AUTISTIC BURNOUT WAS THE STORY OF MY TEENS.

When I was ten, my mother told me that I went to school and came home, and I had no interests. She was wrong, and here’s why. I had interests, but I did not belong to any clubs outside of school, unlike my brother, who was sports mad and high energy.

Into my teens, and with no understanding from her, my life was basically, go to school, come home and do homework, assignments, study, and once the semester finished, instead of being allowed the time to do the things I wanted and needed to do, I was pushed by my high energy brother to play sport. I remember I was really annoyed one Sunday afternoon, after lunch, when my parents wanted to have a rest, and so did I, but instead, my brother entreated, in his grammatically inaccurate way, “I want me and Peter to play sport.” And I thought, “No, I want to have a rest!” I needed downtime but was not allowed it.

I remember when my mother would allow me to go to the library to borrow books and no sooner did I arrive home, and my brother wanted my attention. I can remember being really angry with my father and my mother when I had finished Year Ten and had done well, and my father had to go to a housewarming party for his boss, and my brother wanted to monopolize my time, and my mother said, “You’re not going to do any reading during the day,” and my brother hassled my father to have me play cricket with him, and he said, “Come on, Peter, do some exercise.” He knew I hated cricket, and as I was also on medication that made my skin sensitive to sunlight, it was even more annoying.

So, with each holiday, burnout increased, and rather than returning to school refreshed, I was returning to school tired and not ready for a new semester. My mother is one of those people who if she’s tired, everyone else has to stop, but if you’re tired, “You can’t be.” It is surprising that I was able to finish school with the marks that I did, in some ways, but I also was unaware that I am autistic, and I am left thinking that if my mother had known, instead of being accommodating and understanding, she would have been more pushy for me to be more neurotypical, even though it’s not possible.

Is it seriously any wonder that when I was 25, I crashed?