Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder & Me

Trigger warning for discussions of assault, sexual abuse and trauma

I forgot to mention in my previous post about Obsessive Compulsive Disorder that I was also diagnosed with Pica and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. At the time I did not point it out because while the diagnosis of OCD was new to me, I had already guessed that I had both pica and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The news was just that I was now officially diagnosed, and therefore perhaps could be taken seriously when I voiced my concerns about how they manifested themselves.

In my adult years, I've learned to manage my Pica, and it is no longer pressing for me, apart from the occasional binge on kool-aid powder when things aren't exactly going my way.

However, my PTSD is relatively new to me. If I were to pinpoint the exact time in my life when it began to manifest itself, it would be around the age of fourteen, at a time where I was forced into a terrifying scenario where two different people in my life took advantage of their authority over me in different ways.

One used his status as a "friend of the family" to sexually assault me when we were alone together several times, leaving me frightened and unsure what to do. The only response I ever got to my obvious discomfort around him when others were present was being chastised for being "antisocial" and "rude". The other one took advantage of his position of authority in my life to terrorize me, frightening me by swinging a baseball bat over my head, manhandling me, screaming in my face, and threatening to hurt me or break my possessions, telling me I was worthless, ugly, stupid and fat, blaming me for my mother's alcoholism, and telling me that if I wasn't "careful" I would end up kicked out of my own house.

After going through that horror on a near daily basis, I began having nightmares, wetting my bed, withdrawing from being hugged or touched by people I love, and obsessively eating. I was getting, on average, about 5 hours of sleep per night, the rest being spent in terror and shaking.

It receded somewhat after I left my hometown to go to university. Towards the middle of university though, when I entered my junior year, a single incident made my PTSD come back full force, landing me in the hospital briefly for a strong anxiety attack.

Since then, it has managed to get worse and worse, but there was never a name for it to the doctors until now. It wasn't until I admitted the incidents described above that it became clear to the doctor what the cause was.

But having an official diagnosis has not alleviated the nightmares or the anxiety. I continue to have nightmares, I continue to resist being touched, and I continue to be fearful and mistrusting of people.

PTSD has affected my life in many ways, both subconsciously and consciously. One of the most obvious ways it affects my life intertwines with the way that autism impacts my life. Being as I am, I avoid eye contact and I have an obvious aversion to the social activities which seem to act as staples of life for people in my age group: Clubbing, partying, music concerts and drinking copious amounts of liquor are all activities which I steadfastly refuse to partake in, unless roped in reluctantly, which happens more often than I should like.

This is obvious to any other person with autism: Such venues are noisy, unpredictable, and often involve an unfamiliar environment chock-full of sensory overload. Vomit, sweat and liquor smells, loud music, flashing lights, sticky floors, and other people crowded against you are a sensory overload nightmare, and can end unpleasantly for all parties if it overwhelms you.

Another reason I avoid them though, is because I have a particularly strong aversion to being touched by anyone without my permission, and something as minute as a hand brushed against me could leave me panicking. The strongest factor in my avoidance though, is my concern for other people. When I am triggered, I get really violent. Screaming, scratching, and biting are beyond my control in such scenarios, and I fear not only my personal safety and mental health being compromised, but the safety of others.

This fact breaks my heart. In spite of my aversion to social events, I enjoy having friends and people I can connect with, and knowing that I pose a danger to them if I am triggered saddens me greatly.

Having an official diagnosis, I hope, will help me find a way to control my own mind and reactions to a degree, so that I can have independence over my life and emotions.

But the last barrier I feel I will have to cross over is not from my own disability, but rather, the public perception of disability. Once again, like OCD and autism, PTSD is a widely misunderstood and mis-characterized disability. And little sympathy is reserved for those who have it, even those who got it "honourably" in combat or a similar field. Regardless of what caused it to manifest though, I think it is important that I be vocal about the fact that I have PTSD. It will be less likely to be as radically misunderstood if a person you know, a person familiar to you, has it, rather than it being an abstract concept for television or a movie.

Mohala i ka wai ka maka o ka pua- As the faces of flowers open to water, so too do people thrive where the living conditions are good

Trigger Warning for violence and abuse

If I were to comment on every story on autism I see on a mainstream piece of news, I would be left with a major headache and blisters on the tips of my fingers.

But one autism story that has been popping up more and more lately is the story of children with autism being abused in the hands of their teachers, aides, or parents. It is often chalked up to a "few bad apples", rather than a tale of systematic abuse of children with disabilities due to widespread misunderstanding of the nature of autism, how children with disabilities communicate, and a culture that devalues children and regards them as someone to be seen and not heard.

Very rarely does a type of story that is of vital importance to people with autism get discussed: Creating an autism-friendly environment in our schools.

In my own experiences as a person with autism, public school environments put in little to no effort to make the school physical environment any more comfortable, safe, or inviting. Loud, noisy cafeterias where the din from metal against metal, feet against floor, and harsh fluorescent light can cause panic attacks or meltdowns, uncomfortable chairs where certain forms of stimming are uncomfortable or impossible and overcrowded classrooms, extreme heat, and exposure to textures, smells, and tastes that triggered meltdowns, all of these marked my experience as a student when I was young.

This distracting environment miserably affected my academic performance. The sole consolation was that my school was extremely well-planned in regards to surrounding nature- flowers, trees, and bushes which allowed me to observe insects, collect leaves, and create my own mini toys or dolls out of the pods, leaves, and sticks. But not all schools have that good fortune, and for many children, there is no escape from the over-stimulation. The social environment in my elementary school experience was characterized by isolation, due to me being "different" and weird. This didn't bother my young self when it came to recess and free time, because I enjoyed being by myself. In mandatory group activities though, I was forced to interact with others. My saving grace was my ability to follow instructions quite well, as long as the language wasn't filled with idioms I was unfamiliar with. In fairness, my elementary school made certain I was included in these activities, even if I was seen as a "freak" by the other students.

My experiences at a private school between grades 6 and 8 were improved in terms of the physical environment slightly. The classrooms were air-conditioned, the lighting was considerably less harsh, and a few of the classrooms had the luxury of a couch, which I would sit in and read or stim during recess and lunch break. The cafeteria was smaller as well, and the lighting was turned off during the daytime, and sunlight came in through the windows. However, in terms of the social environment, the situation considerably deteriorated. Collaborative learning is extremely important in those school years, but nobody wanted to be paired up with "the freak", so the groups that got stuck with me never let me forget their resentment and dislike of being around me. I recall the teachers doing mild reprimands, but no strong, consistent effort was made to combat the type of subtle, passive aggressive bullying I experienced.

My experience is one of the more mild ones that can happen to a student with autism though. Other children have been put through much worse. Eighteen percent [1] of children with autism have been abused physically, and sixteen percent [2] were sexually abused.

Based on my own experiences and the collective data on the horror of the abuse perpetrated against children with autism, I have to temper my own desire to see the very best actions taken for my brothers and sisters on the spectrum with the reality that many public schools are terrifyingly underfunded, understaffed, and overcrowded. Autism knows no class boundaries, and can become apparent in the family trees of millionaire and construction worker alike. But poor children on the spectrum do not have access to the resources that children born to wealthier families do, and will often languish the worst in poor schools with limited funding. Little effort is made to invest more money into education for disabled children, or even able bodied neurotypical children. More funding definitely needs to be allotted to teaching children and teachers alike about the needs of children with autism, and how an environment that is ideal for all three parties can be met.

But there is absolutely no excuse for the level of cruelty and violent abuse that children with autism have suffered from teachers in certain cases. Regardless of how "difficult controlling the child" was, adults in a position of power exercising such violent control over children whom they are responsible for is nothing short of a failing of our society to understand that children with autism need our love and acceptance. Not violence or exclusion.

My previous point about finances has an additional footnote: While it may seem expensive to overhaul public education not only to better serve the needs of disabled children, but to create classrooms that are inviting and enriching for ALL children will be expensive, it will pay for itself in the long run. Schools were neurodiversity is promoted, where children of all levels of ability exist side by side and all receive the help they need, it creates a society where these children grow up to be adults who have the flexibility and empathy to accommodate people of all backgrounds. I think the ways that could benefit our society speaks for itself. Also, children with autism who are treated well as children and flourish in their environments grow up to be adults who are not afraid of the world around them, and can use their own unique abilities to chip in to a harmonious future.

I have argued before that neurodiversity shouldn't mean we should only value intelligent individuals who are verbal and can hold jobs. People with autism of all ability levels have their own special talents to share. If we nurture these gifts, we will see more people with autism becoming invaluable contributors to their fields and their communities. Not just the "Rain Men" that are so popular in mainstream myth, but all people with autism.

If neurotypical society makes an honest and vigilant effort to understand the needs of individuals with autism and implement them, make them standard procedure, we will not ever need this conversation again, nor will news stories about children being beaten, restrained, locked up, caged, hit, kicked, and sat on darken my inbox on a weekly basis.

That is my first quixotic message to my readers.

[1 & 2]: http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/16293306