The Crux and The Aftermath of My Autism Assessment

Allow me to guide you through my autism assessment process—a saga with more twists and turns than an intricate tree system crafted by a caffeinated squirrel, where the temple of nuts remains elusive! It all began when I decided to undertake this adventure into a diagnosis of my neurodivergence, prompted by the egg and my increasing awareness of my cognitive experiences, repetitive behaviours, failed interactions, and sensory sensitivities, all intensified by my autistic burnout. Although I was unaware of autistic burnout at the time, its impact was drastic enough to push me to find answers.

Before realising the complexity of obtaining a diagnosis, I reluctantly approached my GP to try to understand my symptoms. Unfortunately, the experience was about as pleasant as a root canal. After only a couple minutes of listening—the doctor was only interested in prescribing antidepressants. Come on! I was just trying to figure out if my body was staging a coup against me!

This experience reinforced my consistent fear of clinics and hospitals. Although I might not have known the exact term then, I was sure it wasn't depression. I struggled to justify the potential side effects of such potent medications. Sure, they could help with my mood, but do I really want to risk turning into a human vibrator? “Oh, you’re feeling better? Great! But now you can’t stop shaking!” No thanks, I’ll stick to my confusion and occasional existential crisis, thank you very much!

Subsequently, I turned to Google, and after an unhealthy amount of googling for answers in one sitting, I stumbled upon an autism assessment questionnaire and completed the test. The results indicated a 100% probability of being atypical (autistic/neurodiverse). Some statements in the questionnaire were so obscure that I revisited them obsessively to grasp the context and apply background information. Realising that overanalysing each statement wasn't constructive, I returned to the resources I had found on autism.

I then reached out to the NAS (which offers helpful information and resources on autism) for guidance on autism diagnosis, and they advised me to contact my GP for a referral. During this period, I tried to remain optimistic despite previous failed attempts to get help from my GP, while my brain is experiencing a full-blown burnout, similar to an overheated engine—can I get a recall for this overloaded and foggy brain?

Following the referral request for an autism diagnosis, there came the wait. Oh, the wait! It was like a suspenseful animation, where I was the character, just sitting there, wondering if the plot twist would be a revelation or a fluffy animated monster. I half-expected the monster to slide out and whisper (mindful of my sound sensitivity), “Surprise! You’re neurodivergent! Welcome to the land of quirky thoughts and amusing distractions, where every texture is soft and furry!”

The Nonsensical Fun of Autism Pre-assessment

As I completed the autism pre-assessment questionnaires, a deeper sense of burnout began to creep in, similar to trying to breathe underwater. My fixation on unearthing the context of the statements in the questionnaires made me become very unwell, engulfed by self-doubt and a racing heart, like I just ran a chaotic marathon using only my hands. Despite this, I kept reminding myself of how important this experience was for understanding my identity.

During this time, I went through an ordeal with my lost optimism and a vortex of uncertainty—like being drawn with immense force into the gravitational pull of a black hole. I was questioning my ability to respond accurately and logically, due to the lack of specific context and scenarios for each of the situations. For example, deciding between going to a theatre or a museum raises the following questions: What kind of museum? Trains—definitely not! Natural science—yes, please! What is being showcased at the theatre? Musical—not interested! Standup comedy—absolutely!

When I eventually reached the qualifying stages, I discovered that the autism assessment process resembled a game show, with self-awareness and a mind-bending experience as the ultimate rewards. It involved doubting the relevance of the initial questionnaires—waiting, filling out more questionnaires but this time required detailed background—waiting, trip down memory lane—waiting, dreading the in-person autism assessments—waiting, undergoing observational interviews—waiting. All of which was to evaluate my behaviours, interaction methods, thought patterns, and overall functioning.

Basically, I interpreted the experience as an in-depth exploration of my brain using a metaphorical poking device and a failure detection machine that alerts when I struggle with an interaction or a task. Plus, the questions and tasks appeared to be designed by a team of ambiguity experts.

It was crucial to remain positive about possible outcomes, even as I grappled with the complexities of my autistic burnout. This burnout is like an unwelcome guest who lingers too long—bringing overwhelming fatigue, sensory overload, emotional exhaustion, and a sense of detachment from my environment, which made engaging in the autism assessment process especially difficult. Thanks, burnout, you really know how to crash a mental reboot!

Observational Autism Assessment Equal to Mind-Bending and Unwanted Trailers

Finally, the big day arrived. As I walked into the observational autism assessment, the initial conversations with the specialists seemed like cryptic messages that were tossed into a blender. The relevance escaped me, and my desire to continue with the autism assessment is also vaporising at a rapid speed. I realised I had to muster my ability to hide my annoyance with the uncomfortable chair I was asked to sit in, despite there being a cushioned chair in the corner of the room, safely positioned against two walls, away from draughts, and with a clear view of the entire room and the best acoustics.

Meanwhile, the stiff chair is already hurting the back of my thighs, as one specialist was having fun confusing me with a children's book, and the other was loudly scribbling on a thin piece of paper on a clipboard, seemingly marking my failures. Each task instilled doubt in my intellectual abilities—wondering if they expected me to describe the children's book as a multiverse concept, which would demand much more context on the laws of physics or cosmological constants. However, the more questions I asked, the more I was dismissed with nonsensical responses.

Before I could collect my thoughts and use rational thinking, the book was removed, and a new task appeared. I realised I needed to tap into my inner calm to maintain composure and not react towards the specialist for halting the activity suddenly. As I was striving to express logical reasoning for each task, the specialist was also uttering random emotions and asked me to describe those feelings while I tackled perplexing tasks to demonstrate I wasn't an idiot.

My brain seemed to be stuck in a traffic jam, and throughout, I tried to sooth my discomfort by discreetly circling my thumbs under the table, where a constant stream of tasks emerged to test my intellect. I could almost hear my brain shouting, "Excuse me, brain cells! Why are you letting me down? Why can't you work out how to logically solve these ridiculous children's tasks?!" Each task was brief, like an unwanted, mind-bending trailer, annoyingly loud and filled with irritating teasers.

I also didn’t realise the autism assessment process resembled an experiment to interrogate my past—challenging experiences, failed social interactions, odd behaviours and sensory vulnerabilities. It was like a psychological geocaching, but instead of finding coordinates, I was just collecting my own awkward moments.

Despite these challenges, I found solace in knowing that this autism assessment was a step toward greater self-awareness and acceptance—like discovering the perfect seashell in the vast ocean to add to my collection. I focused on the potential to gain insights that could lead to more effective coping strategies and support in my daily life. This experience wasn't just about receiving a diagnosis; it was about peeling back the layers of my experiences like an onion, but without the tears (well, mostly). I was on a quest to embrace my neurodiversity like a dog learning to walk with shoes—one quirky step at a time!

This was certainly a challenging ordeal that tested my resilience, yet it turned out to be a crucial moment in my quest. Balancing optimism with autistic burnout and the need for understanding carried me through this difficult path, leading to a deeper connection with my authentic self. Hello to the adventure of introspection—may it be full of laughter, insights, and perhaps a few more animations along the way!

The Mind Boggles at the Spectacle of Autism Post-Assessment

Upon being released back into the wild, armed with the repercussion of the observational autism assessment, I was hit with a tidal wave of questions—like a panel show where the reward is just more questions, far more than before I began this process. Going through different evaluations, observations, and tasks was not only extremely disorienting but also baffling. I had anticipated to gain clarity and understanding about my identity and how I navigate the world, but instead, I emerged with a sense of confusion and uncertainty.

The only insight I gained from the observational autism assessment is that I could be an idiot, or lacking faculty in playing with silly toys. As my mind spun, I found myself down in a rabbit hole. I started contemplating how my diagnosis affects my daily life, relationships, and future aspirations. Questions about how my autism impacts my interactions, sensory perceptions, behaviours and emotional responses became more prominent in my thoughts. I began to doubt whether I was stupid or missed a class on peculiar tasks, and whether I could ever truly understand the intricacies of my own brain and how to align them with the expectations of a world that often seems at odds with my inner world.

As I navigated this complex emotional jungle, I realised I was more unsettled than before meeting the specialists. The initial relief of having a name for my experiences was quickly overshadowed by the realisation that I was nowhere near the clear finish line I had hoped for—like finally finding the Wi-Fi password only to discover the internet was down! Instead of feeling empowered, I was overwhelmed by a fatigue that was not just physical but also mental and emotional.

It was the kind of fatigue that makes you consider if your sofa might be your soulmate. This fatigue was intensified by the constant presence of other symptoms; which were ready to strike as soon as I dared to remove the mask I had learned to wear in social situations. It was like playing Whac-A-Mole, but instead of moles, it was my symptoms popping up, and I was armed with nothing but an origami hammer. Every time I thought I had one under control, another would pop up, waving at me like, “Surprise! Bet you didn’t see this one coming!”

The mask dilemma: I had carefully crafted over the years to navigate social norms became more awkward and itchy. It served a facade, enabling me to blend in with the world like a chameleon on a bag of marshmallows, but it also hid my true identity, resulting in extreme fatigue. The idea of unmasking—of showing my genuine self—was daunting. I dreaded the judgment and misunderstanding that could come with such vulnerability, and this fear only added to my sense of unrest.

This heightened state of awareness and introspection was just the beginning, and I was determined to navigate it—armed with a loaf of brioche, a sense of humour, and my fur baby for emotional support. After all, who wouldn’t want the cutest furry baby cheering them on as they confront their deepest fears? “You’ve got this! Now let’s tackle that awkward emotional minefield at 3am!” Despite the fatigue and the unsettling feelings that escorted me every step of the way, I forged ahead. Plus, if I tripped over my own emotional baggage, at least I’d have a good example to tell at the next session!

My Informant Fiasco: Make a Wise Choice or Face the Consequences

Following the observational autism assessment, I found myself in a delightful pickle. Apparently, the informant I selected was as suitable as a paper teapot. The paperwork stated that the informant should be someone close to me who has known me since childhood, ideally a parent or guardian. If that wasn't possible, a sibling or a long-term partner or friend would be acceptable. Simple enough, right? I mean, who doesn't have a lifetime supply of suitable informants just hanging around?

But alas, my choice was deemed inadequate—like trying to use a fork to eat soup. The autism assessment team highlighted their perception of my past trauma yet still insisted I provide someone who had contributed to it. It was like saying, "Hey, we need a witness for this car crash—how about the guy who rear-ended you?"

By this stage, my confidence in the autism assessment process is nowhere to be found. I dedicated a significant amount of time completing questionnaires and conducting autism assessments, which were intended to unearth hidden wounds and disclose deeply personal details about my childhood and the difficulties I encountered with my family. Sharing personal aspects of my life is no easy feat, and when I did, I was met with indifference and misunderstanding about my childhood experiences.

Identifying the ideal candidate who meets all the exact criteria is tough enough in normal circumstances, but toss in the fact that I was raised in another country. My tendency to ask countless questions resurfaced:

• What aspect of my background—such as not being originally from here and being uprooted from my home at a young age—do they fail to grasp?

• Why would the clinicians overlook this critical detail and insist that I find a family member who knows about my childhood? Am I supposed to put out a missing persons report on an unknown person?

• If they didn't read my information in all the questionnaires and autism assessments, how can they diagnose me accurately? Should I just send them my life story via carrier pigeon?

• What is the purpose of sharing such vulnerability in this process only to be met with dismissal? Like being caught with your pants down!

• Why specify "a long-term partner" as an option, only to reject my choice when presented?

So, let me just clarify: the reason I couldn't present the ideal candidate for the interview wasn't because I was slacking off. Oh no, my friends! It was more like a cosmic joke played by the universe. You see, the timing of my autism assessment was about as well-timed as the Kool-Aid Man from Family Guy, especially since I was already navigating the treacherous waters of autistic burnout after a family visit.

During this delightful trip, I thought, "Hey, why not chat with my mom about my potential autism assessment?" Spoiler alert: that was a terrible idea. I approached her with all the confidence of me trying to swim in the ocean, and she swiftly brushed me off, saying, "Don't waste your time, everyone is like that." Then, quickly proceeded to telling me how well Andy Lau drinks water. Thanks, Mom! I guess I can now add "expert in universal human behaviour and watering drinking" to your CV.

And let's not forget about my parents' ability to provide meaningful insights. I mean, they weren't exactly around to witness my quirks. Instead, I was raised by my grandparents, who probably thought my “quirks” were just part of my unique charm, loving me despite my many wacky ideas. Like how some children have a talent for dancing, while others excel at making people question their sanity.

Sadly, my grandfather has passed away, and my grandmother is at an age where I'm uneasy about letting these indifferent clinicians interrogate her. The complication is that she speaks a specific Chinese dialect that even Google Translate would struggle with! It would be unrealistic to expect a translator for a virtual call, which she usually finds difficult due to her hearing problems.

As for my sibling, if there were an Olympic sport for sibling abuse, my brother would have a collection of gold medals and multiple sponsorship deals. So, when it comes to him discussing our upbringing, I’m not sure if I should expect fictional tales or a dramatic reenactment of play the victim. I can just see him now, pulling out a presentation titled “Why I Was Just Preparing You for Life.”

While the other family members include my two aunts and an uncle, as a child, I was passed around to whoever had a little bit of time to spare in their busy lives—like a game of Red Light, Green Light. Although I am extremely grateful for their involvement, I'm uncertain if they are the best choices for the interview.

The Surprise Judgement Day of Autism Assessments

The moment we've all been waiting for is finally here—the informant interview! This is the one where I had to perform verbal gymnastics to defend my decision, choosing someone who knows me better than anyone the clinician insisted from my family. Honestly, this guy has seen me at my best, my worst, experienced my quirks, and those times when I fell deep into the abyss.

Why Him?

• He has been my colleague long enough to understand that my professional persona is the most authentic reflection of who I am. In my career, which revolves around facts, knowledge, and data, I can concentrate on my special interests, be completely unfiltered, and still be rewarded with promotions for being painstakingly meticulous and detail-oriented.

• He is a close friend who has patiently endured my long (unaware) silence, my sudden disappearance from social events, my reluctance to engage in small talks, and my awkward bluntness—clearly a sign of true loyalty.

• He is my long-term partner, which means he’s either incredibly brave or has a very high tolerance for my quirks.

• He has plied my childhood stories straight from the source—my family. Let’s just say, some tales are so wild they could be a Netflix series. “The Chronicles of Adulting from the Age of Five” is a working title.

And yes, some of those stories still haunt him. After all, who wouldn’t be affected by the tale of the Great Staircase Disaster? It’s a classic!

Here we were, about to start the interview where I'll be battling my inner turmoil, and he'll likely be holding back laughter at my professional facade.

I was surprised by how superficial the interview was, especially since the clinician emphasised the supposed trauma and insisted that we needed more time to discuss it in detail. They call it "trauma," but I think, "Who else gets a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to learn how to be an adult from the age of five? Nothing will ever faze me!"

Towards the end of the session, the clinician dropped a bombshell that was like winning the lottery—turns out, they already had my results! Cue the silent fireworks! Based on the information pack, I was mentally preparing for another lengthy wait, complete with a side of anxiety and a difficult chat with yet another stranger who would without a doubt ask me to divulge more awkward details. Instead, I got a one-stop shop for my results! Yay!

Breaking News: The Diagnosis is In! It’s official: I have been diagnosed! I have been awarded the prestigious title of “Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD)”

What’s Next?

• Celebrate: Throw a party! But make sure it’s in a quiet room with no balloons, confetti, or surprised guests. We wouldn’t want to scare the cheesecake away!

• Educate: Time to hand out books on “How to Identify as an Autistic Women Who Has Been Misunderstood All Her Life!”

• Embrace: Get ready for a lifetime supply of quirky conversations and the ability to notice every tiny detail!

None of that happened; instead, I found myself descending into the abyss again, with no symptoms alleviated. However, let’s raise a cup (of something warm and non-distracting—because who needs excitement when there is breaking news?) to the newly diagnosed version of me! Here's to embracing the quirks, the laughter, and those occasional awkward humour. Cheers to being uniquely me! May my journey be filled with more chuckle than chatter, and may my tea always be just the right amount of hot!