Living in a Fantasy World

When I was a pre-schooler I was obsessed with learning how to read, and I was lucky enough to have a mother who was able to spend the time to try and satisfy my appetite and give me the tools I needed to open up a whole new world of fantasy. I clearly remember reading my first unaided page of an Enid Blyton paper back when I was six years old and curled up in bed, and being very proud of myself.

I have always loved to read before I go to bed as I find it a great comfort. I remember going on brownie camp when I was very young and being absolutely horrified that once in our sleeping bags, the lights would go out, and we were to go to sleep…WITHOUT READING! Of course I would have to burrow down inside my sleeping back with a torch to pour through the pages of my books before I could sleep. Even now I don’t feel the day has ended properly until I have read at least a few pages of a book.

I love books for the same reason most people do – they are a way to escape the real world and enter one where anything is possible. The same can be said of films and television, and to me these are much the same drug as a good book is. Perhaps even more so. It’s an escape that can at times threaten to swallow us whole. It’s not unusual to love stories and escaping into fantasy worlds, but for those on the spectrum it’s a more intense experience that can consume us.

In my younger years when I didn’t have such things as a job and children that constantly demanded my attention, a new book by my favourite author would send me to my room where I would lock myself away and not be seen until I had read it cover to cover and completely and utterly surrendered myself to the world it created. It would become my world, and the characters would become my best friends. It would be all I could think about and when it was over I would feel as though there was a deep hole in my life.

Films and TVs shows have had the same effect on me. During my university years Buffy the Vampire Slayer and its spin off Angel completely dominated my world to the extent that I would watch nothing else in my free time, and would even turn down engagements with real friends in favour of watching the latest episode on TV. I even went so far as to write my dissertation on the representations of masculinity in Buffy in my final year.

The reason why these stories appeal to us so much is simple. We spend all day in the real world, with real people, trying to decode their meanings, trying to fit in, trying to understand society and its rules, and it’s both confusing and exhausting. Books, films and TV shows, however, offer us the enjoyments of real human emotions with much less ambiguity. The characters intensions are clearly laid out for us, often we are given insights into their very thoughts and know exactly what they are feeling. In books our protagonists go so far as to tell us what they’re thinking and read the other characters for us. In TV and film scenes are deliberately shot to show us what we should be looking at, close ups on faces and exaggerated expressions make them easier to read, music tells us what the mood is and how we should be feeling. We are able to become part of tight groups of friends, enter into their world and share in their excitement, sadness and jokes, without feeling out of place. What’s more we already know that the story is already planned out. Someone is in control, it is not haphazard like the real world, ultimately there is a plan and you are in safe hands.

The real world scares me, because I am constantly looking for meaning and order, and am never satisfied. In the stories there always seem to be a greater purpose that drives the characters. My constant search for meaning in life keeps bringing me back to these stories, because they are the only place I can find it. They are the only place I feel safe, and where things make sense.

I could recite entire episodes of my favourite shows and films, and their lines will often turn up in my conversation, because I have learnt most of my humour from them. I relate most of the world around me to the stories that I love, and try to find fantasy and magic everywhere in the world around me, because I feel far more comfortable in a fantasy world than I do in the real one. Sometimes it is all I can think about.

I know that it’s the same for my son who frequently replaces real conversation with scripts he has literally lifted straight from his favourite shows. For me the enjoyment that we get from this fiction is one of the plus sides of being on the spectrum. I would not trade in the great I joy that I experience from immersing myself in a fantasy world for anything  – and I wouldn’t take it away from my son either. For much of the time we live in a fantasy world, and I can tell you now, it’s a lot more fun than the real one!

Diagnosis

I am 32 years old and for the first time in my life I have come to an understanding about why I am different to everyone else. It has taken 32 years for both myself and my parents to realise that I am on the autistic spectrum………and I'm not alone. In fact it is very common for women not to realise until they are in their 30s and even 40s that they are on the autistic spectrum.

This is because women on the spectrum seem to be better at mimicking social norms than our male counterparts, and quickly learn to fool, not only the world into believing that we are ‘normal’ (although a little quirky), but also ourselves. Often it’s not until will have a child, usually a son, diagnosed on the spectrum that we come to the realisation that we ourselves are also on the spectrum. It is through our quest for knowledge to better understand them, that we arrive at a better understanding of ourselves.

Many are happy with a self-diagnosis – but not me. There are a number of reasons why I want an official diagnosis. Firstly, although I am absolutely certain that I am on the spectrum, I need it to be confirmed, because then the question ‘why do I feel different to everyone else’ will have been officially answered and I can be at peace with my different self. Secondly, I want to write about this experience, as I am doing in this blog, to help others in the same boat, and to spread the awareness, and I will have more credibility with a diagnosis. Thirdly, there is a theory that autism affects four times as many men/boys as women/girls and I believe the stats are out because high functioning girls are better at hiding it, and there are many women out there on the spectrum that don’t even realise that they are.

So how to get a diagnosis? It’s not as straight forward as it was for my son. For him it was easy. I had to do a lot of pushing to get him moved up waiting lists, but as soon as anyone saw him they were straight away in complete agreement that he was on the spectrum and in need of additional support. His paediatrician even said that he could tell he was on the spectrum as soon as he met him because he has an American accent, despite being proudly Welsh. I knew it wasn’t going to be as straight forward a process for myself, being a full time working mother and wife who has learnt quite well how to appear ‘normal.’

A couple of months ago I had a GP appointment to request an assessment for diagnosis. My mother came with me to fill in the background of my childhood and a referral was made to get the processes moving. It was a gruelling appointment that focussed on everything that has ever been wrong with me, but it was a necessary first step. The GP was completely on board with my self-diagnosis, but she was doubtful that the psychiatrist I was to see would be equally supportive of an adult seeking a diagnosis who was already ‘functioning’ in the world. She didn’t think I would be taken seriously.

Thankfully she was very wrong. Last week I had my first appointment with the psychiatrist and she was lovely. This time both my husband and my mother came with me, and again we went over all my life problems, and she was both receptive and understanding. Surprisingly she told me that she has as many as two adults a month coming to her for a diagnosis on the autism spectrum. I found this very encouraging, as I think it shows that awareness is spreading, and more and more people are going to be getting the help and support they need. Unfortunatly she also told me that I was only the second woman she had seen.

We covered a lot of the same ground that we did with the GP, but it was a little easier this time round. My mother filled in my childhood, I told her how I feel, and my husband told her what a nightmare I am to live with. I will be seeing her again in a couple of weeks to talk about the anxiety and depression I suffer from as part of the condition, and she has referred me to someone who has a special interest in the autistic spectrum to be assessed for a diagnosis. I was thrilled with the way the appointment went, because I am now actually on my way to getting a diagnosis.

However, what really surprised me was that at the end of the session she said ‘I just have one more burning question for you…where does you’re accent come from?’ Throughout my life people have questioned my accent, always failing to place it correctly, and often identified it as being either American or Australian. The psychiatrist could not have been more shocked when I told her I grew up in South Wales. I attribute this to the way I become extremely engrossed in my TV shows and films to the point that it becomes more real to me than the real world. So much so that I pick up the accent (and anyone who really knows me knows 'I don't watch British programmes)........and my son is the same….so I guess things aren’t going as differently for us as I thought they would!