Discovering late in life that I have an Autistic Spectrum Disorder (ASD) has, amongst many other things, enabled me to look back at some of my behaviours through a much clearer lens. I have a better understanding of why my brain thinks the way it does, why I can’t sit still and why I avoid social interaction.
Autistic people often have heightened senses. Unfortunately, this isn’t the superpower it sounds like. It mostly just means that we can be overwhelmed by the sensory overload of everyday life. For instance, I loved the company of my friends, but meeting them in a busy pub was hellish for me. I couldn’t help but hear all the lyrics of songs played in the background, everyone else’s conversations, every clink of a glass, every opening and closing of the till, every chair leg scrape against the floor, every door open and close. All at once.
So we react by avoiding these situations where we can and/or by stimming. This is self-stimulatory behaviour (no, not that kind) which is often a repetitive movement which soothes and protects us from the chaos and cacophony all around us. The hand flapping and head banging (no, not that kind) that many people will associate with their image of an autistic child is a more extreme form of this. And in most cases, until it’s pointed out to us, we don’t know we’re doing it.
This behaviour can irritate other people. It certainly irritated my mother. I was smacked hard and often for what must have looked like deliberate acts of defiance, when I continued to shake my legs after being screamed at to sit still. What hurt me more than the punishment, though, was the feeling that my mum thought I had disrespected her. That was never something I would choose to do. I wish she was still alive, so I could explain.
We immigrated when I was 10½ years old and I soon found out that my teachers in the UK were also irritated by my odd behaviour. I loved learning and remember listening intently in my first class to my new teacher telling us about Henry VIII. All of a sudden, he barked at me to stop tapping my pencil on my desk which I hadn’t realised I was doing. I had always been a straight ‘A’ student and was not used to being told off. I was embarrassed and stopped immediately.
Less than a minute later, I saw a look of rage descend his face. We were looking directly at each other and I remember wondering why he was suddenly so angry. In retrospect, I can’t help thinking that my quizzical look exacerbated his ire. He pushed his chair back, stood up and strode over towards me. It was only when he was halfway to me that I looked down at my hand and noticed, with sheer horror, that I was tapping my pencil again.
I stopped but it was way too late. He was a big, bushy-bearded hulk of a man with a bellowing voice (think of Brian Blessed and you’re pretty much there) and I was paralysed with fear. He came and stood behind me. By this time I could hear nothing, but I could feel the stares of my new classmates. He put his hands on the side of my head, grabbed me by the ears and lifted me clean out off my chair.
My feet didn’t touch the ground again until he deposited me outside the classroom. He went back in and left me there. Although there was a covered footway running along the classrooms it was, essentially, open to the elements. I was small, scared, cold, confused and alone.
I couldn’t stick up for myself, and there was no-one to stick up for me. I couldn’t possibly tell my parents that I had got into trouble at school; the punishment I would get would make the pain in my ears feel like tickling. So, I sucked it up. That was the first time, but certainly not the last, that my autistic behaviour got me into trouble at school.
I’d like to think that things have improved in education, and that children who have the same issues I had are identified and given the space, understanding and support they need to thrive. I know, however, that spending cuts to public services mean that special education services are stretched to or, as many exasperated parents have experienced, past breaking point.
So, the next time that you are tempted to vote for some slimy toad that is promising to cut public services so that you can buy a slightly bigger TV, take a moment to think about all those frightened little boys and girls who will no longer get the support they need and deserve.
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