Hi, I’m Becky, an artist and writer based in Derbyshire. I write about my life in what I hope is an honest and open way. I write a lot about mental health and trying to find my way in this world. Please subscribe to support my work and to read more of my posts.
Hi,
How are you?
I’ve tag-lined this article “And now for something completely honest”. Now, that is not to say I have not been honest before. I am in fact notoriously honest within my letters.
Honesty pours out of me even when I would very much like to tell a fib.
For example, when a charity person knocked on my door the other week and he immediately asked me “Are you over 25?”, I said yes.
Why am I answering a personal question that this stranger has asked me, I hear you ask! Because I’m honest.
Or stupid.
Really it’s because I don’t know how to say “Please go away” and remain polite and not feel terrible about it for three weeks after. If you’ve figured this one out, please let me know. I usually just don’t answer the door. I don’t actually know what came over me to make me answer!
But I digress…
The reason I chose that tag-line is because last week I shared something and called it fiction.
And it was fiction, to the point that my name is not Libby.
My name is Becky and I am the person who spent months cursing my neighbours through the walls because they had the audacity to make noise. (It was a lot of bloody noise but I probably shouldn’t have plotted their demise. My bad!)
I am the one who hates going to doctors because I don’t ever feel like I’m really being listened to.
I am the one who used to self-harm and abuse laxatives. And yes, a doctor truly said all that to me. Do you see why I hate going to them?
I am the one who has been told I have anxiety and depression. “No, wait! It might be bipolar. No, wait! It actually might be borderline personality disorder. Wait here for two years and we can let you know for sure.”
I am the one who analyses everything and everyone to try and figure out what is best to say or do.
I am the one who finds it so hard to make chit-chat that I know people are going to think I’m being arrogant or stuck up.
I don’t know how to make friends. I don’t know how I made the ones I have! I tell myself it was because I met them before they all blossomed into enigmatic, funny, self -assured, gorgeous, fully-functioning people. But then I think - what about T and I? They both came into adult Becky’s life and they are both enigmatic, funny, self -assured, gorgeous, fully functioning people. Were they just a fluke or am I maybe not as useless as I think?
And then there’s my partner. The person who if ever they were to make my other half, they would make him. Except he is most definitely better at life than me too.
Because I am the one who doesn’t fit it.
I actually wrote ‘Libby Is’ in a wave of excitement which to everyone who read it may come as a surprise. It’s not exactly a “story” filled with excitement.
But I was excited because a lovely person who I met on Instagram had sent me self-referral forms for an autism diagnosis.
That’s probably even more surprising, isn’t it?
She had commented on a post I had done on Instagram saying she 100% related to what I was saying and she was in the process of being diagnosed with autism. I told her I had been looking into it too but I couldn’t afford to go private and I didn’t have it in me to try and convince doctors I should be put forward for a diagnosis.
And then she said she self-referred and did I want her to send me the forms?
Yes, yes I did!
She was the second person in as many days to bring up autism when in reference to me and as I began to look more into it pieces began to fit together.
I began to fit together.
Maybe I wasn’t arrogant or stuck up or mean. Maybe I wasn’t antisocial.1 Maybe I wasn’t broken or mental or weird.2
Maybe I was autistic…
When you have spent your ENTIRE (!!) life thinking “What the fuck is wrong with me?! How does everyone else just get it?!” to find you might just be autistic is exciting because it is a relief.3
I have never written about this before. I haven’t really told anyone that I am in the process of being diagnosed. I am worried that I will get to my diagnosis appointment (in three years!) and they will say “No, you aren’t autistic. You’re wrong. You are just weird and broken and mental etc etc.”
But, as I commented to the lovely
a few weeks ago, 3 years seems like a long time to go without my needs being met. 3 years is a long time to go without really being me.A long time to hide behind a fictional person named Libby…
And that is why I wrote ‘Libby Is’. So, I could hide behind Libby and tell the deepest, darkest things that no one but my Mum knows.
The parts that possibly make me look mental. And maybe I am mental and maybe that’s okay! I’ve been through a lot of shit and here I am, still standing. A little mad but still standing.
Maybe, I was just an autistic person trying to navigate a world I couldn’t ever fit into to because no one, not even me, knew how to help me fit.
I guess I can tell you all for sure in three years. I hope you are still here. I hope I am too. Still standing. Still writing. Still being hopelessly honest.
And hopefully no longer hiding behind a fictional person named Libby.
Because my name is Becky.
And Becky is…
Thank you so much for reading.
And thank you to everyone who took the time to read ‘Libby Is’ and to tell me that parts of it resonated. You made me feel less alone, like maybe I do fit… 🖤
As always, if you enjoyed this letter please let me know in the comments. And please share or restack! It is greatly appreciated. Thank you. 🙏
I hope you have the most beautiful week.
Take care of yourself.
Lots of love,
Becky
🖤✨🌈
P.S In case you missed it and have no clue what I’m talking about:
Well, maybe a little…
Well, maybe a lot…
For me anyhow. I know others have a very different response and I do not want to to take anything away from your response. However you respond is completely valid.
As always, your writing resonates thank you so much for your honesty and for sharing yourself here.
Remember self-identification is valid and understanding and attending to your needs doesn’t require a diagnosis in many circumstances.
You are welcome so welcome in our neurodivergent community already 💜♾️
Beautiful post as ever, Becky.
I loved the story about Libby and actually shared it with my partner who has been through their own process of exploring and claiming their autistic identity over the past year or so, and Libby definitely felt like a really sensitive depiction of a character who might be neurodivergent in some way.
I love you bravery in sharing this 'behind the scenes' connection to the story with us, and how much of you there is in Libby. I really connect to the sound sensitivity - I had a client during the pandemic who talked a lot about how they were struggling with their misophonia during lockdown and it was a lightbulb moment for me to discover there was a word for it!
In case it's useful, my partner recently read the anthology Stories of Autistic Joy edited by Laura-Kate Dale and found it incredibly affirming (another recommendation I got from a client and then passed on to them!) - might be one to check out if it's not already on your radar.
Take care and thank you again for sharing this - it read like a coming out post and it's a really generous and brave thing to trust us readers with that 💖