Prologue

Chapter 1:

It was a cool, crisp March day, the day that I went to go meet with the man who was then my Family Doctor, to learn about what would devastate my life for a good few years, and damage my life forever. Even before I knew, I was anxious. Something was feeling very wrong in the pit of my gut. He had called me in and asked to speak with me personally, after I'd requested a copy of a report that had been written by the last psychiatrist I had spoken with. 

I had been talked into going and speaking with psychiatrist Dr. Kiri Simms about my struggles which were pressing at that time. I had been struggling with anxiety and becoming reliant on pain medications too often, because my chronic pain was increasing. I still needed to remain productive and be a mother; My kids were only 6 and 7 at the time. Regardless of all the factors and concerns that I tried to communicate, the consult did not go well, and I knew it. Dr Simms had read negative things about me in notes, and that didn't help the situation.

At that time, I was newly diagnosed with a form of autism, at the time known as Asperger Syndrome, but which is now known as autism one. I had been trying hard to explain this to various medical and mental health personnel - but many of them weren't really listening to me with an open mind nor accepting it. They were stuck with an archaic, stereotypical view of Asperger Syndrome and how it presents, which was also very much male biased. Though I tried to be positive while attempting to advocate for myself, and many people were supporting me, I felt a strong underlying lack of acceptance and discrimination coming from people in the medical system. It was so frustrating. 

Personnel in the medical system seemed to be in denial and didn't want to understand more about how autism one and how it might present in women, and in me. Instead they wanted to pathologize my social behaviors as things that were more sinister. For example, to them, my looking away meant I was 'lying' and 'manipulating' rather than because I have inconsistent eye contact due to being autistic. Their attitudes toward me were very unfair, and sexist, because I'd already been diagnosed on the spectrum by a neuropsychocologist; A professional who specialized in this area much more so than they ever did. We'de gone through several psychometric tests, she'd interviewed my family members, and even watched my childhood video footage - the last is what, in her words, really 'made the diagnosis for her'.. and with those words of hers so much justice had been done for that neglected little girl who was once me. 

I had even been accepted as a client of a government support program for autistic adults, after being properly evaluated for it...and it takes a lot of proof to get into that program so one would think that would be enough. After going through all that I did to obtain the validation I needed from the few whom were, at that time, genuinely adequately familiar with autism one and how it might present in previously undiagnosed adults (particularly females) - and  thus receiving the answer I needed so badly - I never imagined I'd have to put up with so much more denial and flat our xenophobic behaviour, and the unimaginably cruel ultimate result of that, from the rest the the public health and social sectors, for several crucial years when I needed help for my physical health situation. This story is about how unnecessarily and tragically damaging that has been. I must take my power back by exposing what happened to me, even if it's difficult.

So, at that time I was reaching out for help in the medical system because I needed real answers over poor coping, and I naively thought I'd actually get that help. Boy was I wrong. I was worried that my painkiller use was getting out of hand because it was daily, and I was dependent. When I tried to stop taking them, I would feel sick. I thought I should go to detox. However, I now realize, in hindsight, that my case was not as severe as the usual ones seen. I could have utilized the help of an addictions nurse to taper down...but at the time I was being naive. Instead though, the doctors and addiction nurses took me as being hyper-dramatic, rather than genuinely merely naive and trying to be preventative - which was what was really going on. I was then talked into speaking with Dr Simms, by another doctor who was also skeptical and misjudging of my behaviour. 

I'm autistic so though I am smart, some areas of my emotional and social development are behind, and in this I made the naive assumption that I should go to detox. Back then, I was a lot more naive than I am now. The system didn't understand that my actions were purely out of innocence; they thought I was 'playing' them...ironically, they were pathologizing my autistic traits... and the therefore they thought I should see Dr Simms. I would learn the excruciatingly painful way that the system was using their best  and most cruel bulldog to try and grossly undermine my efforts to finally find the truth about a huge, core part of who I really am and how it affects everything I think and do - including my ability to (rightfully) use my autism diagnosis to protect my human right to not be bullied by providing a scientific, as well as harmless, reason for why my social behaviour is indeed a little bit different.

The system, which had. wronged me since I was a child and secretly knew it, did not like that I was attempting to fight back - and they were going to 'get me.' Initially, they did, though I fought back again on a messy and cruel years-long battlefield, for my right to denounce their attempt to undermine my truth and thus once again re affirm it and have it be met with the acceptance and respect that it deserved. I fought back with everything I had left in me and I was brutally battle scarred along the way. These are the scars I am now forced to live with, which will likely put me in an an earlier grave than most.

The consult with Dr. Simms went sour quickly, though it started out superficially pleasant. At several points I felt like I was being interrogated. It felt like her mind was made up and that she had some kind of agenda, and I (as I'll write about in more detail later) I couldn't help but tell her so - which I'd pay dearly for doing. Frankly, I felt hate in that room... albeit passive aggressive. Later in the story, I will go back to more about that consult but for now I'll sum it up by saying that I felt very concerned about what she might write. I just had a really bad feeling, especially after witnessing the look on her face as she passed by the triage desk after the consult had ended and I was on the phone to my husband. I tried to ignore my feelings - but they gnawed at me.

Back to 'that day'... the day I discovered the report;

Making the connection between how I felt about that consult and in the weeks after having an impossible time getting any medical help, I had called my then-GPs' office and asked for the report that Dr Simms had written. The secretary called back to tell me that he wanted to see me about it; to book an appointment with me in order to give it to me. I agreed, and booked the appointment. 

So that day I nervously went in to see him with my outreach worker Amanda. I had been taking outreach workers into doctors' appointments to try and have them be a middleman with communication, though it wasn't really helping or working at the time because of the doctors' resentful attitudes about me 'bringing in an advocate.' Again, there was a great deal of unwillingness to accept that a quirky and seemingly outgoing, artsy kind of woman like myself could be autistic. Regardless of my doctors' disdain for her presence, Amanda sat next to me that day. 

Dr Nielsen arrogantly strutted into the room with his broad college football player shoulders back, a stern look on his aging once pretty frat boy face, and a large brown envelope in his hand. He looked at me and said 'I hear you want your latest psychiatry report, I can give it to you - but I'll warn you; You're not going to like it.' I shuddered inside. It's not what I wanted to hear, but ultimately I wasn't surprised. "W-well, I really need to see it" I stammered "It's just - I think I'm being misunderstood here, and I need to have a chance to defend myself" - "Uh-huh" Dr Nielsen wryly responded, his eyes looking away not only in disbelief but malevolent scorn at my response. "Well, okay, here you go. Now, if you want to talk about this again, you can book another appointment with me next week" he said again in a stern voice. "Okay" I muttered, at this point shaking and handing the report envelope to Amanda. We walked out.

Back in the car we sat there for a couple minutes, silent. I finally looked at her and said 'You open it first and read it, I don't want to ... not first' 'Okay, sure, if you want me to' she responded. She proceeded to open the envelope and pulled out the report. A minute of silence went by before she gasped and said "Oh my god ... oh my god Rosie. I don't want you reading this." "I know - I know .. I don't want to either - but I have to!" I retorted, as I reached my hand out to grab the report. My eyes fixated on the pages. They scanned over the paragraphs. My brain processed what was written and as the words sunk in; 

Fakes and feigns, elucidates for attention, claims she is an 'aspie' and that her husband is too, claims she is a 'girl outside the box' (blog name) and she was 'just a little girl with aspergers', fancies herself a blogger (mockery), the list of numerous medical maladies (list, written in a way sounding more dramatized and bad than I had even described) Diagnosis; Severe Factitious Disorder of the physical and psychological types (faking everything physical and mental, even trauma.) No point in providing counselling she will just go on about her medical maladies. Claims she has trauma but could not seem to describe it...

I felt like I had been pelted in the stomach with a rock, and shot in the back of my shoulder with a bullet. "What?" at first I mumbled, shaken in shock and in disbelief. It felt that I was reading about somebody else, not myself. It couldn't be; That's NOT ME. "What!!??" I then shouted... stunned, enraged. "WHAT?!" I said again, at this point flat out yelling. "I know.. I told you" Amanda sighed with her head down. 

"Oh my God, Amanda .. Oh my God" tears began streaming down my face. Then I went blank. I couldn't here anything. All fell silent for a couple minutes as tears streamed down my face and I stared blankly ahead, and it felt like the wind was knocked out of me. 

"Rosie .. Rosie?!" Amanda uttered, concerned. Then I came to, and I turned back to Amanda, angrily shouting "Amanda!! She said that I'm a liar .. that I am a LIE .. she says everything that I am is fake!!! She said I am faking not just being sick .. but being autistic.. No!! How could I even DO that, Amanda?? It's me!! Damn it!! It's ME!!" I cried and shook "She said I am faking WHO I AM!? Oh my GOD!! Jesus f***ing ch***!! I knew it'd be bad. But this?? How can she even DO this, Amanda?? I am diagnosed autistic.. Amanda, I have childhood video footage!! and Dr Telford said my skin is Ehlers-Danlos .. Amanda.. HOW CAN I FAKE THIS??" I screamed "I know, I know" Amanda sighed again, her face downtrodden. "Okay. So now everyone thinks this...everyone's gonna think this!!! Do you know how bad this is for me Amanda?? Do you know how BAD THIS IS?? Dear god!"

I was wailing at this point. I was crying like a baby. I paused again. "Let's just get you home. I think you need to go home so you can be upset there, and call anyone if you need to" Amanda responded sadly, as she started the car to begin driving. I was losing it. I was falling apart, filled with streaming emotions of terror, confusion and rage. We were midway back to my house on the road when I broke down again from wordless tears "It's not okay!!!" I yelled, aggressively hitting the report with a pointing finger, then, I just began melting down "It's NOT OKAY, It's NOT OKAY, It's NOT OKAY, It's NOT OKAY, It's NOT OKAY!!!" I just kept screaming and slamming the report on with my fist on the dashboard, with people in other cars shocked and gawking at my behavior, as Amanda would later tell me. So Amanda decided to turn onto a quiet road. 

I was devastated, enraged and out of control. I had already been through and survived a lot in my life .. a lot .. and was still going through things... I thought after going through the 'finale' of the diagnostic process and the answer it'd finally be OVER.. But now, this woman was trying to rip all that away - to denounce all of it. Not real ... and not worth helping .. with intent to spread that BS notion in my public medical file. To label me as THIS disgusting, totally inaccurate thing, to every medical personnel I would ever meet. So they would read it, and believe it... and thus discriminate .. and based on that choose to not help me. This could even be seriously dangerous.

"OH MY GOD THIS IS NOT OKAY!! I NEED HELP!! I HAVE EHLERS DANLOS SYNDROME AND IT'S SERIOUS AND IT'S GENETIC - AND YOU CAN'T FAKE THAT!... ALL I WAS DOING WAS ASKING FOR THE RIGHT HELP!! NOW I'M BLACKLISTED... BLACKLISTED!! IT'S NOT OKAY!! I AM REAL!! I AM. DAMN IT!!"

I just kept wailing.

"Okay, okay, oh my gosh, okay Rosie settle down" Amanda said in a panicked, deeply concerned voice she was attempting to soften. She then pulled up to a quiet, vacant park of some sort with a bench and small open field. "I need air! I need some air!" I cried, flinging open the car door. "Okay, okay" Amanda replied again, as she was picking up the phone to call her company's facilitator, Maureen Codispodi. 

I jumped out of the car, and began rapidly strutting forward, crying heavily, fluid coming down and all over my face. I abruptly paced forward all the way up the long street before calming down a little and turning around, sauntering back, shoulders down, sighing and sobbing. When I returned Amanda was on the phone "I know, she's really upset.. I just don't know what to do.. should I call anyone? I was just trying to take her home...Okay, yeah, okay" and she then she held the phone out to my direction "Rosie, it's Maureen.. she just wants to talk to you for a minute, then, maybe we can take you home, okay?" 

I reluctantly took the phone "Yeah" I said, sobbing and quivering. "Rose, do you understand what Factitious Disorder is?" Maureen patronizingly queried as if I were an idiot who didn't have any understanding or insight as to what was happening. I filled back up with rage "Um. YEAH of course Maureen!! I DO know what that is .. and I DO NOT HAVE THAT! PERIOD!! UGH!!" I yelled back at her. "Well, I wasn't really sure you understood ___" I cut her off and sort of walked away from the phone, voice raised "Oh my god Maureen, really? WHO talked to you, huh? Are you kidding me? What ... you don't get me either? You think what I am is all some kind of act? That's just not fair.. and you're WRONG... You're ALL WRONG!!" I cried, disgusted and angry at Maureen and the notion that perhaps, she could have even been in on it (although I was confident that Amanda was not.)

"That is just not fair, Maureen!" She doesn't get autism because she even said herself that she doesn't have much experience with autistic adults, but I am autistic and have been behaving and reacting like an autistic female adult in the situation...but she just doesn't get it so it's easy for her to get taken in, ugh! I thought. Amanda knows it...Amanda spends more time with me AND she knows autistic adults better! I guess Maureen doesn't...I can't get her to get me. 'You don't get me!!' I retorted. 'So you're just going to listen to them, then - even though you're supposed to advocate for me.. you piss me off Maureen! Leave me alone!!" I cried while walking away, infuriated. "Just..No!" I angrily stated to Amanda, as I could hear Maureen insensitively replying 'oh, Rose, watch your tone' 'Okay, bye.' Amanda then uttered back to Maureen, looked secretly disappointed in her while trying to remain neutral as Maureen was technically her boss. 

Maureen had made me even more upset again, just as I was beginning to calm down. I had continuously struggled to communicate with the woman. In desperation in fact, so she could advocate for me. Clearly she didn't get it... and I had made a big mistake by putting her name on file at the detox ward. This just added to my pain, immensely; someone who is supposed to be my ally is not on my side? At that point I ran into the park field. I crouched down on the grass, and just cried, and rocked.  

I sat there for a few minutes. Frozen in time. Then I looked back at Amanda, and got up. I heaved a big sigh and got back in the car "Okay" I quivered meekly "Take me home now, just take me home, please" "Of course" Amanda nodded, and then added a genuinely compassionate "I'm sorry, Rose. I'm really sorry...You've got to get through this, somehow." "I need my dad" I sobbed "I've got to call my dad - he's a retired lawyer - he'll know what to do. I just need my dad" I kept sobbing. "Yeah, good idea - call you're dad" Amanda agreed. We pulled up at the front of our townhouse, and I opened the door to quickly get out. I just wanted to go home. "Okay, there you go - you gonna be okay? Take care, okay?" Amanda ended with. "Okay, thanks" I softly replied and shut the door. 

I rushed into my house, and picked up the phone. "What's wrong?" said my husband, alarmed by the look on my face and that I had clearly been crying heavily. 'I-I'll tell you in a minute ok" I stammered as I picked up my phone to call my dad, the phone rung, and then rung again. On the third ring, my dad picked up "Hi" he said casually .. "Daddy.." I whimpered in a voice way out of character to my usual greeting, my dad responded with concern "What's wrong, what happened, honey?" "Oh my God, dad, Oh my god you won't believe what they're doing to me... what she did!" I proceeded to tell him everything, albeit in a pressured, urgent, somewhat erratic manner. "Oh, honey. This is wrong. We know this is very, very wrong - it's a character assassination." My dad declared. "I know, dad! I know!!! It's not ok!!" I cried again "No, honey, it is not okay. It is not okay at all. We will deal with this. We will rectify this. Somehow. For now, I need you to know who you are, and be strong." "Okay" I whimpered again. "I'll try." 

"Just get some rest for today, we'll talk tomorrow, and have a meeting in the next couple of days - so we can assess what went on here and what we're going to try and do about it, please just get some rest for now, you've been very upset." My dad iterated in a soft voice "I'll really try dad, but I'm just on edge right now ok" I sobbed back "Well, please try your best, I love you" "Ok, love you too, bye" I hung up the phone. 'What's happening" my husband Nelson said from behind me. I silently handed him the report, and after a few minutes of more silence "What?! She's f***ing crazy! She's simply crazy!" Nelson angrily declared "and I know what you went through! I even saw some of it! What the actual f***?!" Nelson cried .. and Nelson tends to be even keel and usually not that reactive, but this was different. "I know, I know" I muttered. "She can't get away with this!" he cried "Well, she did honey ... she did" I responded. "We'll have a meeting with dad in a couple days" I said "Please, I just need space, I'm just devastated." "Okay" he responded in deep dismay with his head down as he walked out of the room. 

I leaned over on the table and put my head in my hands. Tears fell on the table. I put my hands together and leaned on them, in a praying stance. I thought to myself; "they're trying to throw me under the bus, no... they have thrown me under the bus, but somehow... I have to get out.

I didn't sleep well that night, in fact I barely slept at all. Although my dad had advised me to try and relax, I just couldn't. I tossed and turned, with butterflies deep in my gut. In fact I was so distressed that my immune system was impacted by it. I made myself sick. By morning I was developing a sore, scratchy throat with swollen glands, and sniffly sinuses. My whole body was in shock. 

I knew what the report meant for me - how having a report like this in my file would make trying to get medical help for my growing concerns nearly impossible. Not to mention how I would be treated, socially, on just about every level. I was worried sick about how unsafe this would be, especially because Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome often gets worse over time and was already beginning to worsen for me. I was deeply hurt and angered that I would be accused of such things, and of being this kind of character, when it was truly not the case and so far from the truth it was practically the opposite. I didn't want to do things to be sick, I wanted answers and solutions so I could be less sick and better managed, thus function better in order to reach dreams including career aspirations - especially with writing, advocacy and music. I also wanted to be safe. Something within me was determined to fight this somehow, even though I didn't know how I would. It would be especially difficult to navigate defending myself because of my autism related challenges. 

My case was in the worst position ever. Dr Simms, and those gossiping to her at the detox unit where I was, used my presentation of autistic behaviours and traits against me, while deciding they were coming from something else, like a personality disorder, to brand me 'factitious.' So there I was; The most current representation of me in the medical files was in a terrible place - dismissing my autism and framing my personality and traits in the really bad light of 'Factitious disorder.' My autistic traits included inconsistent eye contact like looking away and up when speaking, slightly odd facial expressions and differently applied voice tones. This would now be seen as part of supposedly being 'factitious.' I was hooped. 

Factitious disorder was very much a diagnosis that would cause total medical blacklisting. When a patient is ostracized and blacklisted, they'll get nowhere in terms of medical help, and there's no easy way to fight it because doctors have so much power and clout, it's very difficult to get them to admit they're wrong once they've made a 'diagnosis.' It feels very disempowering and devastating. Some patients who are blacklisted remain unaware of why doctors continue to minimize their symptoms, and some patients are more aware because they can sense it and may also be able to access the information in their files. 

It's very distressing and traumatic for patients to access their information and have to read negative and unfair interpretations of their character in their files. We feel helpless as to how to change it so that it doesn't continue to affect our reputation when trying to access medical help. I can't even describe how painful it was for me to read things that had been written about me in medical files, after the factitious disorder diagnosis had an affect on my reputation. In Canada especially, it's really hard to fight and disprove psychiatric diagnoses in ones' medical file. It's a lot harder than it should be. It's often a David and Goliath battle between the patient and the medical system. Then, as I iterated before, what often ends up happening is the patient becomes, through stress and neglect, more severely ill and exhausted. Only then do the doctors respond - once the patient is totally broken and damaged.

This is a cruel pattern that happens to so many patients with mental and developmental health issues as well as complex chronic illnesses like Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, Myalgic Encephomyelitis (ME), Chronic fatigue and Fibromyalgia, Lyme disease, Mitochondrial disease and several more unusual autoimmune or genetic disorders. These illnesses are denied, and the patient is abused via medical gaslighting, gatekeeping and blacklisting, until it is practically too late. Only if and when a patient's condition becomes really severe may they finally get care but, by then immense damage has already been done. I hope that my writing this can encourage people to come together, to end this cycle, and perhaps out of a grassroots effort create more rights for patients and less power for doctors to harm in this way instead of help. 

Simms had gone and said that I was not only factitious about physical symptoms, but appallingly, about my neurodivergence as well and most cruelly of all, about the trauma I had gone though in my life. It was heart-shattering. This was medical gaslighting at it's very worst. Everything that I'd gone through in life, and everything I'd worked so hard to validate and overcome, was seemingly torn up and invalidated by one woman with a knife for a pen. 

I especially couldn't believe that my trauma, what I had gone through as a person, was alleged to be fake or at least exaggerated for the purpose of garnering pity. I barely even spoke about my trauma in that room with Dr Simms, and the reason why I didn't is because I didn't feel safe to. It's very hard to verbalize deep trauma on the spot, especially when you feel anxious and threatened. Because I couldn't explain my trauma to her Dr Simms dismissed it as likely not real. She wrote 'she wasn't happy with how she was raised - she claims to have trauma yet can't really describe it." This infuriated not only myself, but my close friends and family, especially my husband whose meeting me was part of rescuing me from a very seriously abusive and exploitive situation at the time. They are the people who really know me and know very well what I have been through. So of course they were beyond appalled that Simms would dare suggest I 'made up' my trauma. Out of all the horrible things she said, that was truly one of the ugliest. I survived a very painful childhood and adolescence, and Dr Simms had no right to dismiss that as though it wasn't valid and had not occurred.

There was a more bias history that Dr Simms went by instead. When I was 18 and 19 years old I went through a hard time with my mental health and became involved with the mental health system. Back then, mental health personnel, like psychiatrists and psych nurses, wrote unfavorable things about me which I will describe more about in my biography ahead. I was a scared 18-19 year old having a difficult transition into adulthood and eventually getting involved in the wrong crowd because of my naivete. The crisis I had at age 18-19 was very much related to developmental struggles with being autistic, though I wasn't aware of that then. Instead of having compassion, or maybe even offering the right help and resources, the system judged me during that time. There was one psychiatrist who had gotten close to uncovering the truth. He had written 'query; pervasive development disorder?' (like autism) in his notes. However and sadly, that note was never followed up on and was largely ignored. 

Dr Simms went and looked at, and in fact dug up, negative information from my past mental health records. She drew upon that information only, rather than listening to me about my more recent diagnoses and information. I guess she was just cherry picking the information she needed to suit her agenda to have me blacklisted, while tuning out any of my attempts to explain myself and educate her. I had been misunderstood throughout my life, and I didn't understand why until I learned about autism and was diagnosed. This is what I tried to explain to Dr Simms; but not only was she not listening, she mocked my attempt to explain this to her by writing in her report "she claims to be suffering from the 3 Ms; misunderstood, mislabeled and misjudged." I was trying to explain being misunderstood by referring to one of my blogs, but of course that became a target for mockery. 

Autistic people, women especially, are so very vulnerable to being misunderstood. Women with insidious autistic spectrum conditions often take the brunt of discrimination. Many professionals cannot or will not properly recognize the behavioral traits of autism in adults when it's more subtle and the person is more verbal. They pathologize the adult autistics' behavior - like subtle differences in eye contact, facial expressions and voice tones - and unfairly consider these things to be problems with the character and personality. Then they lump much of it into the 'personality disorder' category. This is a common misdiagnosis for people on the spectrum, especially if they also have complex trauma. Mislabeling is sadly very common in autistic adults, oftentimes with very detrimental results.

Like other autistic adults, I had been badly misread and worse than that was not being listened to when I attempted to provide the right information and educate medical personnel about being autistic, though I'm far from being the only one who has had this kind of experience. Many late-diagnosed autistic adults continue to have a hard time, once getting diagnosed, having their diagnosis more widely accepted. Today in 2025 that has, at least in the past 5 years, that has suddenly become a fair bit easier... but back in the early 2000s' and up until just before covid hit, the aforementioned was the case. Since covid there has been a great deal of cultural evolution which includes neurodiversity acceptance. I'm not sure quite why but perhaps it was the amount of time and focus spent on the internet. However, to be frank, much of it has come too little too late for me. Though it will help with autistic patients being better understood by doctors, there is still overall a problem with discrimination against invisible illnesses and disabilities and most especially rare disease. More change is needed, both in terms of further exploring as to how to understand autistic patients, as well as zebras (those with rare and/or complex and invisible illness)

People, including medical personnel, have been and are still to some extent closed minded about how autism may present in a newly diagnosed adults who have been coping throughout their life and thus may not present with stereotypically autistic and more specifically introverted behaviors. Once again it has gotten a little easier to have an adult autism diagnosis accepted than it was a decade ago, because there is now more widespread awareness. However, back in 2013 when I was mislabeled, we were still 'not there' unfortunately. It was bad timing for me, and for that reasons I got the ultimate brunt of having my rare disease pathalogized too, as merely 'Factitious.'

I had already been through so much, and was just trying to pick myself up and pursue life as an artist, writer and advocate, and to maybe heal from my past, when I was mislabeled with this vicious, insulting 'thing.' The medical system pretty well attacking me instead of accepting my autism diagnosis was like ripping a scab off a wound that was finally trying to heal and scab over... and as a result it was detrimentally reinfected.

Dr Simms report about me and everything I stood for was simply way off base especially because it ignored my autism diagnosis and designation with the government program CLBC. What she wrote neglected to take into account the new information, and yet she somehow had assumed the right the treat what she wrote as fact and put it in my medical file. It was infuriatingly unfair - in fact it was insane - but she was in a very powerful position in the medical system at the time - so she got away with it. Though I had a case to sue Dr Simms for negligence, there was only a two year time limit to do so. In addition to that, legal aid did not take medical cases and I didn't have the money to retain a lawyer privately. Sadly, the judicial system is not too accessible to those with lower incomes. Due to being at a disadvantage in terms of my income and position in my life - unable to get a lawyer to help me fight the negligent 'diagnosis' - I had to go through years of proving myself the hard way, on a long road to hell and back - getting worse and worse before anyone would take me seriously and believe me. Now, I bare the scars.

Before I write a memoir of that experience, I want to write on overview of my biography from childhood and on, so that readers can understand what I really went through, how it made me who I am - and see how cruel it was for me to be so horribly mislabeled and mistreated, in spite of being a survivor as it was.