An adult autistic perspective on growing up on the Autism Spectrum.

I went into my parents’ bathroom and opened up the medicine cabinet. I removed the largest bottle of pill that I could see and reach and took the lid off. I began to put handfuls of the aspirin in my mouth and chewed them up before swallowing. A few sips of water later and I was called to the dinner table. 

Following my appetizer of aspirins, I proceeded to eat my spinach and steak. Shortly after dishes, I went to bed with a very queasy stomach. 

I awoke, very dizzy and lightheaded, looking for a bright light and the image of my grandfather, only to find darkness and illness. I slowly climbed down from my top bunk and crawled to the other end of the house. Stopping only to regurgitate my dinner in the hallway, I crouched for a few moments at the closed door to my parents’ room and proceeded in to my older sister’s bedroom. On my hands and knees I pulled at her covers, stirring her awake. 

“Sissy, I took too many aspirins.” I whispered to her. “I had a really bad headache and took all the aspirins in the bottle.” 

“You what?” She asked loudly. 

“I ate all the aspirins in mom and dads medicine cabinet and I threw up. I am sick.” I replied. 

She got up immediately and woke up my parents. They called the hospital that was over an hour away and then loaded me into the car with a huge bowl to throw up in. Had I not been so busy ridding my body of the deadly amount of aspirins in it, I may have been able to answer the many questions that flowed from the front seat of the family car. Thankfully, I never stopped longer than it took to take a breath. 

At the hospital, I was fed a desert of charcoal. Sipping through a straw, I did finally manage to get it all down. I was placed in the hospital for a total of three days. During that time a psychologists came to see me. 

“Why did you take all of those pills?” She asked me while I drew a picture. 

“I had a really bad headache.” I responded as I put the finishing touches on my cat in my picture. 

“What did you draw?” The psychologist asked me. 

“That is me at night in a dress with my kitty.” I said. 

“What is your kitty’s name?” She inquired. 

“Her name is Whiskers. She is orange with yellow stripes and she is just a baby.” I told her. 

I was released from the hospital after she met with my parents. A day after I got home my stepfather showed up with a kitten who had orange and yellow stripes and I named her Whiskers. 

I never really explained why I had taken the aspirins. At the time, I may not have known how to articulate the idea behind my decision and chose a more likely reason for my actions. The frequent headaches I had been suffering recently. 

At nine years old and with undiagnosed autism, it is certain that my ideations for taking the medication as I did would not have been understood. 

I had gotten home from school and was watching a special on a celebrity who had overdosed on sleeping medication. The focus on the show was near death experiences. My mother had recently lost a few patients in her terminal illness home care job. As bright lights and visions of family members were described, I wondered if I could see my grandfather who had passed away. 

This thought stayed with me through the afternoon and became an obsession into the night. Certain that I would not die, none of the people on the show had, I decided to have a near death experience. 

Crazy? Perhaps not for a 9 year old with autism. Much of my reality was what I created for myself in my own little world.  

It was just simple curiosity and a desire to see a long lost loved grandpa.