MY NEURODIVERGENCE EXPERIENCE

Words by Teddi (he/she/they)

CW: Anxiety, Depression, OCD, Suicide, PTSD, Hopsitalisation.

My brain does not work.

I have generalised anxiety, social anxiety, health anxiety, obsessive compulsive disorder tendencies, severe depression, suicidal tendencies, sensory issues, and post traumatic stress disorder. Genetically, I most likely have ADHD and autism too. In all honesty, it’s not fun having my brain.

When I joked to my friend that, technically, I’m neurotypical, I was met with, “No the fuck you’re not.” When you have ‘tendencies’ on your medical file, they’re not considered a permanent neurological issue. This means that for things requiring a medical evaluation, like getting a visa, I can pass the test. But as my friend said, “just because you only got diagnosed then, doesn’t mean you didn’t have it before.”

Since the Covid-19 pandemic began, I have been admitted to hospital for mental health once a year— typically when seasonal depression hits. It is what it is. Sometimes I just can’t cope and need to leave the space I’ve been rotting in for a few months.

Finding out I’m autistic has been huge in improving my mental health. Suddenly, I had all these new resources, coping skills, and support to make the world more accessible for me. I struggle with asking for accommodations because I don’t have a formal diagnosis. In Australia and Aotearoa, a diagnosis is limiting. NZ has some of the harshest immigration policies that excludes autistic people from long-term visas.

I say to the people who ask how to get diagnosed: there is nothing stopping you from using the resources available and figuring out what your neurodivergence means to you. A diagnosis can be helpful for protection in the workplace, but it can also be discriminatory. In the medical system, it can mean that you are deemed unfit to control your own care. A guardian will be asked to, even if you are fully capable.

A lot of the time, people don’t realise they are being ableist. The most hurtful things I’ve experienced are the off-the-cuff remarks, like being called ‘lazy’. If I was going to be lazy, I wouldn’t leave the house. When I refuse to do something, it is because it is most likely going to inflict pain on me. My sensory issues mean I’ve scratched my skin off until it bled, and I’ve accidentally given myself a burn trying to erase the feeling.

OCD is completely unreasonable and I’m aware of it. Sometimes it’s easier to do what makes me feel better than to have a big panic attack. Panic attacks are no joke. When I had one while rigged up to a heart monitor, the nurse thought I was having a heart attack and I had to calm her down.

My only helpful hint for when your brain is not working is to talk to people. Talk to your doctor— or literally anyone—and see if they know something that will help. If you don’t talk, your world becomes so much smaller and there are so few chances for people to help, despite their willingness to. Systems are not designed to provide support if they don’t know there is any required. The worst someone can say is no—so you might as well ask.

Need to talk? Helplines on page 36.