I’ve lived most my of 37 years of life with some sort of mask or another. Always carefully picking bits and pieces of aspects of myself, that the world would find acceptable, and palatable. Then COVID happened. I was made redundant. I divorced. I live in an in-law suite in my parents’ home. At first I thought that would be good. The job had been wearing me out. In the past 3 years up to that point, I’d taken almost 6 months off work, in combined leaves of absense, due to stress-related burnout. I could find something that would appeal to me, maybe not the same rate of pay, but something I could be content in. But that never came. The longer I’ve been away from it, the more terrifying all of it feels. Then, about a year into things, a family member was diagnosed with ADHD. I went through the same workbook they were given as part of the test. And thought I was doing a test in school, with how high I scored. It made things make sense. But it hasn’t made it easier. Then I started digging. Medical studies. Personal experience of those who were also diagnosed later. Anything I could get my hands on, to help make it make sense, maybe see a way to work through it. That’s when it finally opened my eyes to the Autism spectrum as well, and that I was on it. The comorbidities. The conflicting wants, needs and behaviours for one or the other, alone. Now, all this time out of the world, I’ve lost all those masks, save for the ones that I always wore with family. It’s hard to wear those for long. And anything else terrifies me. I’ve lied to the world, and lied to myself. Convinced of all these masks being me. But I don’t even know the man behind the mask. At 37, how do I even start?
