Friday, September 28, 2012

Aspergers and exhaustion

It is rather fitting that I don't have the energy to write a whole original blog post about exhaustion. I found this on the Asperger's Association of New England's web page. Quoting the following paragraphs because it makes so much sense. I may write some more about this, and about the huge role a supportive and knowledgeable therapist is playing in my life, helping me to understand this exhaustion.

How is it that some adults can present so well? Adults with Asperger Syndrome grew up before the diagnosis existed in the United States; it appeared in the DSM-IV in 1994. The diagnosis may not have existed but the adults did—and they needed to find ways to survive. The adults that I have met are survivors. (See Mark Goodman article I Am A Survivor). Without the neurology that supported an intuitive understanding of social behavior, many adults with AS learned to spend their time observing their environment and the people around them. They tried to make sense of the confounding behavior of their peers and tried to understand why people were always telling them, “You’re so smart, why can’t you just…(fill in the blank): go to a family function and behave (sensory, social and anxiety), complete this work assignment (executive function, processing speed), just do what’s asked of you (illogical, theory of mind), tell a therapist how you’re feeling (reliance on thinking more than feeling). Through observation and trial and error (after error), many managed to survive into adulthood. Some adults with AS develop an understanding of the world around them, a framework of how and where they fit or don’t, learn and apply skills and strategies to use in particular situations, anticipate and manage disturbing sensory input. Imagine how absolutely exhausting it is to do all of those things relying on cognition, not intuition. Nevertheless, after years of applying these skills and strategies, an adult with AS can look pretty good, maybe even “passing”—or almost passing—for NT (neurotypical).
So after years of practice and trying to fit or find a comfortable place in the world, some adults with AS have put together a life and many live with the worry that it could all come apart because of how precariously it is crafted. Working so hard to fit in, to understand or hide your neurology comes with a very high price tag. In addition to the exhaustion, mentioned before, there is often a huge overlay of depression and anxiety on top of the basic neurological condition of AS. It is depressing when there is no obvious place in the world where one belongs; when everyone else seems to know the rules by heart and you’ve never been given the manual. The repeated trial and failures to make friends, work, live independently, manage your own affairs and even succeed in therapy are constant reminders of being “less than;” it should be no surprise that these experiences so often lead to depression. Why not be anxious when “the world outside [your] door is scary”. It is unknown, unpredictable, full of people walking down the same sidewalk that you are, crowded MBTA trains, store clerks who may want to talk to you, sensory assaults and a myriad of things that are not within your control. With a lack of intuitive ability to generalize, every time you go out the front door is a new challenge. More or less neurotypical people do not have to think just to function somewhat comfortably in the world. Many adults with AS operate from a baseline of anxiety. Faced with the additional anxieties that come from living in an unpredictable world, an adult with AS who can look pretty good in one setting can fall apart in another.


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