friends! My intent was to post the greeting directly to their profile. As soon as they checked the app, they would see them as a surprise.
It just so happened that the first friend I started with was my first-ever best friend from grade school. He was born here in the US, but his parents were native to India. I learned the true meaning of respect, culture, and kindness from a friend, thanks to him. As I opened the browser tab for his profile, I made my way to where I needed to post my festive greeting. As I did, I glimpsed pictures on the left side of the screen. One was of him with his young daughter…
Before I knew what was happening, I suddenly found myself falling apart faster than I could control it. I began crying with such intensity that it was like someone pulled a grenade pin in my mind, and it went off. I was surprised I had been quiet enough not to wake my parents. But I was aware enough to know exactly why my composure had collapsed so swiftly.
I saw that picture of my otherwise socially and economically integrated former best friend with his own children. Kids. A picture of him with his daughter. That was all. Here I was, absolutely beside myself, having no idea that I had not and was not integrating into society. I did not even know I was autistic or what that was. In 2018, during the early morning hours of December 25th…
… all I wanted for Christmas was not to wake up.
I cried myself to sleep, almost begging not to wake up. Three times, I asked Him to take me as I wept into my pillow. The dense mass of fabric was barely enough to smother my grief as I drifted off to restless sleep. I wanted to let go. All it took was seeing a friend’s firstborn child. It rang my bell so deeply that I never forgot the memory. After the holidays were over, I told my counselor all about it.
You see, two months earlier, I had begun my first true modern counseling appointments. I started case management for the first time ever during the summer of 2018, too. I also fell out with the volunteer community at the same time. I was devastated and confused about why it happened. My autism was completely unknown. Yet it deeply influenced my life.
That was then. 2018. Imagine my life now. At 2023. In the five long years since, has anything changed? I have been diagnosed. I am self-aware. Yet, I still lack something that, if it is not resolved soon enough, will claim the strength that I have left. That something is economic integration, with monotropism accommodated. I am not the only autistic human being who is still struggling to get by each day without it. This is part of my story.
This is our story.
#LetThatThinkIn
Welcome to the Autism Experience.
