|There was a complicated reason I chose this pic, but I forget. Sorry.|
But in my day-to-day life, the diagnosis itself is at best irrelevant, and sometimes an active disadvantage.
It doesn't provide access to any services. Most services are tailored to children, so I was already 20 years too old to be eligible when I was diagnosed. The services that could help me - help with some effective coping strategies for dealing with executive dysfunction, an advocate to explain sensory sensitivity to employers who think I'm just a whiny bitch, or someone to walk me through the social shit that should have been explained to me when I was four - don't exist. And because the sky high unemployment rate among adults on the spectrum means we're unlikely to have the sweet dolla dolla to pay for such help, there's no incentive for any entrepreneurial service provider to set up shop. And if I ever fall on enough hard times to need the disability pension, God only knows what Centrelink hoops I'd have to jump through.
It can actively block you from other help you need. Somehow having an ASD diagnosis seems to make you ineligible for mental health treatment. Have I told you about the time I was turned away from a mental health unit while actively suicidal because, and I quote, "Aspergers isn't a mental health issue"? Because that's a thing that happened.
It's assumed to be the root of your every problem and health concern. Depression? Aspergers. Anxiety? Aspergers. Being bullied? Aspergers. Toothache? Aspergers. Menopause? Aspergers. Broken leg? The guy putting the plaster on would probably find a way to make it about Aspergers.
It's all therapists ever want to talk about. The novelty of having a real live adult Aspie (and a female, too!) means I've paid good money for "therapy" that's been nothing but me explaining Aspergers to the alleged professional. And not even complex, obscure details or things that are unique to me - basic stuff like "there's this thing called sensory sensitivity..." that they could find out about in three minutes on Wikipedia. Note to counsellors, psychologists and talk-therapists of all kinds: a patient with Aspergers is NOT an opportunity for you to get some professional development while the meter's running.
Medical people don't believe each other. Did I miss an awards ceremony where I was supposed to get a framed fucking certificate to prove my Aspergers? Because I've seen a lot of different doctors (I've moved four times in the last six years, including twice interstate) and only ever had one believe me when I told her I had an existing Aspergers diagnosis. The others were all "we'll see about that!" as if two psychologists, a psychiatrist, an EEG, an IQ test, and a diagnostic process that lasted six months was somehow worth less than the gut hunch of a random GP who'd known me for ten seconds. I'm sick of reinventing the wheel every time I need a flu shot or something to counter the effects of a dodgy Chinese takeaway. It's easier to just not mention that trifling detail about having a lifelong neurodevelopmental disability.
Aspergers diagnosis. I'm really glad I've got one. It changed my life. But sometimes it's just a fucking nuisance.