Thursday
Dabbling in Life
Hi everyone! *wave*
I'm really glad to have found these forums. I was diagnosed as being "high-functioning" very casually by a professional when I went in for depression. That was two years ago...the realization that I was truly having difficulty coping only came recently.
----cut for a little story about me, I won't be offended if you don't read this as I'm not sure how long of an introduction is appropriate or welcome, but I will try
Living in a place where mental health isn't the priority left me a bit clueless as to what was really going on with me. Growing up, I had a happy childhood. I enjoyed it, had friends and did good in school. I mostly ignored what was "different" about me, such as my tendency to observe my family/peers and come up with strategies to fit in. For instance, when my parents pointed out that it was odd for me not to maintain eye contact or to space out randomly while we were spending time together (I was imagining stories in my head and enjoying it), I minimized these behaviors when they were around. I got very stressed when there were family gatherings where I was required to attend and can only enjoy up to a second meeting with an acquaintance...any more than that and I got really cranky. Although my parents had an idea that I wasn't like my cousins, they treated me normally and never took me to a professional.
That came later in life. When I was in college and moved out of the house, the tantrums started. I was very happy that I had my own space (rented a small apartment), however my classmates began to arrive unannounced to use the bathroom, print their homework, kill time, etc. That was pretty hard. I began to exhibit OC-like behaviors, such as wanting to clean the door knobs with alcohol every time someone touched them and not being comfortable with people sitting on my bed. I began to make excuses as to why no one can visit me. I was brought to a psychiatrist who, in summary, did not seem to care about me. She arrived late for my sessions and had ultimately just prescribed me drugs that would leave me unable to feel. When I lost my ability to remember my dreams, something that has been my most treasured skill since I was a child, I stopped taking the medicine. My parents agreed as they've begun to notice my zombie-like behavior.
Many things happened. I got married to my best friend who, at that time, nobody knew also had a similar disorder. We suspect now he has Asperger's or is high-functioning also as he exhibits certain signs: not reacting in a socially acceptable manner (such as giggling when I am on the floor, crying in pain because I rubbed my eyes with hands that have touched chilies; admittedly, not empathizing without great effort on his part; having a limited facial reactions). He was never formally diagnosed although the counselor he went to a few times did hint at it.
Because we were having issues at one point, I sought help for myself again. I wouldn't say that the professional I went to solved anything directly...however, she was the one who told me that I was high-functioning. After four sessions, the last of which one of the practitioners in her clinic berated me for asking whether I would be able to get the full hour I paid for once the doctor assigned to me was done with her previous patient (inappropriately so, I thought), I stopped with the sessions.
Like I mentioned previously, I only revisited the concept in recent months. Hubby and I lost our dear son at seven months in the womb, which is the second time we've gone through this particular hardship. I was trying to find answers, wondering if certain parts of our children were not developing properly and have attempted to take tests myself. Then came up the "high-functioning" diagnosis again and I remembered...it's really bittersweet. We've since decided to stop trying for a child (not saying this decision is for everyone, just for us) since our healthcare system is ill-equipped to handle our particular blend of weird. But, we have made peace with our situation and have grown more patient towards each other and have started to forgive ourselves for our social shortcomings.
end cut----
I am hoping that I've not offended anyone with my post. I just really want to know more about what I am, what we are, and perhaps make the world feel a little less alien.
Thank you very much for reading!
I'm really glad to have found these forums. I was diagnosed as being "high-functioning" very casually by a professional when I went in for depression. That was two years ago...the realization that I was truly having difficulty coping only came recently.
----cut for a little story about me, I won't be offended if you don't read this as I'm not sure how long of an introduction is appropriate or welcome, but I will try
Living in a place where mental health isn't the priority left me a bit clueless as to what was really going on with me. Growing up, I had a happy childhood. I enjoyed it, had friends and did good in school. I mostly ignored what was "different" about me, such as my tendency to observe my family/peers and come up with strategies to fit in. For instance, when my parents pointed out that it was odd for me not to maintain eye contact or to space out randomly while we were spending time together (I was imagining stories in my head and enjoying it), I minimized these behaviors when they were around. I got very stressed when there were family gatherings where I was required to attend and can only enjoy up to a second meeting with an acquaintance...any more than that and I got really cranky. Although my parents had an idea that I wasn't like my cousins, they treated me normally and never took me to a professional.
That came later in life. When I was in college and moved out of the house, the tantrums started. I was very happy that I had my own space (rented a small apartment), however my classmates began to arrive unannounced to use the bathroom, print their homework, kill time, etc. That was pretty hard. I began to exhibit OC-like behaviors, such as wanting to clean the door knobs with alcohol every time someone touched them and not being comfortable with people sitting on my bed. I began to make excuses as to why no one can visit me. I was brought to a psychiatrist who, in summary, did not seem to care about me. She arrived late for my sessions and had ultimately just prescribed me drugs that would leave me unable to feel. When I lost my ability to remember my dreams, something that has been my most treasured skill since I was a child, I stopped taking the medicine. My parents agreed as they've begun to notice my zombie-like behavior.
Many things happened. I got married to my best friend who, at that time, nobody knew also had a similar disorder. We suspect now he has Asperger's or is high-functioning also as he exhibits certain signs: not reacting in a socially acceptable manner (such as giggling when I am on the floor, crying in pain because I rubbed my eyes with hands that have touched chilies; admittedly, not empathizing without great effort on his part; having a limited facial reactions). He was never formally diagnosed although the counselor he went to a few times did hint at it.
Because we were having issues at one point, I sought help for myself again. I wouldn't say that the professional I went to solved anything directly...however, she was the one who told me that I was high-functioning. After four sessions, the last of which one of the practitioners in her clinic berated me for asking whether I would be able to get the full hour I paid for once the doctor assigned to me was done with her previous patient (inappropriately so, I thought), I stopped with the sessions.
Like I mentioned previously, I only revisited the concept in recent months. Hubby and I lost our dear son at seven months in the womb, which is the second time we've gone through this particular hardship. I was trying to find answers, wondering if certain parts of our children were not developing properly and have attempted to take tests myself. Then came up the "high-functioning" diagnosis again and I remembered...it's really bittersweet. We've since decided to stop trying for a child (not saying this decision is for everyone, just for us) since our healthcare system is ill-equipped to handle our particular blend of weird. But, we have made peace with our situation and have grown more patient towards each other and have started to forgive ourselves for our social shortcomings.
end cut----
I am hoping that I've not offended anyone with my post. I just really want to know more about what I am, what we are, and perhaps make the world feel a little less alien.
Thank you very much for reading!
Last edited:
