Mourning the Autistic Child you Never got to Be
Being a late-diagnosed autistic adult means you spent your childhood as an undiagnosed autistic child, and one thing we don't talk enough about is how undiagnosed children are robbed of their childhood. Admittedly, there is a lot more discussion happening out there as more and more adults find their answers, but it doesn't give us back our lost years.
Diagnosed in 2024 means I spent over 40 years undiagnosed, so all of my childhood and young adult years—the latter being a loss in its own right. I spent my childhood believing I was weird and broken. I didn't make friends easily, and when I did, I would inevitably expose myself as an imposter in the friendship. In addition to growing up autistic, my family also grew up poor. We got two channels on our TV, and one of them required me to hold the "rabbit ears" antenna with one of my hands just to get a clear picture. I got up at six in the morning for school, but also for the DiC dub of Sailor Moon that played from 6:00 AM to 6:30. I became obsessed with Sailor Moon. Fearing the labels that would come from a teenage boy who loved Sailor Moon, I kept it to myself. This wasn't about some sexual awakening for me—it was that the characters came from another world, another time, another existence. Perpetually out of place, but not knowing how or why. The special powers helped, of course—I did love characters with super powers.
It was trivia day at lunch break in grade 10. I had fallen in with a circle of friends that consisted of the other kids who went to my church and a small group of other girls. About nine of us in total. Trivia was going fine, until they asked the question, "Who are the five sailor scouts in Sailor Moon?" Without hesitation, I threw my hand up with the eagerness of a cat who just saw you open the treat cupboard.
Without breathing, I answered, "SAILOR MOON, SAILOR MERCURY, SAILOR MARS, SAILOR JUPITER, SAILOR VENUS. BUT IT'S NOT JUST FIVE, YOU ALSO HAVE SAILOR PLUTO, SAILOR URANUS, SAILOR NEPTUNE, SAILOR SATURN, AND SAILOR CHIBI MOON, BUT CHIBI MOON DOESN'T REALLY COUNT BECAUSE SHE'S FROM THE FUTURE."
Two boys and six girls wore the same exact expression. Absolute shock. Nobody was impressed. They were too horrified. They declared me the winner of trivia—there was no prize—and I never had lunch with that group again.
If there is one story that really showcases the life of me as an undiagnosed child, that was it. Years of being forced to mask, and in one moment I simultaneously unmasked and immediately re-masked for another 25 years.
When I was 16, I got my first girlfriend. She and I would walk the halls but my apprehension about being touched meant we didn't hold hands. Hands were clammy and difficult to hold comfortably. Classmates made fun of me because I was the only person with a girlfriend I couldn't touch. That was pretty bad, though I think Sailor Moon was the moment that best defines my robbed childhood.
I often think of myself as past, present, and future. I will do things to make future me have an easier time—so I'll do the dishes tonight so I don't need to do them tomorrow after work. I'll get upset at the me from yesterday for deciding not to do the dishes, because he made a decision that screwed me over today. When I look into the past at child me, none of his decisions were made because he was being lazy or had a bad day—he was just trying to survive in a world not built to accommodate his needs. I can't even apologize to him, because I didn't do him wrong—and the people who did aren't here to own up to it. He's sitting there, next to the sandbox because the sand feels weird, wondering what's wrong with him, and I wish I could tell him: nothing.
Ozject is an autistic content creator with a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Creative Writing and a Master of Business Administration. He streams on Twitch; produces videos for YouTube and TikTok; and writes blog content for other autistic content creators on the OzHole.