by Cheryl Vazquez-Cheatham

Created on: April 19, 2010

“I think you have Autism.”

I heard those words for the second time in August of 2008 at the age of 24. I didn’t hear them from a doctor but from an old high school friend who hadn’t seen me in years. He was a Psychology Major at the local university, although I didn’t know it at the time. When we ran into each other at the mall he stared at me in open-mouthed shock as I chattered away breathlessly about some nonsense, amazed that the girl who was so “shy & quiet” in high school, had become such a chatty character.

The first time someone asked me if I was autistic was in the 11th grade and I assumed he was making fun of me. I was completely unaware that my stilted body movements, non-existent body language and remote watchful gaze were signs of a greater “problem.”   

I was the first of three siblings, one of whom has Tourette’s Syndrome (we discovered this when I began to learn more about autism) while the other had ADHD, so my single mother who raised us with little family help, never realized that either myself or my brother with Tourette’s had any difficulties. We were quiet, well behaved children when compared to my voluble, hyper-violent youngest brother. What my mother accepted as normal childhood behaviors, such as tic-ing, stimming, rocking, humming, chewing, etc. are all symptoms of these different neurological “disorders.”

While there were warning signs all through my elementary school years (such as being assumed deaf, having a “day dreamy” attitude, no friends, severe meltdowns-which were generally assumed to be tantrums, etc), I did not fit the stereotypical model of an autistic child (male, well off, of educated parents, usually white) and so I was generally assumed to be mentally retarded (although “gifted” in art) until I was given some standardized tests and passed at above grade level. I did not really begin to feel the effects of my social difficulties until well into high school (a period of time during which I “lost” the ability to speak, unless I was extremely comfortable with a person, otherwise I could barely produce sounds) but I did not seek help until my second year of college.

As a “gifted” student, I had assumed that college would be a simple matter. Although I was intelligent enough to be skipped ahead but was retained at grade level because of my "emotional immaturity." I did not count

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