I always wondered if I was an undiagnosed case of Asperger's.
I did a lot of weird things, the most dramatic being these bizarre tics I used to engage in. I remember I had to squeeze my arms against my sides until it just "felt right". I would squeeze my forearms against my upper arms repetitively, sometimes for as long as 10 minutes, trying to get it to feel right so that I could stop. I used to squeeze my eyes shut very tightly until they "were even". I also remember I used to have to touch things in certain way, like if I touched the surface of something, I would have to touch the other side, and I would end up going back to the same object over and over again trying to make it even.
I had a lot of other problems but that sort of thing was probably the most outwardly apparent.
Unfortunately, my parents, for whatever reason, neglected me entirely in this area of raising me. I think they don't really trust mental health as a field in general.
When I look back, it's so apparent to me now that I was not a mentally healthy child. My sisters, both of whom are significantly older than me, tell me stories all the time of how terrible it was for me and how mad they used to get that everyone seemed to ignore the fact that to them I seemed to be damaged by neglect.
It's unfortunate for me because, whatever my problems were, they were never addressed, and things have compounded. Now I'm an adult and I just have layers and layers of issues. It really feels hopeless at times.
I did a lot of weird things, the most dramatic being these bizarre tics I used to engage in. I remember I had to squeeze my arms against my sides until it just "felt right". I would squeeze my forearms against my upper arms repetitively, sometimes for as long as 10 minutes, trying to get it to feel right so that I could stop. I used to squeeze my eyes shut very tightly until they "were even". I also remember I used to have to touch things in certain way, like if I touched the surface of something, I would have to touch the other side, and I would end up going back to the same object over and over again trying to make it even.
I had a lot of other problems but that sort of thing was probably the most outwardly apparent.
Unfortunately, my parents, for whatever reason, neglected me entirely in this area of raising me. I think they don't really trust mental health as a field in general.
When I look back, it's so apparent to me now that I was not a mentally healthy child. My sisters, both of whom are significantly older than me, tell me stories all the time of how terrible it was for me and how mad they used to get that everyone seemed to ignore the fact that to them I seemed to be damaged by neglect.
It's unfortunate for me because, whatever my problems were, they were never addressed, and things have compounded. Now I'm an adult and I just have layers and layers of issues. It really feels hopeless at times.