Hearing Voices

I am one of those autistic people who doesn’t like to be left alone. That is, I do need a significant amount of alone time, but it has to be on my terms. That might seem weird or normal, I don’t even know. I mean, I’m used to it being seen as weird here at the care home. Staff see it as a sign that I crave attention somehow. Which, even if it were true, well, attention is a normal human need.

I am not sure where I’m headed with this post, but I often feel like a fake autistic for feeling like I don’t want or need to be left alone when I’m in distress. Probably because my former psychologist at the psychiatric hospital used it as a reason to diagnose me with dependent personality disorder. Which I might have after all, I’m not sure. Then again, the treatment for that isn’t to leave someone to their own resources just like that.

I often have this statement in my head: “Don’t leave me alone!” It is cried out, in my head, by a child’s voice. I am pretty sure it is from a book and in Dutch, it sounds different, but I’m writing it like this here for the purposes of this post. Don’t leave me alone. Never leave me alone. Well, people always will. That’s life.

This post was written for Stream of Consciousness Saturday for this week. The prompt is “left alone”.

One of Mama Kat’s writer’s workshop prompts for this week is to explain how a parent or sibling would’ve described you at the age of fifteen. What an interesting thing that Mama Kat should mention age fifteen!

I turned fifteen in June of 2001. By August, looking back, I was close to insane mentally. This was the summer when I first realized I had alters inside of me, although I didn’t know what they were at the time. I just heard some type of voices that were and at the same time weren’t mine.

Neither my parents nor my younger sister knew this at the time. Still, they did realize something was up, if for no other reason, then because I didn’t care about school. I had always been a pretty studious kind of child, but this changed by November or December of 2001.

In addition, I was a rather angry, moody child. I had suffered from depression on and off since age seven or so, but it was particularly bad at age fifteen. I even made suicide plans several times during that year. My parents, being the type to dismiss mental health issues, felt I was just attention-seeking, of course.

My life turned around in a sort of positive way a few weeks before my sixteenth birthday, although no-one saw either the change or how positive it was at that point. On June 16, 2002, my father called me autistic as an insult. This led me to search the Internet for autism and to discover I may be on the spectrum myself. Although it’d take nearly five more years before I was diagnosed, in part because my parents and teachers didn’t believe me, I see this as a pivotal point in my life.

The day after this, June 17, I finally disclosed to my teacher what had been bothering me over the past year. I sugarcoated it a little, not mentioning the voices or suicidality or autism for that matter. I did tell him I was struggling with being blind in a mainstream school and that I realized I had been less than good of a student lately.

My father, at the time, worked at my school. My teacher told him that I had disclosed something to him, but he refused to tell my father what it was. This led to a really traumatic experience, because my parents demanded to know too and they weren’t kind about it at all. I am pretty sure they just tried to gain fuel for their idea that I was one giant attention-seeker.

Many years later, my parents used many of my struggles at age fifteen to “prove” this very point. I can see their perspective, sort of. Thankfully though, my current professionals don’t go along with it.

Don’t Leave Me Alone! #SoCS

When I Was Fifteen