In 2001, a movie was released based on the biography of John Nash, a mathematician whose theories earned him a Nobel Prize.  This story documented Nash’s life and his struggle with, and eventual overcoming of, paranoid schizophrenia.  The title of Nash’s tale was, “A Beautiful Mind,” and while the outcome of Nash’s biographical experience is a positive one, there is reason to pause and give reflection to the perils of the human mind.

While autism is very different in nature from schizophrenia, many of those who have Asperger’s Syndrome are originally misdiagnosed as being schizophrenic.  The scholarship and medical research on AS is less than 20 years old, and thus previous to the revelation that AS is its own unique disorder, many of those coping with particular symptoms were thought to be paranoid or delusional in many ways.  Why is this so? 

The best thing that can explain this unusual correlation is to look in to what we can call the ‘autistic mind’.  While I am unable to speak on behalf of everyone dealing with autism in its various forms and degrees, I can attempt to describe how my mind works, and what makes it different from the ‘typical’ mind of others.  Picture a mind divided in two parts; not between left and right, but rather, between the ‘real’ world and a completely different world, all meshed into one.  This stark dichotomy is how an autistic mind exists.

From what I have gathered both from my own experiences, and from discussing this issue with others having AS, autistic people live in their own world.  This world is marked by routine, structure, and in many ways, complete detachment from people around them.  In this world, I am able to logically deduce issues which come to mind, work out my theories on various issues, and operate in a certain way which enables me to feel at ease.  The autistic world within my mind provides me with great comfort and does not involve emotional, empathetic, or social situations.

The ‘real’ world I mention is the one we all live in.  This is not to say that everyone has a shared understanding or experience in the world, but rather, we are all forced to operate in communities, deal with people on some level, and also, to function in a society whether we like it or not.  It is this world that creates the problems which lead to autistic people being different or disabled, due to their typical inability to function properly or normally in these communities and situations.  For me, in order to enter the ‘real’ world, I must exit my autistic world; making this break from one part of the mind into the other is where I run into problems.  As I mentioned, the autistic world in which I live is comfortable and adheres to the structure of my brain without having to be involved in anxiety-producing situations.  This is absolutely not the case in the ‘real’ world.

I have often discussed my symptoms which led to me being diagnosed as autistic.  These involve many personality traits which are not socially learned, but instead, originate in the autistic world I discuss here.  These traits do not become symptoms until I am compelled to exist in the ‘real’ world with those who do not live in two worlds simultaneously.  Many of the traits or symptoms which mark my behaviour are coping mechanisms which allow me to interact with others, enter public spaces, or engage in physical contact, though none of these things occur in my autistic world, nor do I want them to.  In essence, I do not feel autistic until someone else in the ‘real’ world tells me I am because I act differently.  What they tend not to realize is that I have to in order to speak or interact with them at all.

The ‘real’ world I describe produces plenty of anxiety, and rare enjoyment.  Unfortunately for people that live with AS and other forms of autism, existing in both worlds is inescapable.  For those of us fortunate enough to be self-reliant and live independently, we know we must buy groceries, drive cars, attend certain family events, and make friends.  To most people who are not autistic, these are considered natural parts of life; this is not the case for me.  My comfort zone in the autistic world is working on my academic theories, reading, and generally being alone.  Such behaviour cannot be sustained for a lifetime if one hopes to maneuver and work in the ‘real’ world.

The break between one world and the other is where many autistic people are classified as being severely or low-functioning autistic, and high-functioning.  Often times we see low-functioning autistic individuals as non-verbal, unable to move physically and generally are considered to have a low IQ.  High-functioning autism is difficult to diagnose, as those that have certain forms of autism may not even know it or seek assistance, and just live as if they are different.  What is also of interest to me is that in some cases, the lower-functioning autistic people live exclusively in their own world; they are unable to make the break and operate in the ‘real’ world when they choose to.  For high-functioning individuals, a major component and defining element of their autism appears to be the ability to move back and forth with some ease, though anxiety is produced when doing so.

Anxiety when operating in the ‘real’ world can be caused by a number of different things.  In my case, for instance, I can exist in both worlds fairly well, but my preference, of course, is the autistic world.  Going out in to the ‘real’ world usually proves very difficult, as I need to hide or mask behaviours or natural inclinations I might have so I do not offend or hurt people.  Perhaps providing an example as to a typical situation would help demonstrate this point.  Take going for groceries, for instance.  To many, this is a necessity and something that must be done for sustenance.  I despise going to a grocery store.  The handles of the carts are full of germs and the handles on those totally uncomfortable baskets are no better.  Once I actually enter the store, my hypersensitive sensory perceptions become immediately overwhelmed.  My ears focus on the elevator-style music playing overhead, the buzzing of the lights, the various conversations between people and staff, the unique sounds originating from each counter or area in the store, the beeping of the cash registers and the wobbly wheels of the carts pushed by others.  More than this, there are, at times, crying or screaming children running amuck around my feet.  My nose fixates on the plethora of scents coming from the deli, bakery, fish or candy sections, as well as the smells of each person around me.  Some wear perfume or cologne which can be detected from two aisles over.  My eyes see the variety of colours, people and products, none of which are typically organized in a fashion that lives up to my standards.  My sense of touch is perhaps the most affected, as I am forced to touch boxes, bags, or produce that I have been fondled over my countless people before me.  Each of these issues not only affects my mind, but also, creates physical pain in many cases because my senses are so hypersensitive.

These sorts of realizations hit me about an hour before I even go to the grocery store, and that is when the preparation must begin so that I am actually physically able to get the food I need to live.  I have been forced to get in to a routine which is loyal to the compulsive part of my autistic world so that I am able to get to the store at all.  I go on the same day, at the same time every week.  I know exactly what I am getting and plan a route around the store which maximizes efficiency in getting what I need, and minimizes personal interaction and time spent in the store.  The longest I allow myself to spend in the store is 30 minutes, because anything more allows my mind to fixate on some, or all, of the observations listed above, and then I am unable to function.  When I arrive home after shopping, it takes approximately two hours for my mind to calm down and stop focusing and deconstructing the grocery experience.

Unfortunately, there are times when this sort of routine gets ruined, and then my autistic world comes into conflict with the ‘real’ world.  For instance, I was recently taking an evening class, and one night the class finished 3 minutes past its scheduled time.  It then took me over 3 hours to make my way home, in the dead of winter in Edmonton, Alberta.  The obsessive compulsive part of my autistic mind had been betrayed and I was unable to make the break back into the ‘real’ world in order to board the bus and get home, as my routine was shattered by 3 minutes.  I stood outside, in -40 degree Celsius, for 3 hours before finally being able to get myself onto the bus. 

This is the way I operate in the ‘real’ world.  My own world does not go 3 minutes over any deadline or schedule.  Grocery shopping, malls, movie theatres, restaurants, or virtually any other public space creates problems like those listed above.  I am fortunate enough to be able to make the break between both worlds with relative ease, but in the end, the autistic world always wins, as it is the stronger and more prevalent part of my life.

Many around me have mentioned Nash’s story and the film based on his experiences, and compared his struggles with my own.  While some people with AS exhibit high IQ’s and are considered to be brilliant or geniuses, our minds are really not-so beautiful in the end.  We are tortured every minute of every day, not necessarily by our own minds, but more by the two worlds we are forced and expected to live in simultaneously.