Any optimism we had was sadly short-lived. My mum and dad got in touch with an autism support group. I went along hoping it might be a chance to meet people in a similar position, but it wasn’t like that. Autism covers a broad spectrum and I didn’t feel the people there were like me at all. I still found it hard to relate to them. It was as if the imaginary barrier that stopped me from interacting with other people was still in place.
Autism understanding in society was still in its infancy. Progress was being made but the pace was slow for those of us going through it. A form of help was there, but if you couldn’t cope with that, there was no alternative. As for my school, we persevered, hoping they would implement some kind of strategy to make my time there bearable. But it was no use. I felt very depressed.
However, one of the benefits of getting an Asperger’s diagnosis was that my parents could look at other options – like home schooling. Eight months after our first meeting with Dr Latif, a plan was in place. I would never have to go back to school again. Instead I’d be tutored at home, potentially offering an end to the anxiety that had crippled my development so far.
I was thrilled. I was convinced that this would signal a new start, a chance to live a better life.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
This was the life. No school, no horrible teachers or girls picking on me. A chance to push on at my own pace, no longer shackled by the limitations of the curriculum or held back by the slowest in the class. And, most importantly, it was the solution to my ever-increasing anxiety.
That was the dream, anyway. The reality was very different.
Although it was a blessed relief not to have to go into school, provision for home schooling was very limited. The local authority just did not know how to handle it. They could only provide a tutor for one hour every day. As I was technically still of primary-school age, it meant they sent teachers for my age, not my capacity.
I was ten but already reading challenging adult books and developing what would become a lifelong passion for Russian literature, especially works by Fyodor Dostoevsky and Anton Chekhov. I read Shakespeare and, although on the whole I thought he was overrated, I enjoyed Macbeth. This was purely down to the character of Lady Macbeth, who I saw as a very strong, determined woman who knew exactly what she wanted and how to use her husband to get it.
I continued to develop interests in a variety of topics. My fascination with strong women extended to Emmeline Pankhurst, the political activist whose inspiring work helped women win the right to vote. The women’s rights movement fascinated me and sparked a passion inside me for activism. Being outside of the school environment meant I grew a little braver about venturing outside of my comfort zone. I got involved with Animal Aid, leafleting around the town for issues like animal testing and writing for its children’s paper on why I decided to become a vegetarian. My dad accompanied me as I went from door to door. I think he respected me for wanting to do something to try to change people’s attitudes.
All of my knowledge came from reading and forming my own opinions. I didn’t watch television. Most children are happy to plonk themselves in front of the box, but for as long as I can remember I’ve viewed television as a form of brainwashing. I had the same disdain for games consoles. My sister and brother loved playing computer games, but I thought they were a waste of time. I was content with my doll collection. These were antique twentieth-century dolls, not for playing with but to display. I wasn’t interested in contemporary television programmes. I preferred learning about history and was intrigued by the elegance and style of other periods, not in Britain but abroad – like the lavish costumes worn by Marie Antoinette, the last French queen before the revolution, or the Japanese geishas and how their clothing and make-up changed depending on their seniority and experience. I even dabbled in making my own jewellery.
For a while I was the happiest I’d ever been. Left to my own devices, I could be content and amuse myself. Within the family there was greater understanding of how I saw the world. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t the odd blow-up. Attempts to include me in family activities still often ended in tears. I remember going with my dad, brother and sister to the cinema to see the animated movies Ice Age and Monsters, Inc. Most people would just think of these films as harmless family fun, and I did try to enjoy them, but the reality was that I couldn’t stick the cinema; it was too sensory, too dark and loud, too in-your-face. I accept that it wasn’t fair on my brother and sister, but I just wanted to leave. So that was it. We all had to. It caused a bit of tension, understandably, but we were all still trying to come to terms with my Asperger’s and working out ways to manage the extreme reactions I had.
One place I enjoyed going to, where I didn’t experience anything like the same blow-outs, was the ballet. The Coliseum Theatre, which hosted regular performances, was close to where we lived. Going to watch the dancers move with such grace and elegance captivated me. I loved classical music as well. It reflected and influenced my moods. And I liked the reserved atmosphere of the theatre. I felt like I was entering a different world, one that did not impose itself on me.
My parents were delighted that I’d found something I could enjoy without feeling anxious. They had almost given up on trying to get me involved in some sort of activity or club. I was not sporty and anything that involved interacting with other children was not an option. When they asked if I wanted to take up ballet-dancing lessons I felt excited, but the thought of being in a class with other girls who might judge and look down their noses at me filled me with fear. My parents investigated, however, and found a dance teacher who was willing to offer private lessons. It would just be the teacher and me, no other children to stress or distract me. I was nervous at first. The thought of anything new brought out the old anxieties, but I loved watching ballet so much that the prospect of actually learning how to dance like that was a magical dream.
The teacher was firm but encouraging, and once I got over my initial nerves I started to really enjoy the lessons. I pleasantly surprised everyone by how easily I picked it up. As with my other obsessions, I threw myself into the practice 100 per cent. It was blissful respite from my everyday existence.
I continued to have my psychic experiences. I could feel, see and hear spirits. This continued to concern my parents, who had hoped it was a passing phase and thought it was just my imagination running away with me. They didn’t understand it, but I was becoming more intuitive and they couldn’t really deny it anymore. To people who don’t believe, it might sound strange, but I could see angels. They appeared before me, and just as people might imagine; I could see their wings. The one I saw most often was my mother’s guardian angel, called Jasmine. I saw her wearing a pink dress. She had long, brown curly hair with flowers in it and her wings had pink tints to them. She had a calming presence about her.
Some of the spirits were from relatives of mine who had passed on, but often they had no connection to our family. Sometimes the spirits had messages from the other side. I would amaze people by saying something only they would know. For example, my father’s mother always called him ‘Chick’ as a child, and nobody but him knew this. When I said, ‘Granny says, “Hello, Chick,”’ he was flabbergasted.
As with my autism, the longer it went on, the more my parents thought they’d better seek an expert opinion. Paul Hanrahan was a well-known medium from a television programme called Ghost Detectives and also a friend of a friend of my grandmother. They got in touch and he came to meet me. I was quite anxious because this was someone new. I didn’t speak to him but he looked at me intently.
‘You have a very, very bright light,’ he said. ‘You’re incredibly gifted psychically.’
He told my parents he knew of spirits at this location and that he too had seen them just as I had described them.
‘Sophie is a very special person,’ he told my parents. ‘She’s clearly an indigo child. To be as gifted psychically is rare.’