What I Wish We Knew: The Memos of an Undiagnosed Autistic with a Side of Post-Traumatic Stress

By Zarqnon the Embarrassed

I am "that guy". I know why they ran. I made them uncomfortable. I am the reason a lot of people don't answer their phones. I have been fired, kicked out of school, in debt, separated, fired, evicted, in deeper debt, lost a business, kicked out of school again, fired, divorced, even deeper debt, kicked out of a band, labeled as "un-hirable", closed another business, fired, unable to buy groceries, oh-my-goodness-how-far-into-debt-are-they-going-to-let-me-go…

And now, I have a beautiful wife (who used to hate my guts), two great kids, a job I enjoy, a successful hobby, an imaginary dog, and, most of all, peace with the world I live in.

I was not diagnosed as autistic until I was in my 50s. I actually discovered I was autistic in my 40s, but work needed something official. Up until then, I have had to navigate through a world I had difficulty understanding and communicating with. I didn't understand it, and it didn't understand me.

This book isn't going to be a typical book. I gave up on that years ago. Instead, I would like to share how the world works inside my head.These are memos of my journey. Enjoy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zarqnon the Embarrassed
• Release date: Nov 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223554950

Book preview

What I Wish We Knew

The Memos of an Undiagnosed Autistic with a Side of Post-Traumatic Stress

Zarqnon the Embarrassed

Special thanks to:

To my parents, who gave me the support, skills and experiences that helped me navigate and survive extravagant train wrecks.

To Matthew and Jonathan, who gave me a chance to redeem those train wrecks,

And to the most beautiful Hope, who gave me a chance to find a life most excellent beyond those train wrecks, and to experience a life I had no idea I could experience.

De Coloures

To steal from Garth:

We could have missed the pain, but then we would have had to miss the dance.

Edition 1.5 © 2023 Zarqnon

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Meet the Author

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My world has always been a balance between the simple and the complex. I always knew I had issues fitting in. But I was in my twenties before I actually started asking more intricate questions about myself, questioning things I had taken for granted over the years. It started when I had a coworker ask, Why are you two different people? You are an easy going, heavy metal Jesus Freak who loves everyone one moment, and the next you’re an angry foul mouth person mad at everyone.  I didn’t have an answer. I just figured I was content and then I was not content. I was happy until someone made me angry.

So I started asking questions.

When was around thirty, I started on my Master’s degree. I was in a cohort of individuals who worked in various neurological facilities (we were near some mental institutions), and I would ask them questions, like Why do I drink so much caffeine when it doesn’t make me more awake?

My fellow students would constantly point to conditions like ADHD, where stimulants help individuals focus. I would just gather the information as OK, maybe I am on the ADHD scale somewhere.

A couple of years later, when I started working on my doctoral program, I asked my doctor how I could gain better concentration, because I still had severe struggles with my focus. I was frequently told by teachers that I would meander way off subject in conversations. My doctor had one of those self-administered Are you ADHD tests, and I ranked very (very very) high. He prescribed something to help, but taking it just made me cranky.

Then came my children. After a series of observations by people we knew who worked as therapists, we scheduled a visit to a psychiatrist specializing in children. When we went to the visit, I sat there and listened to the doctor explain the observed XYZ characteristics in my children that defined them as autistic.

At first, I thought What’s the big deal about them doing XYZ. That’s the way I work. Like most people, I interpreted the word autism as somewhere between Downs Syndrome and Dustin Hoffman’s Rain Man. I expected autism to have some physical trait that can be used as a quick self-diagnosis. It would be so much easier if we could look at and say Ah ha! There it is! The defining marker of autism.  But autism, like most neuro-diverse classifications, is primarily a function of how the brain processes data.

Once I started doing research on autism, everything clicked. Behaviors made sense: the meltdowns, ADHD characteristics, sensory issues I experienced, the anxieties at work, the complications with communications, the issues with changing routines, and so on. I felt someone had written about my life struggles in the research I read.

I never felt it was necessary to get a diagnosis, as long as I knew what was going on, that was sufficient.  For me, knowing – including research and self-examination - made ALL the difference. I could now understand why I was reacting to things in the manner that I was, and I could take steps to accommodate, prevent, or correct my interaction with events and circumstances. As for my children, understanding who I am gives me the opportunity to say, I am one of you, and I struggle with this, too. That, in its own way, validates my train wrecks.

It was in my 50s, a good ten years later, that I obtained a formal diagnosis for work-related reasons. The diagnosis for me did little but give me access to various accommodations that made my work environment more sustainable. In short, COVID hit, and we were all sent home to work. I created my own little world to thrive in. The pandemic danger passed, and we were asked to come back to the office.

Before the pandemic, I worked with someone in the same office area who had my back, so to speak. She shepherded me through social cues that I probably would have missed on my own. She was the one person who was that little voice over my shoulder who would tell me, Joe: do this, don’t do that. Or she would remind me that when someone comes into the office, they might be your friends, but they are in an important meeting so you have to be quiet. She helped me interpret emails and take care of the things I needed to do. When we were slated to come back, she retired. As a result, coming back to the office felt like free-falling.

Working from home was safe: I could work as need be, take breaks when need be, change lights, and so on. It became apparent that for me to retain my safe environment, I needed official documentation from a doctor.

I picked Zarqnon as my nomenclature for my books because it was one of my more amusing pseudonyms for my art music. My profuse use of alternative naming conventions came out of my need to control my identity. When I create things, I love to pretend I am someone else, and in that mode, my chaotic mind allows me to create art. I have learned to embrace that. Another name you will find me on the Internet using is Phloide. I used to have a fascination with phonetic spellings, where a friend and I used to create our own unique phonetic alphabets. And I liked Pink Floyd, as well as a musician named Larry Norman, who always gave a shout out to his dog, Phydeaux.

Welcome to my train wreck. I hope you enjoy the ride.

Intro

Autism was first called autism in the late 1930s. At the onset, autism was viewed as an extension of other neuro-conditions like schizophrenia. It wasn’t until some 30ish years later that autism was even considered its own unique diagnosis. Even though these conditions can have similar characteristics, as understanding grew, researchers and specialists deduced that autism was more of a design feature, where conditions like schizophrenia and Post-Traumatic Stress were damage to an otherwise healthy brain.

Autism has been defined & redefined, categorized & recategorized, and its origins heavily debated (I can assure you much of it is genetic). Those classifications and definitions for autism and the wide array of spectrum diversity within it are typically derived from empirical observation: the person acted XYZ, and X or Y or Z was severe enough for them to receive some spectrum-based classification.  Without an absolute concrete marker or tag, observers (psychiatrists, doctors, and the like) are simply using a best guess to derive a label.  Observers may use a check sheet or a rubric, but any diagnosis will be colored by the practitioner’s personal views and experiences. It will also be influenced by the practitioner’s external and internal expectations, like I am the school psychiatrist, and the administration encourages us not to diagnose students unless absolutely necessary.

Absence of social understandings fuel moving definitions for many human anomalies.