I'm neurodivergent.......so what? PT.2.

 

It's extremely exhausting when you have a motor inside of you that wont switch off and I remember the very first time I self harmed at eleven years old. I was lying on the bed absolutely knackered but  feeling as though I should be running a marathon. I'd tried  so hard to get things under control, even though I didn't really know what I was dealing with. By the age of  five I thought I'd go into boxing and that would help  release this enormous energy constantly pounding my body. I asked around but was repeatedly told girls weren't allowed.  I continued asking into my teens, but no trainer or gym would take me because they'd say it was illegal for girls. I could never get my head around it, it seemed so unfair . I later accepted an illegal underground bout, I'd been warned it was mismatched but I could make a few quid. 

I wasn't bothered about the money I was just so excited to finally be getting in the ring and being allowed to get rid of this constant awful energy, but I wasn't prepared for my opponent to be a  30 stone german skinhead, she was absolutely huge, I swear one of her arms was bigger than the whole of me , she was also at least twice my age. You've got to remember I was only about 18 by then, eight and a half stone, no training other than the streets of a tough council estate when I was younger. While I was a tough cookie, I knew that if I got in that ring I would end up seriously damaged if not dead, it wasn't a boxing match it was a freak show, so I climbed out the toilet window and scarpered. 

So back to being eleven and about to self harm for the first time, there was such a clash going on, one part of me exhausted the other almost insisting I keep moving, as irrational as it sounds, as a child I thought if I cut myself it would let some of the energy out. So I took a pen knife and sliced it across my inner upper arm, as soon as the blood started flowing out I was hit with the most euphoric calm, it seemed the engine had come to a temporary standstill, it had worked.but in reality self harm had just triggered the  release of endorphins, a natural chemical in the brain that can temporarily reduce pain and give a sense of euphoria, hence it can become addictive. At the time, as a child I didn't know all that, how could I? I was just trying to cope, so I felt that I finally had a tool to  take back control and tame the beast within, of course it was just adding to the problem. So that's how I coped, that's how I managed alone, for the next ten years in secret until I just got so tired of it all. I knew I had to find another way, and while I didn't know what that would look like, I stopped. I didn't have  nieces and nephews at that point but I knew they would come one day and in the mean time I was auntie to my friends children and I wanted to be a good role model for them and future young family members and it just felt wrong having this secret. It really wasn't easy, it took a few attempts and there never was anything to replace it with, I just learnt to live with  being me,  the energy, the discomfort, the chaos, the exhaustion, the imperfections and that's how it's been ever since.

                           

Getting a diagnosis in my latter years was purely for my own satisfaction. I don't need any help or meds, hell i've made it this far alone,  and I'm still learning but then I've always referred to myself as a life student, I think we learn until the day we die, or we have the ability to if we want to, and I do want to. So I  try to be a little more patient with myself , a little kinder  and over the years I've read books and spoken to those far more knowledgeable than me  so that I can try and be more understanding of others too. I've since learnt that 25% to 50% of neurodiverse self harm as a coping mechanism  depending on the particular condition. It makes me a little sad that nothing was known when I was growing up, I think it would have  helped so much to know, but then everything happens for a reason and it's  made me resilient and self reliant and the person I am today.  

I don't usually do regret because there is no point but if I have one it's that  I wish my brother and sister were still here, I feel it  must've been hard growing up with me as a sibling, I never got to ask them. As a  diagnosed adult I would've  just loved the chance to  put my arms around them, give them a hug and say sorry. I guess that will have to wait now until I hit the otherside.  

I'll end with some things I said in PT 1 .

With or without a label, life is tough for everyone at the end of the day and we can only do our best.....oh, and I'll probably always be a weird annoying little shit, still ask a zillion questions, still have a zillion ideas and creations going through my head, mostly in the middle of the night and still be honest to a fault, so I appreciate those that are still here, that still love me and those that still like me and for those that don't? That's perfectly okay too, I'm not everyone's cuppa tea and I wish you love and a good life. This is only a fraction of my story because I wasn't aiming on writing a novel. I just hope that by being honest,and sharing this for the first time,  someone reading this, that's maybe  grown up in a similar situation  can relate and draw some comfort knowing they are not alone  and you don't have to keep anything a secret anymore and now that there is better understanding  and help, albeit a long waiting list, I hope you can find the courage to seek it so that you can be/feel supported as you deserve and not struggle alone. Keep on keepin'on. Back before Elvis.