If writing can take a lot of energy for me to do, it pales in comparison to this next topic. Of all the autistic experiences I have reflected on, one has proven to be the most harmful to my socioeconomic development and mental health. Masking is a natural behavioral process your brain uses to blend in and function within society. Society is full of conflicting personality types and impactful situations such as employment and social interaction.
However, since masking is a natural process, it can be very difficult for an autistic person to recognize when exactly we do it. In my article, Part of My Journey is the Journey, I documented over thirty years of masking’s effect on my key developmental decisions, such as scholastic, collegiate, and occupational. But I forgot one very important piece of information: how masking affects me on an emotional level.
Technically, until age 40, I did not know I was autistic or understand how it influenced my thinking. So, for a very long time, I had no clue I was fighting a constant internal struggle over not pursuing certain special interests in my life. Sure, if I had a craving for canned pasta but could not satisfy that interest, it would probably be short-term until it could be fulfilled. If a girl I asked to a school dance said she was not going, but afterwards I found out she lied, I would feel betrayed.
Then I could move on to someone else (unless this happened for twenty years, which it has). What happens when masking affects long-term career decisions? What happens when an autistic teenager grows up and masks their employment decisions for thirty years? High school was too long ago to remember. The last seven years, though, I do remember very clearly.
Agony.
It has been nothing short of pure agony. Remember: I am a suicide attempt survivor. So, I am not kidding when I make such a serious reference to suicide. Some autistic children develop a special interest in a career at a rather young age. Perhaps as late as their early 20s. If they are able to follow and successfully engage in that pursuit, it is already widely known just how fulfilling those cases have turned out to be.
For many, their career pursuit is their life’s work, and they are exceptionally good at their chosen profession. However, I am here to tell you that if an autistic person over the age of 18, for whatever reasons, is unable to pursue their special career interest, I will be blunt. I am lucky to be alive, especially this long — 23 years — after high school. Have I resolved mine? Nope. What does this feel like right now? An anchor.
An anchor of absolute gut-wrenching despair. Why despair? I feel like I have tried everything. Yet I am powerless and unable to escape the insidious pull of my neurology. The depression alone is relentless. I have to constantly distract myself from the constant reminders of being 41, going nowhere, and having no meaningful life. Every — single — day. Oh, I grew up working summer jobs, temp jobs, and two full-time jobs for sixteen years after high school.
For the last 23 years, I have felt an increasing weight pulling me down each year. This is why I have actually been diagnosed with chronophobia, the fear of time-related stressors. I analogize it to a slow death of suffering while I watch all of existence literally pass me by. Our society is only structured for non-autistic people, and there are zero accommodations for autistic career pursuits.
If it remains unchanged, who knows what the toll will be?
If I feel this anchor so strongly, it is irrefutable proof that neurodivergence exists and how serious the real-world effect masking can have on autistic people.
#LetThatThinkIn
Welcome to the next Autism Experience.
The Trap Otherwise Known as Society.
