It took me forty years to get a diagnosis. For the first twenty years I didn’t have any a diagnosis, I was afraid of what the problem might be.

But see, there it is, I always knew there was a problem. I always knew I was different and the older (and soberer I got) the more apparent it became!

My children had their guesses but when I read about the symptoms, I never related.

I got straight As in school.

I have a degree and a medical profession.

I’ve held highly ranked positions.

I’ve loved everyone and cared for every creature I’ve ever come across.

I’ve cried for complete strangers out of sheer empathy.

So I never wanted to know what was wrong with me, because I feared it was something big, or nothing at all and really everyone secretly felt like this inside their heads, they just faked it better than me.

But when anxiety got so big I couldn’t manage it, when the fear and unknown became too big to run from, I began my journey.

I talked to my doctor. I got referrals and talked to psychiatrists, psychologists and psychics.

Then I got on the path to autism and everything, and I mean everything, made more sense! I related to everything, including down to the chronic pain, headaches, anxiety, confusion in conversations and even the suspected seizures that was being highlighted more and more.

Silent seizures.

Silent symptoms.

Silence I screamed into until it filled with so many words, that they started to stick.

I’m autistic and my high IQ has covered my ass, and carried me through life. So when I did my final assessment and the sentence was there staring at me, I cried silently for how validating it felt.

Compensatory strategies made it appear that I was coping, but on the inside, I was screaming for help.

I’ve found that help, now to research and learn more, finally learn more about myself!

-a Non-Miss