My Autism, Buried and Unearthed: How I Forgot and Learned to Remember Myself
A.J. Wells

I was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome in 1995, at age eleven. At that time, I was going through a lot of difficulties: relentlessly bullied at school, and having no idea how to properly respond to what was happening to me. Prone to meltdowns and breakdowns, it should have been liberating to know more about myself, but the next twenty years were one long attempt to outrun my diagnosis, or forget about it entirely.

In my preteen years, my family discussed putting me on Prozac, but I went un-medicated through my teens and twenties. There was never any hard “no” to the use of medication; it just never happened, and I didn’t try to bring it up again. I did get aid from counsellors and support groups, but at the same time, I didn’t actually start to think differently about myself. There was never any conscious decision, but I gradually decided not to act as if I had Asperger’s. I decided that it would have no impact on my day-to-day life, or require other interventions.