As I am also an abuse survivor, besides my mild PTSD from the 1995 car accident that lasted for the next three years after, for much of my life, my autism has looked like PTSD. As auDHD art therapist and my friend, Jackie Schuld recently wrote, the main differences lie in the causes of the behaviors.

Usually Avoiding Other Kids as a Kid Myself

For example, when I was a little kid, most of the time, unless the adults were facilitating the activity, I avoided interacting with the other kids like the plague. While situations with loud noises akin to those with their original trauma can be very triggering for people with PTSD, my owl sharp hearing that I had until I was 10 ½ was my main reason. It was mostly my hearing that led me to mistake the other kids’ rough-and-tumble play for bullying. Plus, adult facilitation was much more predictable and orderly than kids’ play alone.

Constant Hypervigilance

Since the brain is not that great at distinguishing the present from the past, people with PTSD constantly feel as if they’re in danger again. That was partly the case with me right after the 1995 accident. Although at that time, it was mostly due to not knowing what was going to happen next, or the first thing about my place in a completely new-to-me world in which I was suddenly not made to feel as if the outside world was dark, and I was not being blamed for inviting that darkness in. And not understanding why I was having sudden flashbacks of the accident, and that it wasn’t my fault that they were there.

Also, due to my hearing sensory issue, I was constantly trying to prepare myself for loud noises and, most of the time, failed miserably. Honestly, I don’t think anyone ever noticed me jumping at gunshot sounds on TV, as no one ever offered to change the channel or turn it off when that happened. So I guess I managed to hide that pretty well. Today, I don’t even flinch when I hear the pops of what I think is illegal gun “target” practice at the golf course in my neighborhood. It happens mostly at night, too, when no one’s there.

Until just these last few years, I was also very afraid of being judged, and not just because I’ve been so misunderstood my whole life. But also because, since practically the beginning of my life, I’ve often been made to feel as if everything I do is wrong or even that I’m wrong to exist the way that I do. Like many fellow autistics and other neurodivergents, I have felt that that’s what everyone thinks of me. Which I now know was also one of the main contributors that triggered the making of my Depression Queen, what I have affectionately called my intrusive and depressive thought patterns since college.

Today, about the only things that I’m hypervigilant of are awareness of my burnouts and when I become at a high risk for a meltdown. My meltdowns have always scared me, no matter what form they take! In my case, it’s only been about once or twice that they’ve looked like a tantrum since childhood. Since then, they’ve come in the form of hypnotic anger. In which I break out into a drenching sweat, throw things not caring if I break them, my falsetto vocal cords take over, making me sound possessed, I can comfortably drive 100mph without a seatbelt, and I feel like volcanic lava that can’t be held back from destroying everything in its path.

And then just after, I’m left to feel as if I’m licking my wounds, cleaning up whatever messes I make right after, and just wanting to be alone to cool down for awhile. When I’ve taken an ice-cold shower or bath in that state, the water feels lukewarm on my skin; that’s how much my bodily temperature goes up!

And it’s even made me scared that I could end up seriously hurting someone I care about and then end up in jail for assault. That’s why I absolutely do not want to be around anyone when they happen.

When I’ve broken things, my mother has stood right in my way, and even when I’ve SCREAMED at her to “LEAVE ME ALONE!” she doesn’t budge, but just stands there snottily saying, “Oh my gosh!” or, “What’s going on?!” Which only makes it even worse. And what makes it even worse is that it’s one of the only times she even tries to be there for me. I don’t know if that’s because it’s honestly hard for her due to her mental illness or because she thinks it’s some kind of an in to try to control me again, or what. But I’ve mostly long given up trying to guess her intent anyway.

Childhood Memories Going By the Way Side

Memory loss or inconsistent memories can be a symptom of PTSD as well. Which only makes sense as our brains and bodies can only take so much before they shut off and shut down.

For the longest time, I made my past my whole identity, felt as if that was the only thing I had going for me. You know, the whole “who am I without my story?” phenomenon. Many people, bless them, tried to let me know how unhealthy that was. But, unfortunately, did so mostly in ways that, to me, were guilt-trippy and made me feel as if I was doing something heinously wrong. You know, did so in the “just let it go!” kind of way.

Well, in the first place, due to our heightened anxiety-and that’s on top of our heightened sensory issues- it tends to be extremely difficult for us autistics to just let things go. Second, I thought that they were insulting and blaming me for having that issue. And even insulting my memories themselves, and with it, also my existence.

My grandmother, at some point, told me that I tended to talk about the past “as if it wasn’t overwith” and that I needed to stop doing so. Well, in a lot of ways, for me, it wasn’t, though. And second, she didn’t give me any examples of what I could talk about instead.

It wasn’t until I was close to 30, around the time I was taking my abuse/addiction recovery coach training, that I realized that clinging onto my past like that was, in fact, nothing but detrimental to my life. Particularly of my ability to move forward and re-build my life for the better. Which is what I’m starting to do, especially now that I’m 40.

However, since I have, I’m finding that my childhood memories have become inconsistent, vague, and/or appear to have left me altogether. But that doesn’t scare me one bit. If that’s what it’s going to take for me to be able to rebuild my life, then so be it!

From here…

I know that a new me is trying to emerge. I can feel her. I currently still have too many residual blocks in many of the above-mentioned areas for that to happen easily, and still can’t see my future even a year from now. So I’m basically rebuilding with a sheep’s vision. But hey, better late than never, right?

Lacy Pierce