Sharing a Co-Morbidity Doesn’t Mean Autism Doesn’t Exist

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My wife shared this image on Facebook. The things surrounding “autism” are all things that can be co-morbid with it. For example, I have general anxiety disorder–meaning I have anxiety all day every day–but I don’t have Tourette’s. Not everyone who has general anxiety disorder has autism, of course, but if you are autistic, you have general anxiety disorder. And not everyone with Tourette’s is autistic, but a higher percentage of autistics have Tourette’s.
There are those who think that having daily rituals is having OCD. Having rituals is not really quite OCD. Rituals are a way to create order in life, and is therefore something you will find autistics doing at much higher rates than, again, the non-autistic population. True OCD would involve someone who cannot leave a room without turning the light switch on and off exactly 15 times each time, or who gets “fascinated” by a shoe for 30 minutes straight. Or it may involve being unable to stop thinking about something all the time–such as sharks, for example, or in my case, self-organizing scale free network processes. The benefit of having what one could call “OCD thinking” is that one can become a scientists or scholar, and then you’re actually paid for what you can’t stop thinking about. You can get a Ph.D. with that way of thinking.
Of course, if you’re always thinking about certain things, if your brain is always running at 150 mph, you may have a hard time paying attention. My own hyperactivity is mostly in my thoughts, but Daniel has a hard time sitting still unless he’s involved in his obsessions. Which simply means his hyperactivity is internalized.
These things themselves come from the fact that the autistic brain is dominated by positive feedback. Complex systems like the brain have a combination of positive and negative feedback. Negative feedback helps to keep things in equilibrium. The thermostat for your heater/AC uses negative feedback to keep the temperature the same. If you had a positive feedback thermostat, the hotter the room became, the hotter the heater would try to make the room. Things go faster the faster they go. Hyperactivity then occurs because you’re getting overstimulated. This can then push over into a situation where you become overwhelmed by the situation. Reactions to this can include extreme escape behaviors, banging your body against a wall while becoming non-responsive, or having an outright meltdown where you cannot control your actions. The overstimulation occurs in no small part because we also have sensory integration disorder. That means we have a hard time separating out visual input from sound from touch from all of the rest of our sensory input. I experience it as a feeling that my mind is being crumpled up like a piece of paper and everything goes black.
I also come with some extreme sensitivities. I cannot stand to have my wrists touched. I jump every time someone does that. I want to remove my skin to get away. But I try to downplay my reactions because people will just think it’s “weird.”
Autism is a fundamental structural difference in the way the brain is wired and works. It results in a very distinct set of behaviors. Yet, it is a spectrum, and that spectrum goes from truly debilitating (what is now called Autism 3) through “high-functioning” (Autism 2) to Asperger’s/Autism 1 and, I would argue, ADD/ADHD. Yes, most of the elements which are often co-morbid with autism can be found elsewhere. I have a slight tendency toward manic-depression, but there are certainly people with manic-depression who aren’t autistic, and there are people with crippling depression who aren’t autistic. Yet, those are found among autistics at much higher rates.
Those who like to throw around the argument that “autism” is a “mere label” are really just trying to downplay some very concrete elements of reality. There are some things that are “mere labels,” and some things that absolutely are not. Having structural and biochemical differences in my brain that result in my mind being very different from non-autistic people isn’t a label. It’s an acknowledgement of that reality. I’ve enjoyed the giftedness and even the OCD that has come with it. I couldn’t have gotten my Ph.D. without it. And yet, my sensitivities and “weird” behaviors have definitely affected various aspects of my life. One of the best things to have happened to me was for me to realize I was autistic and to get officially diagnosed. It cleared up why I was argumentative (have ODD), why I couldn’t understand why everyone else wasn’t as rational or couldn’t see all the complex patterns I could see. It cleared up why I have all my sensitivities, why I think the way I do, why I avoid being in the middle of large groups of people, why I have blackout and movement seizures, why I have a delay in my response to people, and why I can get confused if people don’t give me the processing time I need.
The benefit of knowing I am autistic goes beyond that. Now I’m no longer just that weird person who doesn’t like to socialize who inexplicably alternates between being wonderfully kind and friendly to appearing to be rude (from failing to notice things going on or being confused about a given situation). Those behaviors are now able to be explained. Which doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have someone say, “Hey, so and so said hi to you.” I do. It helps. Nor does it mean I shouldn’t have certain behaviors pointed out to me, because when they are, I become more conscious of them and the fact that they may make non-autistic people uncomfortable, so I should try to change that behavior. At the same time, there’s always a degree to which we cannot help our behaviors. In a room full of autistic people like me, the non-autistics would stand out and it would be their behavior which would seem out of place. And if we insisted they fit in, they would seem socially awkward and would have an extremely difficult time fitting in.
The long and short of it is that autism is a real thing with real behavioral and cognitive differences in those of us who have it. It’s important people know Daniel is autistic. That way people can understand that if he’s in a situation with a lot of people where he’s being completely overwhelmed that he’s not an out-of-control brat who just need some strong discipline to straighten him up, but actually cannot integrate what is going on, positive feedback is dominating, and he’s so completely overwhelmed he shuts down until he resets (in a closed system like the brain, positive feedback doesn’t run away forever, but rather creates cycles). I want people to understand that. I want people to adjust their expectation and to make room for “odd” behaviors so they can reap the benefits of our existence.


Over the past several weeks I have noticed a new pattern in the way Daniel speaks. He will now say a sentence, then repeat the last part in a whisper (in a whisper). This is a speech disorder, or complex tic, known as palilalia. And, no surprise here, it can be found in autistics.

As I just noted, it’s a complex tic, meaning it’s not dissimilar to my own tics, or movement seizures, which are of course connected to my own autism. My movement seizures also developed later in life, so it’s not surprising that Daniel has developed this one later, at 8 years of age.

There doesn’t seem to be much about palilalia on the internet, so there’s not much I can discuss about it for the moment. I have found some discussions of its relationship to echolalia, but echolalia is the exact repetition of phrases and sentences spoken by others. It’s also found in autistics (and it something I’ve done for years, repeating things from TV and movies and integrating them into my usual speaking repertoire), but the two differ primarily in the fact that palilalia is a repetition of one’s own self-generated sentences.

There’s nothing like autism to introduce you to interesting little things the human brain sometimes does.

Seizures and Autism

I’m currently reading the book Educating Children with Autism, which is a government report–and reads like one. Meaning, it’s one of the driest, most boring things I’ve ever read. It’s also not exactly chock-full of new information. I’ve run across most of what it has to say in various other places (and said better in those places). But that doesn’t mean there aren’t a few tidbits there.

One tidbit is the fact that “staring spells” are in fact small seizures (30). If you have autism or know of someone with autism, you know they can sometimes fall into “staring spells,” or “space out.”

Actually, that tidbit can also be found in Temple Grandin’s Thinking in Pictures (6).

A seizure is simply caused by an abnormal electrical discharge in the brain. Getting caught in a positive feedback loop, for example. These kinds of seizures are called “absence seizures” because there are only a few seconds of consciousness lost, with no other symptoms. Externally, it appears that the person is just staring blankly.

I have these seizures all the time. I’ve had them for as long as I can remember. I just didn’t know they were seizures until I read about them in the two books above and looked up what kinds of seizures they were. They’re not really a big deal, and often you don’t even know you have had one.

Of course, if you have one in front of a person, it’s bound to be noticed. I’ve been asked a few times whether or not I was okay. If I’m busy doing something and I have one, I’ve been asked if I’m thinking about something (I usually am, so I usually answer in the affirmative). Once, when I had one at a Starbucks I actually had someone rather aggressively ask me what I was staring at, and even after I told him I wasn’t staring at him at all, but was rather thinking about something (I now know better), he told me to stop it. I guess the good thing now is that I if something like that should happen again, I can tell the person I’m prone to absence seizures, and he can feel like the ass he is.

I also have a “twitch” that began as a “head turning” but now mostly manifests itself in a head-shaking. It happens mostly when I’m most relaxed. If I’m focused, I don’t have them. It turns out that those are another kind of seizure, a partial seizure known as a simple motor seizure.

Given that these minor seizures are a feature of autism, I now have an explanation for these experiences. Who would have guessed they were seizures?