Charlie (formerly yessuh)

[Charlie]

Last updated 18th February 2009 - additions in bold

Current Age: 26

Sex: Male

Autistic Diagnosis: Aspergers

Additional diagnoses: (psychological/neurological) Scotopic Sensitivity Syndrome

Medical conditions: As a child I had asthma and eczema, but both have cleared up now. I am prone to depressive bouts

Occupation: Used to work at Burger King at my local airport (as Assistant Manager) until stress/health issues caused a near nervous breakdown

Interests: Walking/Hiking, Football (Soccer), Cricket, Maps & Geography, Coins

Brief diagnostic history: Not too much at the moment. I was made aware of AS through a memory of a TV program I had seen a couple of years previously, which came to me whilst I was off work sick. After researching on the Autistic Spectrum I found the answer to who I was and why I have always been different. Within days I had seen a GP, who had reasonable knowledge of autism, and after 10 minutes of her asking me questions she was satisfied that it warranted referral to a psychologist, which she did. That was in June 2007, and I am still waiting for the appointment, although I was told from the start it would probably take about a year to get seen. On the 2nd April 2008 I had an appointment at at Irlen Central England, who after speaking to me and undertaking various tests, diagnosed me as having Scotopic Sensitivity Syndrome (SSS) - otherwise known as Irlen Syndrome. This is basically a visual perceptual dysfunction, and is relatively common in those on the autistic spectrum. The diagnostician commented on my various AS traits during the assessment, and made references to it in his report, which, whilst not making my AS official, adds a lot more weight behind the possibility. On 27th October 2008 I saw an Educational Psychologist after a few incidents and accidents at work on the recommendation of an Occupational Health report, and at the end of the Psychologist appointment I was diagnosed as having Aspergers Syndrome

[Charlie]

I will no doubt write a more general piece on emotions, but to start with I want to focus on these two.

Love

Love is something that I have never understood. How do you feel love? Where do you source it from? How do you manage it? These are some of the questions I ask myself. There are only three people in this world who I have felt this emotion with.
1) My mother, who died when I was 10
2) A former work colleague who became a sort of mother figure to me and is the person who I can talk to the easiest about any problems
3) My niece (currently 7)

I think that the one with my niece developed due to me not living near to the rest of my family, and so when I am with them she tends to jump, climb and throw herself at me, and generally wanting to spend time with me. It is also because she does not judge me, as far as I am aware. I do not have to do anything, or pretend to be something I am not, to please her. It is a similar thing with my former work colleague. She does not judge me. She nurtures me and tries to help me.

The one thing I have realised is that these 3 people who I have felt an affinity of love towards are the only 3 people whom I have felt an overpoweringly sense of love from. I am not saying that no-one else loves me - I am sure the rest of my family do. It is just I am not able to feel it. It is probably just not shown as plainly and obviously as the 3 do/did. In other words the emotion is not strong enough for me to detect, so it goes unnoticed.

Learning how to love seems to be near impossible, or in fact impossible. I cannot generate the feeling myself it seems, I can only "create" it in reciprocation. If you asked me if I love my dad I would not be sure how to answer. I respect him, I listen to him, I help and talk to him if required. That is love in a sense, but not the emotional love which can be felt.

As you may gather I have never had a relationship with a partner. I consider myself to be straight but I am simply not fussed when it comes to relationships. Maybe I am more asexual.

So what is it like living in a world almost devoid of love? It has its plus sides. The main one is that it allows me to focus and not get caught up emotionally in situations. I believe the term is "clouded judgement". There is a down side as well. With love comes understanding and acceptance, and these are probably the biggest 2 things missing from my life at the moment. I can quite happily live without love. To me it is not essential any more, almost a frivolous, superfluous emotion. I just want to be understood and accepted in this crazy, crazy world. That is all I ask now of life - to be accepted as I am.


Anger


Anger is an emotion. As such, like love, I have "trouble" with it. The easy way to describe it is to say I do not get angry. However, that is a lie. I do get angry very occasionally, as a result of the build up of frustrations, and when I reach my limit, and it may only be a small thing, I "explode" or "lose it". To me most of the time things fall into one of a few small categories, namely pleasant, satisfactory/reasonable and irritating. Note the lack of anything beyond irritating (for a reference I define irritating as the sort of level someone else may feel if they were being pestered by a fly buzzing around their head for a minute or so).

If I were to explain how and when I hit the "blind rage"/anger level, then this is probably the easiest analogy. Imagine every event has a value assigned to it w.r.t. its annoyance level. I find it easier to think of it as volumes of liquid. The "irritating" emotional threshold is like a jug of a fixed volume. If something happens that is irritating then this amount of liquid is placed into it, and so the emotion is displayed. However, if an event happens which should really be more than irritating, what happens is the irritating "jug" is filled up first, and so that emotion is able to be released, and the surplus is left to go into the next container - that of "blind rage". However, being right at the end of the emotional scale, this container is vastly bigger than the "irritating" one, so naturally takes a lot longer to fill, and is only being filled with the surplus annoyance. Eventually it does get filled, and that is when anger is shown. I hope that made sense. Note that even a seemingly small thing can set it off as depending on the stress level any event can have any liquid value.

To give an actual example of this, the last time I got angry was at work. I was having a bad day. It was busy, and we were short of staff. My sensory sensitivities (another story!) were in overload and I could not escape to recuperate due to the queues. I was on the verge of going into a rage at any moment, and I actually recognised it. Anyway, I went to get another box of meat patties from a freezer to bring to the unit, and as I bent down to pick them up, my shirt came untucked from my trousers. I knew that, but could not do much as I had a box in my hands. I was just finishing removing these patties from the box to the destination freezer when the Terminal Manager came around the corner, followed by the GM. All she (the TM) said was "Tuck you're shirt in" but that was enough at that time for me to lose it. The empty box was chucked onto the top of the freezer and I punched it with my right fist, before storming out past them, pulling my tie off and throwing it on the floor in the process. After 10 minutes of sitting on my own in peace I was "fine", and within a couple of minutes I was actually laughing near manically with myself at the absurdity of it all!

[Charlie]

Emotions

The easy way to describe emotions is to say I do not understand them. That is not quite true. If they are strong I can recognise the stronger, basic ones. Yet I find it hard to feel or explain them in myself. I see myself as a caring person, but I do not feel compassion as such. What I presume compassion is just seems to be a natural reaction to the situation, and natural situations do not trigger an emotional response.

For example, if someone at work was obviously suffering, I may ask what the problem was, and try and help with my own brand of advice if I could. That I see is problably compassion, yet apart from the internal awkward feeling I have I have no emotions inside me.

The truth is emotions confuse me, and can interfere with my seemingly logical neurological thought processes. Other people's emotions both confuse me and can trigger embarrassment. I could not sufficiently explain or tell you why I get embarrassed, so I will not try. I even get embarrassed watching TV. If I sense something stupid, a strong emtional response or something highly predictable is about to happen it is enough for me to change channels so I do not see it (and change back later) or leave the room if I cannot change channel.

[Charlie]

I think it is fair to say my schooling was messy. I went to 5 different schools, in three different parts of the country, as a result of my father's job relocating him on two occasions. For ease I will break it down into 3 parts which will be the different areas of the country.

Part I - London

The first school I attended was Hackbridge Infants School, which is only for the first few years of school life, before I progressed next door to Hackbridge Junior School. Time at the infants school was fine. Looking at it now it occurs to me that I did not have any friendships as such, although everyone seemed to get on with everyone - there was no real politics in children that age. At the end of day 1 of my school life I came out to be greeted by my mother. The conversation went as follows:
"What was school like?"
"Alright."
"What did you do?"
(After much thought) "Don't know."
Those became my standard responses over the years, with very little variance. Trying to get information out of me was near impossible.

I was reading books far more advanced (at least 2 years) than the rest of the class. I found it natural, and I cannot remember learning to read, almost like the knowledge was always there. I managed to get one proper friend after a new boy joined our class after a few months. I remember watching him throughout his first day, trying to work him out, and trying to work out what I thought of him. Walking home that afternoon with my mother, we ended up following him and his mother for most of the way, before we all ended up getting talking, as it turned out that they had just moved into the house opposite ours (in a quiet street of about 25 houses). That ended up becoming my only proper friendship at school, and my only other friend as such was another child who moved into our street, but went to another school.

Back at school my friend managed to get me interested in football, (and I ended up supporting the same team as him), and persuaded me to join in eventually with the others. I was not great at playing, except for one position - goalkeeper. I was naturally good with reflexes, reactions and getting in the way, and also had an ability to dive around on the concrete without it hurting or bothering me, to the amazement of most of the other kids.

My main dislike of the Infant school was the fire alarm, the continual, and unexpected, bell was horrible. There were also two wooden huts outside which I had numerous lessons in, but these were not linked to the alarm system - instead it was raised by a modified hand bell, which had an even worse duller clanging sound.

Academically I was very capable. One of my first teachers quipped at an early open evening that I would grow up to be a nuclear physicist, due to my inquisitive, analytical mind. I was well behaved - rules were there to be followed, and I enjoyed the relatively rigid structure and routines. There were still confusing aspects which I could not quite understand though - lunchtimes were a chaotic nightmare. The enclosed noise, with everyone doing their own thing was not good.

I had one peculiar behaviour at school, which seemed to irk my mother, due to being somewhat expensive. I enjoyed chewing the cuff of my left jumper, and all my jumpers quickly ended up being holey or frayed in that area. When I chewed on it gave me a focus in difficult circumstances, and imposes a semi-routine in the style of chewing. It became not quite sub-conscious, as I was just about aware of doing it, but almost. I still have a coat which I chew on the left collar, and I recently had to discard a pair of gloves as I had eaten away at the wool on the whole of the thumb and the majority of the index finger. Nothing was thought of this behaviour at the time, but looking at it now this would have been my very first stim/tic.

In the last couple of years in London I started feeling more and more different and ostracised from most of the others, partly due to my academic abilities and willingness to follow the school rules at all costs, and partly due to not really being interested in the usual peer behaviours at that time, with the exception of football as mentioned earlier. I did not fit into the cliques that were forming, but all that became redundant as at the end of the autumn term of 1990, when I was 8, the family moved to Worcestershire.

[Charlie]

Part II - Stourport-on-Severn (Chapter 1)

I hated the move, and did not react well to it. It meant starting again, losing my daily routines and having to re-invent myself. Moving to a new area of the country I guess is never easy, but for me it was horrible. I knew no-one, recognised nothing in terms of familiar landmarks, which have a reassurance to me that I know where I am. Nothing was in order, and life was in chaotic tatters. There was one thing I despised about it above all other things. In fact despised does it nowhere near justice. No word in the English language does. It was my new school. It was not the teacher I had (Mrs Mills) or the actual building. The problem arose by the difference in education systems and what ages you went to certain schools at. The London system was different to the one in Worcestershire where I now found myself. In London I had been to an Infants school, before progressing to the Junior school. The set-up in Worcestershire meant that I had to go to a Primary school, which was the first school in their set-up. It felt like I had been demoted due to stupidity, and was beneath me. I was of the belief that I was too clever and mature at that age to go to a primary school amongst all those little children. Bah! Nightmare! Yet there was nothing I could say or do to object. It was like having to serve a prison sentence, aged 8, and with no chance of escape.

If there is a positive to take from my time at this school it is that is was only for 2 terms, before I moved up to the middle school, situated next door. It was still 2 terms of hell. I did not learn a single thing in those 2 terms, and my initial fears of stepping backwards were realised in my opinion with this and that the other children in my class seemed so stupid. The work was all what I had previously covered, and I had found it so basic the first time around. It seemed an insult to have to do it again. I think the teacher did sympathise with me - she realised I was just too advanced for the rest of them and was simply repeating work, but especially with it only being for a few months, she could not really give me much else to do. I was regularly helping and trying to explain things to the other children on my table, almost at the expense of the teacher.

Sentence served I moved over to the middle school, which was fed by at least three of the local primary schools, resulting in a combination of new classmates, new surroundings and new teachers. It looked like a recipe for disaster as they say, and in many ways it was....

[Charlie]

Part II - Stourport-on-Severn (Chapter 2)

The middle school was better. Lessons were more rigid and proper timetables were in place. At any given time of the week I would know what lesson I would be doing. Academically I was excelling, especially in the sciences and maths. Once I had mapped out the school layout in my head it was not that bad. The real problem were the other children. I was an outsider. My accent was a real giveaway, and coupled with my strong unflinching moral code in following rules I was not the most popular kid. It had not been that bad in the previous school, but that was probably more that I was in the highest year, and the lower years were 5/6/7 year olds anyway, so were not really of the type to be able to do anything.

My first friend was found for me, if not effectively bought for me by my mother. His name was Brian, he lived less than 5 minutes walk from our house, in a semi-delapidated council house with the family having very little money, and we shared the same birthday. We were otherwise very different from contrasting backgrounds. I was good academically but poor at sports, he was the other way. He came from a poor family which seldom had the chance to have treats, I came from a family, which whilst not wealthy had sufficient money to have a decent standard of living. I guess middle class fits it. He was always getting into trouble at school, I rarely did. He was a bully, I was a victim of bullies. So how did we become friends? Why did my mother deem him to be suitable to be a friend? Surely most parents of children like me would think that someone of Brian's characteristics would be nothing but a bad influence on their child and would try to keep their child away from them at all costs. I and my mother were different.

To start with, my mother was still helping at the schools with the children who had academic troubles, and Brian was one of these. I do not know one person who knew my mother not to like her. She had a gift. She would love the children she helped like she would love me. She would truely care for them and understand their troubles. It goes without saying that the love and care she gave to them in the hour or so she spent with them every week was probably more than they got from their families in a month. This love is no doubt how Brian was bought, and no doubt gave me an easier school life as a result, as most of the gangs of "bullies" were under her spell. It was almost a case of them ignoring me as a repayment of the love she had given them. Of course, my mother knew I was different too. She also believed that Brian was able to be saved from the system with a little work, and may even have a better outcome in life as a result. She knew that I would not be changed by his bad ways, due to my moral code, and I may even be a positive influence on him. My mother even paid personally for him to go on a school trip to the seaside at Weston-super-Mare as he had never been more than 20miles from home before, let alone the seaside. So basically, that is how this strange friendship began.

At school whilst there was little out and out agressive bullying, there was a lot of ignoring and technical bullying with the odd comment here and there. Nothing to be construed as over the top. I was always going to be a target, and an easy one at that. In fact in my few years at the school there was only 2 cases of being physically attacked. With one I would have been 11, and school had finished for the day. I was usually one of the last to leave school, as it avoided the main rush and chaotic mix of people all over the streets. This day must have been a good 10 or 15 minutes after the end of the school day, and the streets were just about empty. I cannot remember the exact reason why but I did not walk home the normal way. I must have been heading to somewhere else, as there was no reason why I would go this way otherwise. The school was on top of a hill, and as I walked on one of the footpaths down it I soon became aware of a couple of boys walking behind me. I turned off onto another path, and so did they. Nothing too sinister about it, as this was still the most popular route to take going to this area of the town. Still I hated being followed and I was still anxious about the insecurity of the situation. At least they were not really getting any closer. I got to the bottom of the hill and onto a street and crossed over the road. I noticed, glancing around that they followed. Whilst not all out panic I was getting more and more anxious about their presence, and their distance behind me had reduced to about 30m from 45m. As I headed down another road I realise I was outside the home of one of my friend's sisters, so I decided to stop outside the gate and wait for them to pass. As they got closer I heard them laugh between themselves. Then they drew level with me. They stopped, one of them pushed me backwards so I was up against the gate, and then spat into my eye. I managed to open the gate behind me, and get through it, causing them to run off. Still it was not a pleasant experience.

The other time I was physically attacked was at the hands of Brian. By then out "friendship" has become mutually semi-amicable. Above still playing football in the breaks and lunch with his lot I didn't really bother him, and he didn't really bother me. Again the action took place at the end of a school day. I was making my way towards the main exit when I noticed Philip sitting down on a bench under some pegs. I went over to him to find out what the problem was. He told me that Brian had been picking on him and had taken something from him. The coridoor was otherwise deserted. No teachers were able to help. I got up and went to the door to see if I could see anything or anyone outside, and as I got near the doorway Brian charged back in, loudly making an aggressive comment to Philip. I deliberately positioned myself in his way. I was protecting a friend from an injustice. I told Brian to stop what he was doing, and give back what was taken. The initial request was dismissed with a "mind you own business", and he went to get past me. I stood firm, preventing him from doing so, without there being any contact throughout, despite him standing only inches in front of him. I had shoulders out imposing my presence as much as possible and I towered over him anyway, with him being a skinny "runt" who was over a foot shorter than I was. I was not scared. I was just doing what was right. Suddenly Brian grabbed hold of my shirt collar and jumped up, landing a headbutt on my forehead. As he landed, he stood there for a second beofre he too made a hasty retreat out the doors.

It was the summer holidays in 1992 that had probably the biggest impact on my life, even to this day. It was a hot afternoon on Wednesday 19th August. It was lunchtime. My mum made my sister and myself lunch and then made her and my father's, who was coming back from work to eat. Having finished preparing it she walked into the living room to us, where she stood on the cat who had been pestering her for tit-bits, and was walking between her legs. The end result - one mother killed by a heart attack. All my routines were then destroyed and I withdrew even further from doing anything with other people. It was my safety net breaking through. I did not know how to deal with it all, so the easiest option was to shut down and shut away the outside world.

Of course, shutting away the outside world was impossible and it was soon back to school, which soon became my refuge - a place where I could focus on my work and forget about everything else. Well that was the theory. There were still bad days, and the odd reminder. I still recall a girl coming up to me on the edge of the playground one morning a couple of weeks into the new term. I looked up towards her face and recognised her as one of the 1st years whom my mum had helped the previous year. She said to me quite sharply, "You're Mrs H's son aren't you?"
"Yes." I blurted in response more with a mumble than anything. At least it was an easy enough question.
"Well, you could have told me she had died. She helped me with my reading last year. I really liked her."
She walked away then, but I did not have an answer for her anyway. I was confused trying to work out how I could have told everyone she knew anyway. There was also the faintest hint of happiness in my thoughts. Actually make that pride. I was proud that my mother had made such an influence on someone, and that she was being missed as a result. There was also satisfaction that someone else was missing her as well and knew how special she was. And there was also some pleasant relief in those words. I was fed up, bordering on annoyed with all the "I'm sorry" comments as though it had something to do with them or that it would make the situation fine. How can someone else being sorry for something over which they had no control or had no knowledge about make the situation any better? Looking back at the exchange now I am wondering if this girl was on the autistic spectrum herself. Her language was direct and to the point and had no issues in saying it. It was not what would be considered by society to be normally socially acceptable. It appears apparent by the words that she felt it was my duty to inform her, that is that she mattered more than I did. And she happened to need help with school work (of course that doesn't mean much - I got through the school system without assistance, I mean that by geting help with school work it could infer that she had difficulties dealing with the school environment). Regardless of whether she was autistic or not this brief conversation still remains as a unique point in my life so far, which as a result left me standing there for a few minutes afterwards trying to figure it all out. It is the only time in my life I have (knowingly) experienced/detected more than one emotion at the same time.

There is little else to say about my time at this school other than a female friend (only friend who happened to be a girl) I got to know almost by accident. She was a nice enough to me anyway, and we were in several of the same classes (top sets!). It stayed there for a few months, a mutual respect, until an opportunistic observance and a quirk of life one day led to more parental intervention and a friendship starting. I had ended up one day having to leave school early due to an accident in PE. Bascially it was a barefoot gym class, and as I was on my way out of the changing rooms someone came in, pushing the door right over my big toe. The result was much blood and the rest of the day off school. Unfortunately, after having it checked out it meant going to my dad's work. I was going past his desk when I noticed an envelope on his desk addressed to a "Miss S Txxxxx-Rxxxxx". It was not going to be a common name, and this girl in my class had it as well - Susan. I told my dad this much and it turned out that this S was a Sharon whom my father had just hired to work for him. It turned out they were sisters, and lived at the same address. Not long after that conversation I was asked what I thought of Susan, to which I replied she was alright - a typical Kevin answer to anything that is not horrible, as there was an idea proposed by my dad. In the mornings I needed to get to school and Sharon could do with a lift to work, thus it was agreed that I would go to Sue's house in the morning with my dad, where he would leave me and then pick up Sharon and they would go to work together. I would then go to school with Sue and her father.

And so the friendship started, and improved from there. My sister would tease me that she was my girlfriend, but I was adament that she was not. She was just a friend who happened to be of the opposite sex. True, I did seem to spend a lot of my time at weekends or holidays at her house when she was not busy. I liked her a lot for the way she helped me and accepted me for what I was, and for not being dismissive. Maybe if I was able to love or understand my emotions properly I would/could have considered her more than just a friend. But I can't. And she wouldn't have wanted to have a useless kid as a supposed boyfriend. Plus we were only young children anyway, and I would not have jepodised our friendship for anything. She is currently the only person off line (doctor excluded) with whom I have discussed AS with at a length. We remain friends, contacting each other occasionally by text message or email, with the occasional phone conversation in whcih we discuss absolutely nothing and spend most of it trying to find a worthy conversation topic which will last more than 2 sentences. And we occasionally see each other, usually as some of the work with children she does brings her to meetings which happen to be about 10 minutes drive from where I live, or I live on the route back from another venue. The time I spent with her last time in Derby when we discussed the AS/ASD issue was the first time I felt confident to be myself in public in company for a long time, and was an immense relief.

Then it happened again, a couple of years later - we were on the move again with job relocation for my dad. Again it hit me. I felt I was just starting to settle down again and all my life was being uprooted, churned over and left to be picked at again. Again it was a fear of starting again in another weird unknown place, and that of leaving a huge part of my life behind.

Of all the bad things to occur in my life whilst I was at this school there were three positives. Firstly, I had to, and did, grow up fast. Secondly, I accepted that I was different. And the third thing was Sue.

[Charlie]

July 2007. In the history of the world it was an ordinary month. For me it was far from it. July 2007 was a month which has had the biggest impact on my life for over a decade.

I came into the month stressed at work, under pressure with everything getting on top of me. The environment there was terrible - heat, light, noise, lots of customers. I was going crazy. I was dropping things, walking into objects, going places to get things and forgetting what it was when I got there. I was on the very brink of a complete mental breakdown. This precipitated onwards, whilst trying to force myself on, until two weeks later the increasing dizziness and problems with balance I ended up going on sick leave.

The doctor, despite his best efforts could not work out what was causing it. I was not great in assisting as I found it very hard to describe the ailments in anywhere near a satisfactory manner to give him much to work on. Originally he worked on a possibility of a viral infection, which was ruled out along with any other significant malaise with the results of a blood test. Still I struggled on. I had spent most of my time indoors, and had taken to watching the Scottish Open golf on TV. I don't really like golf, and despite being hopeless at it, it is not exactly a spectator sport. However unabsorbing it was it passed the time for those 4 days. In this time I had also taken to wearing sunglasses near continuously to help alleviate the glare and pain from the light, which in turn did help the dizziness and headaches. I gave some of this information to the doctor on my next visit to him, on Monday 23rd July, but it changed very little. I was signed off work for another week, and had another task - go and get an eye test done.

I am thankful that the golf was rather mundane, as it gave me time to think. It was whilst I was sat indoors in my sunglasses that I had a recollection of a television programme I had watched a few years previously by accident. It was a documentary looking at the lives of one particular family and in it there was a section on how these special glasses had an effect on calming down disturbances due to light and other sensory difficulties. Of course I now know that these were Irlen lenses, but regardless of that there was a connection in my mind. I don't know why I really pursued that thought, maybe there was nothing else to think of, but my mind kept returning to that programme. I was trying to recall as much of it as possible. I knew it was predominantly about three boys in one family who all had varying degrees of Autism.

And so I had my first thing to look into. Autism. It is scary now looking at how I came to it, but this extraordinarily weak link was all it was. I had picked up a couple of things in the programme which I recognised in myself, but had at the time thought nothing more of. After all, this family was a crazy and extreme case. Still it had resonated in me, and obviously so if I could still semi-recall the programme after all that time. That, if anything gave me more reason to look into autism. With the latest sick note I also had the opportunity, and after seeing the doctor I took the note into work. I saw my Terminal Manager as I passed through security, who asked me if I thought it could be depression. It wasn't that. I had known as I had been depressed before. She also told me to "smile" which somewhat annoyed me, as I didn't want to. I didn't really feel anything, and my face was just its normal blank self. Anyway, I went upstairs, delivered the note, then decided that I may as well go up to visit my dad, sister and niece. The reasons were simple. Firstly, I had a week to survive before pay day on virtually no money. Secondly, my dad had internet access, so I was free to research the autism possibility at leisure. Then were the minor reasons of spending time with the family, and my niece is always happy to see me.

So I let my dad know I was going up there, and went home to get some things. Spur of the moment things are all well and good, but it took me five trips upstairs to get everything I required, as I kept on remembering things to take or do before I left. Even then it did not work successfully as when I got a shop a couple of minutes from my dad's house, which is about 90mins drive from where I live, I realised I had forgotten to to bring my wallet. Well, it was not required when I went to the doctors or to work!

I negotiated that evening well enough, and once my dad went to bed I took that as my chance to get on the computer undisturbed. A google search for autism later I found my way onto a website describing the characteristics of the autistic spectrum. Not being one who normally swears, even I muttered a profanity as I read the page. It described me perfectly. I continued to look, buoyed on by this discovery, looking more into it, finding out that it was a spectrum, and visiting numerous sites to find out what they had on it to see if I could learn anything new. The initial find was full of joy - it had answered so many questions just like that. I was not a failure, and I was not alone. The further work was to back this up, making sure I had not made a mistake. On evening number two of searching I came across Mr Rdos' test. I scored 177. During the Wednesday I decided that I would ring my doctor and get an appointment, although I did not know what I would say in it. How to say anything, summarise a lifetime of difficulty into a small meeting. I decided that I would see another doctor at the practice, as this way if it went badly I would not have to see her again. That's logic working. I ended up getting an appointment with the doctor on the Friday. Meanwhile I got my eyes tested in Leeds, when I was taken, somewhat unwillingly by my sister as company for her so she did not get lost, as she was going to be there doing training for a couple of days the following week, and wanted to know where exactly she was going to. A strange busy city centre to deal with, whilst still not feeling well, was not that great an experience, and I was taken into my first ever Starbucks (I don't think I missed anything to be honest) and had to order my sister's coffee whilst she went to the toilet, which I first had to locate for her. Why do coffees have to have such stupid illogical names, like mocha-choca-whoca-squiggly-wiggly-woo. And then they still ask if you want cream/choc sprinkles etc. on top! The thing I had to get for my sister had about 5 words and 12 syllables, and it was basically a weak coffee with lots of foamy milk with a shot of caramel syrup in it. Oh and by the way my eyes were fine. The right was ever so slightly weak, but compensated by the left comfortably. I had a fields test done as well, and got all 100 lights so that meant it was not an eye problem causing it.

I headed home, funded by my dad, like the eye test was, and prepared for the doctor's appointment. I had not told anyone about this to save embarrassment if I was dismissed as being stupid. I did not really have an idea of how to broach the subject with the doctor, so in reserve I had stuffed all the printouts I had made into my pocket and taken them with me. I looked through them whilst waiting to be called, still trying to work out what and when to say. A few minutes late I was called. The doctor seemed pleasant enough, but she soon asked the dreaded question - why was I there. I managed to reply, whilst looking at the handle of the bed at the far end of the room, that it was about autism. I had already worked out that if I was on the spectrum it was at the higher functioning end, and AS was the obvious bit, but I used autism as a generic term, so it would be easier to understand. To my immense relief she then took over, as she knew about ASDs, and asked me various questions, some were easy enough to answer, like what obsessions etc do or have I had. Others required a bit more thought. However, she seemed satisfied enough and at the end of the appointment told me that she was going to refer me to a psychologist for diagnosis, although this may take a while, possibly over a year. She also printed out and gave me some more information on autism from her computer system. All told it went far better than I was expecting, I was dreading a battle with her to convince her something was wrong. I walked out vindicated and full of reassurance. Finally I was on the way to explaining why my life had gone so terribly, terribly wrong......

[Charlie]

I had left the doctors with varying degrees of relief - mainly that I hadn't been laughed out of the centre, and that she believed there was something "wrong". However, there were a few daunting things in its midst, namely the wait. She told me that she would refer me, but had told me that a normal wait would be 12 months until my appointment, and because I appeared to be doing alright in her opinion as I was living alone and had a full time job, as well as having got through 25 years, she saw no need to push for it any sooner. So there it was, in less than one week I had gone from not-knowing into about the autistic spectrum to becoming shunted into limbo as I started the long wait for official diagnosis.

The first weeks were taken up predominantly by self-evaluation. I took to analysing my life, looking for examples of my weird behaviours and so on which could now be tied into to mysterious condition. I started to make notes, writing down these memories, my nuances, some of which at the time, and even until this time I knew no better about them being odd. Paradoxically this is explained by the rigid thinking. Some things were not indicators as such, as could be normal things, such as my previous phase of stamp collecting, and my collection of hedgehogs (not real ones I hasten to add). Then there were the other habits I had. One of the more interesting ones was a bed time ritual. As a child I used to have to turn over the duvet on my bed once I was in it before I could sleep. Over time this developed into doing it in multiples of threes. Well it seemed normal and satisfying at the time. As a child when I had to go out shopping (or anywhere) with my dad and sister it now had a reason behind why I felt compelled on getting home to go straight to the bathroom and lock myself in there for around 5 or 10 minutes to relax. (The toilet was the place due to being a legitimate room where I could successfully lock myself away without being bothered too much by the family wanting to know what I was doing or help put shopping away.)

These thoughts were helpful to keeping me focused on finding out my true self. My true self is still buried under a thick crust of mechanisms and strategies, some productive, some not, but at least now I knew there was something underneath, now I was slowly picking away at the surface. The rewarding part was actually starting to understand why I did certain things, rather than be constantly infuriated by their occasional happenings.

Anyway, instead of divulging this information to anyone I continued my research. First place was the library at Swadlincote, but this had limited resources in this area, so I went to another library - in Long Eaton, which stocked more books on the subject, including Tony Attwood's "Complete Guide to Aspergers Syndrome". That was a natural start, so I got that out along with another smaller book. This book went into more detail than the webpages I had seem, and I could see more aspects of my past and present clearly portrayed in what he was describing. The only one sticking point was the obsession - I had had my collections, but never really had anything I would talk to people about constantly, "boring the pants off them" in the process (apart from Rochdale AFC I guess - I will usually get carried away with this topic, but my knowledge is far from omniscient in this area). Then again, maybe I did have, but failed to notice it . However, Mr Attwood did mention in the book at least 5% of those with AS never had or have an obsession (or major interest) at all, so at least I was ahead of them. How many "normal" people could look at a map for hours getting lost in all the information on there for leisure, or when aged between 10 and 16 (roughly) could recite the content of every page on ceefax on BBC, and at least the main and sub-section pages on ITV. I used to have ceefax on for hours at a time sometimes, plundering information from it. It was more entertaining than the actual programmes on TV aimed at kids my age.

These initial weeks slowly became months and the initial enthusiasm started to wane a little. I was starting to get overcome by depression. I was now able to see clearly that I was different, and what was wrong with me in general, but due to not having a diagnosis was unable to get any assistance, for example, at work. I could not explain it to them, no matter how much I wanted to. Why would they listen or believe me when I had no hard evidence. They did not have to believe me anyway. I had still been seeing the doctor regularly as she was concerned about my mental side of things, not helped as she admits by the fact that she couldn't read me and what I was thinking, and often found it hard to extract any information from me. I had filled out a question sheet (Beck's Inventory) with regard to depression, and scored very highly. She recommended both counselling and anti-depressants, but I was not too keen on either, although I did succumb to the counselling request, but that ended with me messing it up after the initial session, but forgetting to go to the next one, and by I was too paralysed by fear of being shouted/moaned at and so on for my failings and wasting everyone's time I did not chase this up again. I was still not sure counselling was for me anyway - finding words are hard enough as it is, let alone verbally in conversation, not knowing what the next question will be, and trying to calculate how the counsellor is trying to read (or manipulate) you into divulging more information.

Anyway, in the middle of September I finally succumbed to the other thing - the anti-depressants. I had originally held out due to not wanting to be chemically altered, but I was talked into getting a prescription. I got the tablets that day, but did not start taking them immediately. In fact it was 24th September before I started them, which was the day after I was involved in a car accident on Swarkestone Bridge, when I was coming back from the library. Luckily it was a decent late summer day, and I was wearing my sunglasses, as a car coming the other way came past and hit my wing mirror, which as a result of the force broke it off, and shattered the drivers side window, spraying me with glass fragments (of course the sunglasses protected my eyes from being hit). The other driver continued driving, but another vehicle stopped and gave me the info, which the police later tracked down at his house. He had claimed that being a busy road it was impractical to stop, and had stopped at the other end of the bridge, and was going to report the accident that evening (by law you have 24hrs to report it) so there was nothing to show he had done anything technically illegal. (I see I am getting sidetracked here, so to cut it short, his insurance company admitted liability, so it didn't cost me anything bar the inconvenience and a few cuts and scratches).

I was told that the anti-depressants would take a few weeks to start to work, but I was never aware of them making any positive difference, even when they increased the dosage, and then again, which only lasted a few days as this higher dose caused a few problems in the excretion department, before it was reduced again. In fact my mood only seemed to lift when I made the conscious decision to stop taking them just over a month ago, although this tied into a few other factors as well.

Christmas came and went in its usual depressing corporate/commercial frivolities. The pressure of having to waste money (which I didn't really have spare) to give things to other people because that is what is expected, and even worse having to traipse around busy, noisy shopping centres or cities in the midst of all this seasonal gloom (come on - how many people do you actually see smiling when shopping at Christmas?) trying to keep myself sane and not go running off to the nearest isolated point. There is only so much Christmas music one can take as well, especially at work where the airport subjects us to the same CD as the past 3 yrs I was there, constantly played over the public address system. If I ever find out an meet those kids who are singing, there will be trouble

With Christmas successfully navigated (I think - despite being devoid of any real presents) the New Year was the next issue, which is an excuse to get totally drunk it seems. Apart from drinking to me is pointless, and why do we need to celebrate the fact that we have simply run out of dates to call our days and so have to start again. I guess New Year is just a case of re-setting and realigning, but still I couldn't do this, as still I was stuck in limbo. I had been there for not quite 6 months, and things, if anything, seemed worse than ever. I was more isolated and confused about life, and struggling to see how I could fit in to it in a satisfactory manner. I was starting to have had enough, and my depression was slowly strangling me, pulling me farther and farther from life.

And if that was how I felt after not quite 6 months, how would I survive the next six until the estimated time of the diagnosis session? The honest answer is I didn't know.

[Charlie]

The summer was bad. Not all bad, but most of it. There was anticipation that there were good times around the corner, and that in these few months I would have grown into myself, resulting in a lot of my problems being significantly diminished. Sadly overall this was not the case.

Work was still dragging on, causing problem after problem in terms of being able to cope with the environmental stressors as well as the emotional and energetical drain on myself. However, at the end of July I decided to open myself up and I went to an autistic conference, as much in search for reassurance as a chance to learn. The immediate result was fantastic. Not only did I manage to find a few friends who I am in regular contact with, including one who was there with the luminarium (basically an air filled dome which is lit in different colours using the natural light from outside), and hopefully by the end of the year I will manage to get over to Spain where she lives to meet up, but I discovered myself in those few days there. For once in my life I was accepted with no conditions attached. Whilst it had its strange or awkward moments, there was still a prevailing sense of freedom. With that came the self-understanding. The understanding of being previously and unwillingly being forced into being someone I am not just to avoid any difficult moments.

Yes – a lot of people there did not try to speak to other people. Some of it was not knowing how, but there was some of using this as an excuse as not to bother I, and they few others in my clique, felt. Granted we were all in a strange, unfamiliar place, but this was a leveller. The difference was the outlook. Some of us had been to normal schools, some to “special” schools, and a lot of the time it did show, as these were the people more willing to make the effort in breaking down these barriers. It was theorised one evening at a pub – yes I went to a pub whilst I was there, that it is because the mainstream education, whilst hard, forced you into having to interact with others even if you did not want to. Those who had an alternative education, whilst focusing on helping different aspects were never as adept in practically having to converse normally. It was not required in school survival. I may be somewhat cynical, and of course there are more than a few exceptions to this, but being in a system shielding you from socialising in my opinion is not the way to tackle/overcome a condition in which you find socialising difficult. Ultimately, whilst I respected those who did not want to communicate with others, I did feel it was a waste as this was a golden opportunity. If they could not manage it when in the sole company of those who are similar to them and will not judge them (within reason) for what they do or say, then it seems almost hopeless. Of course, socialising in life is not the be all and end all, far from it, and I often want to escape from it. It is just very helpful if you understand the basics in the foreign language that is called “Socialising”.

Anyway, enough of the conference, the last thing to mention about it here is that I was in a discussion with someone who said that at the end of it people sometimes find it hard to re-adjust back into normal life. I was sceptical about it, but found to my cost it does happen. In my case it was brought on not so much by the parting from my new friends, but the return to life where I was again forced into being someone I was not for fear of persecution and ridicule. Work still drained, getting worse and worse as I was being further tormented by a new desire to be re-born into my newly discovered self. I was so desperate to come out, yet so afraid of not knowing what to do or say, or how to explain it, and knowing that without a diagnosis it was all meaningless in terms of useful support.

So the spiral got worse, getting tighter and tighter. I started to be off work for a few days ill, brought on and then exacerbated by these problems. I tried to battle through, but it got worse and worse. Despite all the promises of appointments with psychologists nothing was coming up despite all my efforts in seeing the doctor again. It was late August when I hit the wall. In those few minutes early one morning I decided that I had had enough of trying to force myself into this pretence of a half-life, or even more fittingly despite meaning the same thing, a half-death. I figured it was not worth going on.

Looking back at that now, about a month ago, I am not sure what the motivation was. Maybe it was ceremonial, and it was the fake me trying to kill the fake me. Since that day I have felt more comfortable in myself, as it released a lot of the frustration out and made me talk or try to show the feelings I had been torturing myself with for years. It was a starting point to build again. There are still aspects of the old me to resolve – the job still niggles at my health despite not being working due to being suspended after the incident until I have seen a Occupational Therapist, which I have done now, but waiting for their report before anything proceeds from there. I still have not spoken to the family about this, and ideally now I will not until I get some sort of diagnosis. Throughout this last year-and-a-bit of torturous limbo there have been two almost constant banes attacking me. One is work, which is sort of in a process of being resolved, and the other is the uncertainty in the seemingly never-ending wait to see someone about a diagnosis. Last week I saw the doctor again, and after a telephone call she finally managed to get one, which has now been confirmed in the post. Friday 7th November. Granted it looks like it will not be an “official” diagnosis, but it is more than a start.

I feel like my gestation period in the womb of life is now rapidly approaching full term. I now have a due date, and as the sphincter slowly dilates I am starting to see the light of day. The only question now is do I go head first, kicking and screaming?

[Charlie]

Well last night in bed I started writing a letter (to no-one), whilst trying not to focus too hard on the content, basically going with the flow. Yes I thought about what particular word or phrase to use but I did not concentrate too hard on the subject I was writing about - it just sort of happened. Anyway, as it is about understanding words and language I thought it may fit in here.


I write this letter as I am unable to speak the words, as these words fail me when it comes to the time to attempt to converse. The flow of text forms more of a semi-conscious stream and feelings which can build up inside me can finally be outputted, and so therefore be understood. Every word written has its own beauty, standing precisely and matter-of-factly in its place, having the opportunity to be pondered upon before being selected as the best possible fit for the circumstance. Spoken word can never have this beauty - it is a rushed approximation. No time is permitted to evaluate how best to vocalise the precise intricacies of what is wanting to be portrayed, and so it cannot be portrayed.

Words are far from perfect. Their fundamental problem is that they are flat and one-dimensional. Intrinsically they have no meaning. Their meaning only derives from the shared stimuli it invokes in the brain as it is encountered. A spoken word is just a noise, a written word just a collection of letters. For example, orrunk is undoubtedly a word, but yet it makes no sense as it fails to stimulate the brain into a pre-acquired association.

I presume that this is why I find the written word far nicer and digestible than those encountered by the oral route. Written text gives the opportunity to be stimulated at your own pace, and allows unlimited reviews so as the overall message can be built up slowly, layer upon layer and intertwined, permitting the picture to be formed far more clearly than if it was spoken. So much energy and concentration is consumed, usually without realising it, in trying to understand the spoken word. Factor in that the next word has usually been spoken by then so this new word needs processing in addition to being linked with the previous word or words. It is no surprise then that when taking in communication in the oral form the message or overall picture is not as clearly defined as if it were written text, and indeed there may be bits missing where it has been misunderstood or forgotten under the intense strain.

[Charlie]

To be honest I know of why I feel like I do (at this time of year) to some extent, but so little about it in a form I can articulate.

Some of it is historical - the change in season, the early evenings, possibly the long slog to Christmas (and the "hassle" that brings. Plus it is also the longest period of the year where nothing happens in my life - birthdays, regular events etc.). I am not saying that I do not like Christmas, what I don't like about it is the commercialisation and the crowds everywhere and the expectations to do certain things which are somewhat restrictive to what I want to do to get by smoothly.

Other parts are a culmination of life - poor finances, lack of support, poor sleeping patterns (like last year I spend time only seeing darkness. I would go to sleep at about 5 or 6 am and then wake up at 3 or 4pm when it was just starting to get dark again). There is also a lack of social tasks, or dare I say a purpose in life - I feel that I have no use to anything.

I am always prone to severe bouts of inertia. Motivation is horrendous, anxiety is usually quite high. That said it is a strange sort of anxiety. It is not the sort of anxiety that makes me fear the future, but one which just interacts and feeds the inertia and makes me scared of being proactive and doing things which really need to be done.


Add to this my major problem I have, and that is basically a monumental confusion. My life is so mixed up, so messed up I don't know what I am doing. I am trying to live at least 2 lives, not knowing which is the one I should be trying to throw away, or rather what is the correct amalgamation of both lives into one which fits me as who I am.

I appreciate that that is probably a weird statement to make, and I guess now I should attempt to clarify the point. I have a "disability", a "developmental disorder", yet I do not generally feel or think of myself as disabled for the most part. I think of myself as "me", but then again this fits in with the disability as it is a clouded theory of mind and I cannot see any differently. Add onto this, and I am aware that this is going to come out wrong but I can think of no way to explain it as I want to so I will have to use the loose translation (no offence is intended - as I say it is a crude statement) I feel that I am far too intelligent to have a disability (which involves the mind/brain). This of course makes matters worse - I have layers upon layers of coping strategies. On the surface I probably appear to most people as a "normal", albeit eccentric guy. Yes, they may recognise that I am different and like slightly different things, but no-one would guess that I have major underlying issues, and that I have serious unresolved problems.

Coping strategies are fine and have a useful purpose. The problem comes when you let them define you and they become the default. You lose what you are, and all the pretending and the reinforcing of the pretences with further strategies and lies drains you of all your power and drive. I guess I would almost say you die and become a shell.

The pain of living a lie is huge, yet inescapable. It pulls at you constantly. I have self-imposed standards which are seemingly unattainable, based on my perceptions of my intellect and capacity, yet have never been harnessed. So naturally I feel like I am failing at most things - or everything! The longer the lies go on, the deeper you get into them, and the more you have to stick with them hoping that the right escape route will crop up and present itself to you. There is no chance to suddenly back track as this will upset other people whom you have been hiding from and deceiving for so long.

The main cases in question. I have not told my family that I have left my job, even though it has been 11 months since I left. Of course, if I got a new job then I could tell them that I have a new one, and there is no issue. However, telling them now will only raise more questions, especially if the next job is not forthcoming quickly. For you see, even bigger than not telling them about being unemployed is that I have not even mentioned to them a single aspect about having a disability and the entire diagnostic process. I cannot fathom how I am supposed to tell them. What is the right moment? How do I do it? There is a fear that they would laugh it off or not understand and say I was being silly, but the biggest fear is the fear of change. That is I do not know what I want out of it, and what would become of it. I have not changed as a person - I have always been the same irrespective of labels. So what can they do for me? The answer is not a lot. I would hate for them to treat me differently, as this would seem like they were insulting my intelligence or capabilities, yet I would equally hate for them to ignore me as it would seem that they were indifferent to me and my issues. Pathetic aren't I!!! So the easy option is to hide it from them.

Boiling it down further I suppose my dilemma is complexly simple. I appreciate and accept I have issues and this "disability", yet I am resolved not to use it as an excuse or reason. The problem is though with not using it as an excuse or reason to pull away is that I overload myself and force myself into living these depression filled lies which slowly and painfully strangle me. The analogy of the swimming duck is perfect - I may look graceful above the water, but below everything is whirring around chaotically. Of course, if I was "sensible", or "irresponsible" depending on which side I view it from, and decided to use this as an excuse to stop doing things or limit myself then again I would be hit by depressions as I would see myself admitting defeat and failing to reach my high standards. Plus I would have no idea at what arbitrary point the line should be drawn at in what I could and could not do. It may start a downward spiral where I want to do less and less and make more and more excuses, feeling more and more sorry for myself, and thus more and more depressed, and crucially, more and more unfulfilled.

So there we are - Kevin in a nutshell: Do I stay living the lies, hoping that I get my chance to shine at something, although this would mean severe depression as I am continually suppressing myself? Or do I completely embrace my "disability" and use it as a limitation on what I feel I am capable of and an excuse as to fail. This in turn leads to severe depression as I feel that I am pointless and not serving a purpose, and that I have not achieved anything near what I have the intellect to do.

Woohoo! I love being caught between a rock and a hard place (sarcasm intended). Perhaps somewhere there is a more amicable marriage between the two sides, but I am too far gone (and too "disabled") to see it - silly brain liking to see things as black or white . It's so frustrating and annoying. I know that this is slowly killing me, yet I am afraid to call out for help as I know that I would never be able to explain it verbally to anyone and that I will be dismissed. What is scariest of all is that I realise as things stand that I am well on the road to suicide. I don't want to do it, and at the moment I couldn't see myself doing it, but if it continues like this I am sure eventually I will get to the point where it seems the only viable escape from my entrapment. It may take years to get there still, but the thought scares me even more. And to make matters even worse, there is nothing to stop it being just weeks away, after all, I do not know what is around the corner and if anything will come up which may end up being the proverbial straw which broke the camel's back. (Note - this is not a suicide bid or saying I want to kill myself or a cry for help, just the way I see my life potentially heading. OK, it's not great I admit but no need for imminent panic folks )




I'm sorry I went on a bit there, and I'm sorry that it may be at bit chaotic and deep (and a bit jumpy/incoherent) but once I got going it felt like it needed to come out. I suppose the only way to end this message is to sum up how this output has left me feeling, and admittedly it is not good at the moment:

I'm tired of running away, but I don't know how to turn myself around.

[Charlie]

OK, I thought I would add on here a bit of my "diagnosis" assessment to do with social interaction. I have changed all my names to Kevin (from Mr ....). Some of it makes me laugh, almost in relief that I am not going mad, or in how absurd that it isn't considered "normal" or how my answers were occasional twisted and misconstrued/misunderstood. The psychologist used the Gilberg & Gilberg 1989 criteria. I apologise for the substandard use of grammar, but I did not write it!!!!



Social Impairment

A) Inability to interact with peers: Kevin has struggled to develop and maintain friendships from early childhood ti adulthood. In his formative years it may have been partly due to his constant moving around and not really settling in one place for long. However for the last several years he has been settled and he has one friend and two by association but does not socialise with them. He has regular contact from an old school friend but does not appear to socialise with them.
B) Lack of desire to interact with peers: Kevin expressed a sense of lack of desire and this appeared to be due to him feeling he did not know how to start conversations however he felt he could continue conversations. From the information obtained about Kevin being a referee (actually indoor cricket umpire - ed) on a regular basis it appears that he has the opportunity to engage in relationships but it his apprehension that prevents him attempting social interaction. This appears to be due to his need to be precise with his answers etc and not feeling misunderstood. Kevin did not wish to have more friends because this would be another friendship he could mess up or let down and he couldn't think of what he could offer them.
C) Lack of appreciation for social cues: Kevin spoke of not knowing how to make friends as he did not know what to say or do and thought he had no common interests with them.
D)Socially and emotionally inappropriate behaviour: During the assessment there were times when Kevin's behaviour could not be understood in the context of the therapeutic relationship. He would become embarrassed, giggly and would hide his head under his t-shirt. He would pull at his clothing and sometimes bite the tops of his t-shirt. On other occasions he would fidget to the point of squirming in his chair. These behaviours may be classed as inappropriate but maybe it was due to the dynamics of the therapeutic relationship. This would benefit from future observation.

Speech and Language Peculiarities

A) Delayed development: unable to answer without input from a carer.
B) Superflicailly perfect expressive language: Kevin agreed that at times he uses superfluous words and that he is always looking for more descriptive words but as a consequence looses the context. He felt that he regularly fails to find a way to say what he needs to by "rambling" and that at times he can be perceived as over articulate. He postulated that he realises that he is talking about inconsequential things and that they are are not relevant and that it has no emotional attachment. During the assessment Kevin would talk about emotions but would appear disconnected to them and sometimes what he was saying would convey a different emotions (sic) to how he appeared.
C) Formal, pedantic language: He constantly monitors the English language to find the right words but he feels he can never find the right word as he wants it to be representative of what he conveys. For many of the questions asked he would answer, then add a few words and then re-phrase it and sometimes when he was happy with the answer the question was still not answered. On some occasions one could observe rapid speech for no apparent reason.
D) Odd, prosody, peculiar voice characteristics: None noticed in this assessment (ooh look - the previous thing she wrote was about rapid speech for no apparent reason. Perhaps this could be a "peculiar voice characteristic?!? - ed)
E)Impairment of comprehension including misinterpretations of literal/implied meanings: Misinterpretations can sometimes occur and Kevin has been observed to take things literally in assessment appointments however he will ask for clarification regarding questions you may have posed, This may be a strategy he has put into place to avoid misinterpretations however it appears that sometimes he is not conscious of his pedantic use of the English language. He also stated that trying to find the right words would cause him to lose concentration and forget what was being asked from him.

Non-verbal Communication

A) Limited use of gestures: Kevin engaged in hand face touching for the majority of the assessment procedure (does that imply limited gestures or non limited gestures???)
B) Clumsy or awkward body language: This was evident during the assessment procedure. He would sometimes present with awkward body language, appear uncomfortable, nervous, at times appeared if he was squirming. He generally sat with his arms across his chest as if he was hugging himself and on other occasions hide his head in his t-shirt or bite his clothing.
C) Limited facial expression: A small range of facial expressions were observed however generally he would scrunch his eyes up and frown (that would be my heavy thinking/concentrating "expression"). On some other occasions he would smile or looked perplexed.
D) Inappropriate expression including poor eye contact: Good contact was generally maintained but on some occasions he would become shy and hide his head in his t-shirt. (Woohoo! my hard work and strategies are paying off!!!)
E) Peculiar stiff gaze, staring: On some occasions he would maintain eye contact longer than what is thought to be comfortable. On some occasions it could have peen perceived as staring. (Maybe there is a lot more work still to be done though....)

Non-verbal Communication - Assessor's rating

Kevin's non verbal communication rarely mirrored his verbal communication and at times his body language would appear awkward and clumsy.