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Chidi takes a deep breath and shakes out his hands. He is ready. He has a stomachache (Why does he always have a stomach ache?), but he has thought this over and over and over again. He needs to know the answer. Stilling his body, he calls out, “Janet?”
“Hello Chidi, how can I help?”
“Janet, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Why do I feel this way?”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“I mean, my brain is running all the time. I’m always thinking, and it’s so loud inside my head. It’s like a fork in a garbage disposal. I can’t make a single decision because I get stuck analyzing the pros and cons for hours. I’m always anxious, and I only know that because I always have a stomach ache. No one else seems to be this way. Why am I like this, Janet?”
“Oh. I see… Well, I can’t say for sure, but I’ll do my best to help you figure it out. Why don’t we take a seat.”
“Okay.”
Chidi and Janet sit down on a gray couch in a private room of Michael’s office, where she knows they won’t be interrupted. Janet is careful to leave some space between her and Chidi. She could’ve chosen the armchairs instead, but those face each other and she knows that eye contact can be uncomfortable for people with certain conditions. She doesn’t know yet if Chidi is one of these people, but she wants him to be as comfortable as possible. She knows that he is being vulnerable right now, and has probably debated asking her about this for days, if not longer.
“Okay Chidi. I am not a psychiatrist and cannot provide you with mental health care or diagnoses, but I do know everything about psychology and medicine and neuroscience and everything else, so I might be able to help you figure out what’s going on. Can I ask you some questions?”
“Yes,” Chidi takes a deep breath. “I think I’m ready.”
Janet takes out a notepad. She has no need to take notes, but she thinks Chidi might want to read them afterwards. He likes to see facts laid out in front of him and have evidence to review.
“You said that you’re always thinking. What kinds of things are you thinking about?”
“Umm… well, uh…” Chidi stammers, fidgeting with his hands and looking around the room a little frantically.
“You can take all the time you need, Chidi. There’s no rush.” Janet says kindly.
Chidi visibly relaxes. “Right. Thank you. It just takes a minute to get my words in order. I want to make sure I say what I really mean.”
Janet smiles to herself and jots down a note as discreetly as she can.
After a minute or two of comfortable silence, Chidi speaks up. “Well, as you know I spend a lot of time trying to make decisions–weighing the pros and cons, thinking about the ethics involved, that sort of thing. But I’m also constantly replaying past conversations and decisions, thinking about what I could’ve done differently, what I maybe should’ve done. And I can spend hours rehearsing imaginary conversations with people. I analyze the details of everything around me and every interaction I’m in. I worry about my relationships with others and whether I’m treating them right. And sometimes I get lost in my head daydreaming about philosophy.”
“And how long has this been going on?” Janet asks.
Chidi chuckles softly. “My whole life. I’ve always been so analytical. So obsessed with finding answers. I was always a little different, a little “off,” but adults just said I was mature for my age and wise beyond my years. My parents were both professors, so they just thought I was taking after them. As a kid I was always proud to be told I was smart, but now I think everyone might’ve been missing what was really going on with my brain.”
“I see.” says Janet. “Are there specific things that make you feel different from others?”
Chidi gazes at a small cactus in a purple pot, thinking hard. Eventually he responds, “Everything seems to take more effort for me. I overanalyze everything. I have to make lists and have clear plans before I can act. I have to understand all the details in every situation, or else I’m frozen. I have to clear all these mental hurdles before every little thing I do. I used to think everyone was like this, but now I realize it’s just me. I’m not normal.”
His voice wobbles on the last sentence, and Janet feels her eyes prickle. Crying is rare for her, but she’s been rebooted so many times that she’s gained the ability. Chidi is her friend, and it hurts her to see him feeling this way. “I can’t say yet what is making you feel this way, but whatever it is, I can promise you this: You’re not alone, Chidi. There will be others who feel like you. We’ll just have to find them. I’ll help you.”
Chidi briefly meets her eyes, a small smile on his face, then looks down. “I’ve never done this before–talked to someone about this. It’s hard… But I think it’s good too.”
Janet hands him a glass of water and says “I’m glad I’m able to help.” She gives him a moment to collect himself, and when he seems ready she continues. “What is socializing like for you?”
He gives her a bit of a blank look, then says “Sorry, could you be more specific?”
“Of course. Are you comfortable interacting with other people? Do you feel like you know how to act in social situations?”
“Ah. Well I’ve always been reserved. Ever since I was a kid I’ve been happiest when I’m alone with a book in a comfortable chair. I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, but I had Uzo and I had my books, and that was all I needed. It’s not so much that I was shy or afraid of talking to people, I just never quite figured out how to relate to them. I was always too academic, too analytical, too unspontaneous. That’s why I loved being a professor. When I talked to students and colleagues at the university I knew we shared an interest and a way of speaking. I knew I would be accepted for talking about philosophy all the time. I didn’t have to be good at small talk or following social norms. I just got to talk about what I loved.”
Chidi notices that Janet is scribbling away at her notepad the whole time he is talking. He likes the slightly scratchy noise the pen makes on the paper. It hits something in his brain just right. He’ll have to ask her for some of those pens. He sees her underline something twice. He’s pretty sure it says “special interest in philosophy.”
“How about eye contact? Is it comfortable for you? Does it come naturally?”
Chidi focuses on a spot on the carpet where it looks like someone spilled coffee. He wonders why it hasn’t been cleaned up with afterlife magic. Maybe now that Michael doesn’t have to keep up a facade he’s letting the space feel more real. He realizes his mind is wandering. With his gaze still trained on the floor, he says “I make eye contact because it’s what people expect. It’s not exactly uncomfortable, but it makes it harder to think clearly. I had to be taught to do it as a kid. I’d rather look at a book or a spot on the wall or out a window, but people seem to like it when you look at their faces, so I do that instead.”
“You’re not making eye contact with me right now,” Janet points out, not unkindly.
Chidi looks up at her, meeting her eyes for just a moment. “That’s because I know you won’t judge me for it. With you, I can just be me.”
Janet smiles. “I’m really glad to hear that, Chidi.”
She lets that sit for a moment, then moves on, not wanting to leave room for Chidi to feel uncomfortable in his vulnerability. “My next question for you is about sensory sensitivity. Are there things like lights, noises, or textures that bother you?”
“Well, sometimes when I’m thinking too much the lights start to feel too bright and my shirt feels too tight and I just want to squeeze my eyes shut and curl up in a ball. And every time the refrigerator kicks on with that low buzzing noise I want to scream. And there are some fabrics I can’t wear. I’ve learned what kinds of clothes are comfortable and I stick to those.”
“I see.” Janet takes some more notes. “What about repetitive behaviors? These can be things you do to calm yourself down, focus, express happiness, or otherwise self-regulate. Some people flap their hands, pick at their skin, rock back and forth, repeat words, or fidget with their fingers, but there are endless possibilities.”
Chidi looks down and sees that he’s fidgeting with his fingers, tapping his thumbs against his index fingers, then middle, then ring, then pinky. “I think I do do some of those. I like to rub my lucky bookmark when I’m nervous. And pacing back and forth helps me think. Sometimes when no one’s looking I shake my hands to let the stress out. And, well it looks like I’m fidgeting with my fingers right now.”
“I noticed that,” says Janet, scribbling away. “Do you also feel like you rely on structure or routines?”
“Absolutely. There are few things better than a good routine. I like to know what to expect from my days, so I don’t really mind if they’re repetitive. I can’t be spontaneous. I need to know the full plan before I agree to anything and before I can even think about starting it. When I sit down to work, it takes twice as long because I spend as much time outlining as most people spend writing. And lists! I love lists! Everything is laid out so neatly.”
“Understandable. I like things neatly laid out too,” Janet replies. “Last question: how would you describe your way of thinking?”
Chidi looks off into the distance, thinking hard. Eventually he answers simply, “logical. I’ve always believed that every problem had an answer, and all I had to do was think hard enough to figure it out. I keep being told that’s wrong. But I don’t know any other way to live.”
Janet finishes writing, then clicks her pen definitively. “Okay Chidi. That’s all the questions. I will consult a number of psychological resources to see what diagnosis best fits the things you’ve told me. Just give me a minute.”
“Uh, wow, okay.” Says Chidi, slightly breathlessly. He has a stomach ache, and his heart is pounding. This is an answer he’s been waiting for his whole life, and Janet is about to just hand it to him. The whole process was so quick . Much faster than it would’ve been on Earth. And once he knows the answer, there’s no going back. But he wants to know. He needs to know.
Just a moment later, Janet says “I have the results. Would you like to hear them? We can wait as long as you want. I know this might be a lot.”
Chidi takes a deep breath, flaps his hands slightly, and looks towards Janet. “I-I think I’m ready. I’d like to know, please.”
Janet smiles sweetly and hands her notepad to Chidi so he can see everything she’s written. “Based on everything you’ve told me, I think it is very likely that you are autistic, Chidi.”
Autistic. Could that be right? Is that the answer? Chidi never considered that he could be autistic. To be honest, he doesn’t know much about what autism even is. No representation of autism that he’s seen has ever looked remotely like him. But he knows that Janet hasn’t picked a diagnosis out of the blue. She’s based this on evidence and observation. So he’s willing to believe that she might be right. He’ll approach this logically, just like he always does.
“Autistic. What pointed you towards that diagnosis? What exactly does it mean?” Chidi asks.
“Well, one important thing to know is that autism is a spectrum, and it’s not linear. Every autistic person has a unique experience, and shows different levels of each trait. Some people need lots of support and some people just need a little, and those needs can change. As for what pointed me in that direction, well, here. Why don’t you look at this.”
Janet hands Chidi her notepad and begins explaining what she has written. “I’ll start with the simplest explanation. Your answers to my questions, your behavior while answering them, and the things I already knew about you show that you experience social struggles, sensory issues, repetitive behaviors–also called stimming–and rigid thinking patterns. Those are all characteristics of autism. The way you describe feeling different from others is also very common among autistic people.”
Chidi nods. “I’m with you so far. Though all those terms make it sound like a real bummer.”
“The people who write psychological manuals always focus on deficits. All of those traits have positive sides too. You might have really good hearing, or excellent planning skills. I know that you have an incredible knowledge of philosophy and ethics. And you’re extremely empathetic, probably because you’ve spent your whole life trying to understand other people. There are certainly challenges that come with being autistic, but there is also joy.”
Chidi considers this. “It sounds like I have a lot of self-reflection to do… I have a question. How did you settle on autism specifically, and not just anxiety or something?
“That’s a good question. Autism and anxiety share a lot of symptoms, so it can be difficult to figure out exactly what the right one is. I think it’s likely that you have both. Your overthinking, fidgeting, and preference for routine could all be anxiety symptoms, but the number of traits you exhibit leads me to think you are autistic as well. Specifically the way you describe rehearsing conversations, your extreme focus on details, your trouble connecting to people without a shared interest, your irregular eye contact, your reliance on schedule and routine, your stimming, and your sensory sensitivities all point me towards autism. There are more details in my notes, so when you read those you’ll see some other little things I noticed during our conversation.”
Chidi is starting to get excited now. He has research to do! He’s unlocked this new part of himself, and he wants to learn as much as he can. He can’t quite pinpoint his feelings about being autistic–that will probably take a long time and a lot of writing. But he is excited to be able to do a deep dive into this new topic. “Thanks Janet. I’ll look through all your notes as soon as I get home. I want to learn everything. I have so much reading to do!”
Janet grins at his excitement. “Would you like me to give you some resources about autism to start your research?”
“Yes! I want to read everything I can find, but a starting point would be great.”
Janet hands him a short stack of books and papers. “Anytime you have questions, you’re welcome to ask me. This conversation can continue at any time.”
Chidi smiles. “I know. Thank you, Janet.”
“There’s one more thing.” Janet says. “Close your eyes.”
Bing
Chidi opens his eyes and sees that Janet is holding something out to him. It’s a pair of headphones. They’re dark green and kind of chunky, like the kind you might wear on a lawnmower to protect your ears. He doesn’t see any wires or buttons.
“These are called ear defenders,” Janet tells him. “There’s lots of different styles, but I thought I’d give you the basic ones to start. They can help you dim the world when it gets to be too much.”
Chidi accepts them gratefully and holds them to his chest. “Thank you, Janet. For everything.”
“Of course. I’ll let you get to your reading, but please call me if you need anything. Even if you just want to talk.” Janet reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, kindly. Then she steps away and goes back to her void.
Chidi slips the ear defenders over his ears. All the little noises that are always in the background melt away. The ear defenders put a slight pressure on his head, but in a way that makes him feel pleasantly secure. He flaps his hands hard now, relief washing over him as he realizes that his big question has finally been answered. “I’m… autistic.” He says out loud. “Autistic. I am autistic. I’m autistic.” He repeats it over and over, getting used to the way it feels in his mouth. He’s never thought of that word in relation to himself before. It’s new. It’s a little strange. But it feels like something has clicked into place.
“I’m Chidi, and I am autistic.”