Post #2 - When You Know Something's Wrong, But You Cannot Prove It

Following on from my initial chat with the GP, I waited about four months to have a pre-assessment session with my local Mental Health Team.  This took place on a Thursday morning in the same satellite hospital my son was diagnosed in.  It was basically me, my husband and a social worker who had a series of set questions to ask me.  I'll admit it, I became very emotional throughout, especially when probed about my past history.  The concluding part was to complete the AQ test, you know, this one: http://aspergerstest.net/aq-test/  I scored within the clinical range for ASD and was referred on towards a full diagnosis.  I was informed that adult aspies don't really have any support available and that it would take absolutely ages.  Fair enough, this is the NHS, they are overburdened to say the least.



My mental health suffered during the months which followed.  I told my brusque boss, who couldn't have given a flying fig about autism and thought that it was just an excuse for me to slack off.  I walked out of my job with stress, I couldn't stop crying - I'd had enough.  My GP was sympathetic and I was prescribed antidepressants - Setraline to be precise.  At home I recuperated, often walking around the garden listening to Radio 4's Desert Island Discs on podcast to block out any extraneous noise - Aspies hate such things.  On the advice of the GP I self-referred for Cognitive Behaviour Therapy (CBT) and had an introductory session.  It was interesting, but a whole load of the other delegates were mute and the others, well without breaking confidences, one was very aggressive towards me indeed when I posed a question about women feeling more guilt than men tend to.  Nice.

I returned to work a few weeks later, initially once a week.  Things were fine at first, but once I upped my hours once more, it began to slide.  The same problems arose: my performance was criticised and my self-esteem was at an all time low.  I walked out of the job once again a few months later, I'd had enough, I wanted to leave, permanently.  The GP signed me off once more and I was referred for counselling via the work programme.  I fell out with the first counsellor, some things just don't click.