Being undiagnosed neurodivergent during the dystopia boom
The years of around 2012-2015 saw what I like to call "the dystopia boom" - and I was one of the many teenagers who found it to become my home. A decade later, I find myself reflecting on why.
The early 2010’s hold a special place in the hearts of many bookworms, including particularly many of us who are now in our twenties a decade later - a time of major book-to-screen adaptations, close and fierce fandoms, long-anticipated sequels.
There were a handful of books that just about everyone was reading - The Hunger Games, Divergent, Shadowhunters, The Fault in Our Stars - you know the ones. The ones that everyone made rebloggable Tumblr photos of, combining all their logos, saying things like “there are some stories that stay with us forever”.
I’m just glad I couldn’t get tattoos at 14, because I 100% intended to get them at a later date at the time (spoiler alert: I haven’t).
Over Christmas, I found myself sucked back slightly into this world and particularly into the aspects of it that I call the “dystopia boom”, rewatching The Hunger Games trilogy and the Divergent films, and rereading the first Divergent book. That’s the nature of my ADHD - I saw one tweet about the former, and that was that.
But this time, I watched on with a new angle.
When I was a die-hard fan of The Hunger Games and Divergent age 11-14, I had no idea I was neurodivergent (autistic, ADHD and dyspraxic). I felt lonely, broken, out of place in my real life.
Divergent is a fascinating insight to the real world in general - of course, this is what dystopia is meant to do, take the real world and twist it slightly - but for neurodivergent people, it has some really interesting parallels and lessons (I mean, we’re neurodivergent, it’s not hard to make the leap…).
Tris Prior taught me at a crucial time that I didn’t have to be just one thing. I didn’t have to fit in. Assimilating to be the same as those around me wasn’t going to make me feel any better, and actually, my brain’s differences is valuable to society - it’s not about me, it’s about those who don’t like difference.
At a point where I didn’t know who I was, I was able to see a character who was very much like me. Of course, Tris isn’t a neurodivergent character insofar as being autistic or ADHD, but she is, at least, the equivalent of neurodivergent in her society.
In discussions online, where everyone had their own identities within the factions, I talked about being divergent - belonging to Amity, Erudite and Dauntless all at once. Looking back, it’s easy to connect the dots, but at the time, just the assurance that difference could be leaned into, that your personality and interests could be multi-faceted… that was life-saving.
When Tris is learning about divergence, there are heavily relatable parallels in the way she talks about coming into herself.
‘When Tori warned me that being Divergent was dangerous, I felt like it was being branded on my face, and if I so much as turned the wrong way, someone would see it.’ (Divergent, Veronica Roth)
Although autism, ADHD and dyspraxia are all posited as “invisible disabilities”, they haven’t been that in my eyes for a long time.
You can see my hyperactivity in my restlessness, my “clumsiness”, my stimming. Autism can have visible characteristics, like tip-toe walking and T-Rex arms.
But even without all of that which people can see, even through all the years when I was masking heavily and had no idea this was even who I was - it still felt branded onto my forehead. It felt like I had a light above me telling people I was weird, uncomfortable, broken, difficult.
It feels dangerous. Or it did, when I was 13. It felt like treading on eggshells every day to avoid bullying, to stop coming closer and closer to my inevitable mental health crisis, to be seen as normal. And that’s exactly how we see Tris - although for her, it’s life or death in a slightly more dramatic way, it’s still that same feeling of panic rising, survival mode.
‘“Please help me understand,” I say quietly. “What does it mean to be…” I hesitate. I should not say the word ‘Divergent’ here.” (Divergent, Veronica Roth)
When I was diagnosed autistic at 15, I hid it. Only a handful of people knew. I was too scared to tell my peers, a peer group where “autistic” was an insult and difference was preyed on. For Tris, her new knowledge of who she is presents similar feelings.
When I left school and went to university, I vowed to not hide it anymore. Towards the end of the book, and into the other two, Tris becomes her whole self. I might never be fully unmasked - like Tris, they’ll always be a guard up, though hers presents more physically.
‘“Among other things, you… you are someone who is aware, when they are in a simulation…”’ (Divergent, Veronica Roth)
Now, I’m not about to suggest that we are in a simulation right now. But I think, for me as an autistic person, you do feel like you’re on that outside and for me personally a part of that is that I struggle to comprehend why people are comfortable in systems like capitalism and so forth.
Tris and Four show the perspective of those who are outside of a type of simulation and system that is trying to keep people within the norms - not totally unlike how I view the world (although my peers are thankfully not being injected with a serum that causes them to murder people).
‘I want to console Al. To tell him that the only reason I’m doing well is that there’s something different about my brain.’ (Divergent, Veronica Roth)
Growing up undiagnosed neurodivergent can be strange. There are things you can do better than anyone, confused as to why, because you don’t know about hyperfocus and special interests or the reason you thrive under pressure and structure. There are things that you can’t do, however much you try, and you beat yourself up for it.
We see Tris find similar - her ability in the fear landscapes is unlike anyone else around her, and she is targeted for it.
The dystopia boom saw a clutch of characters who didn’t conform, in a variety of ways. I see myself most in Divergent, in Tris and Four and Tori, but I saw it in Katniss too. In her intelligence, her unwavering fighting, tackling situations differently to anyone else.
The point for me, is the permission I got growing up at a pivotal moment from these books - that I wasn’t even aware of at the time.
For unsure, teenage me, I got an escape, an understanding I didn’t get from the systems around me.
It’s a sense of pride that I try to carry with me now that I know who I am.
‘“But our minds move in a dozen different directions. We can’t be confined to one way of thinking, and that terrifies our leaders. It means we can’t be controlled. And it means that no matter what we do, we will always cause trouble for them.”’ (Divergent, Veronica Roth)
And, if that doesn’t describe what it’s like to be autistic and ADHD in a neurotypical society, I don’t know what does.
It’s exactly how I want to continue to always be.