I was recently reading a story about an autistic individual years ago that physically hurt their family members when they had bouts of rage during puberty and how doing so was quite consequential for both the family, and many others. The fact is that I too have been through the indistinguishable situation as it happens across the autistic spectrum.

While I had autistic traits throughout my life, I was not diagnosed until I was thirteen because it was not known that I qualified for such a diagnosis because of my ability to function in the world except for my behaviors of aggression and acting out in many other ways. My intelligence was overseen before what was the dark side. However, after being diagnosed, puberty was setting in deeply and I did not know how much it was wreaking havoc on myself and my family.

Even with support from esteemed professionals, they did not know as much as the world knows now and such, they were able to see the real side of me at times. It all started when I had a crisis at home and the crisis team was dispatched to my home, which in turn summoned an ambulance to the local emergency room and my first inpatient hospitalization.

However, through the battles at home and school, that time and the following three times the next year that I was in and out of the same hospital, I was often the model patient and there was nothing that could be done. Behaviors were unpredictable, even with family and help, there was no predictability. School did not want me to be around, and I suffered greatly.

As my 15^th summer ended, my behaviors were so bad that at a psychiatrist appointment, I had a meltdown that resulted in me being sent directly to the psych hospital for what would be the last time. It was my parents who put my foot down and realized that I could no longer come home and there was a need for me to get more care.

They had known this for some time, and it had torn them apart. Through one of my professionals, they collaborated and did research on residential facilities in the area and found one close to home. However, the county behavioral health administration had different intentions. Thoughts of placing me on the eastern seaboard or the opposite side of the state were proposed and as a result my mother filed an administrative complaint and was through the painstaking process of chasing down the administration of the residential facility, placement was secured.

In the next nine months, I gained the necessary skills and had one impressive therapist that helped me learn how to manage things. I saw a psychiatrist that often cut down to the chase and was able to work with the medications and find what really worked to what I nearly take today over two decades later. Through the facility, I got to go to a different high school and was able to experience what a high school was like as it had four years of schooling, compared to my home district’s three-year high school. Upon discharge, the superintendent of my home school district allowed me the school year there and provided transportation to and from as it was 45 minutes away. It was the best decision that was made during discharge.

When I first came home, I had supports in place, yet it was not perfect. Meltdowns and episodes existed for some time, but never resulted in hospitalization again, a fact that I can be proud of. Yet, there was some continued trauma that ensued and even for a long time I had resentment towards my parents for making that decision to place me, but in the end, it was what was necessary to slow down the hurt between myself, my parents, and others. Although things happened later, I was able to bounce back much better and began the road to better improvement. I now know that it was the best choice to get me in the right cocktail of medication and put me in a much better state.