This post is really long and unfocused and generally just a bit of a wreck, for reasons that will become apparent. Apologies in advance. So here’s how this week has gone.
Monday. Easter Monday, everything’s shut, I’m just in my room doing this week’s reading. It’s almost the end of term – and by “term” I mean “a period of exams, then a couple of weeks of just lectures, and then full term” so in practice I’ve been in Grown-Up Uni Student Living Away From Home mode (context: I’m currently on a year abroad in France) since the new year. I’m kinda crashing a little bit. I wonder how I’m supposed to manage Proper Adulthood if I can only just get myself through a couple of months away at a time. But I’m going home soon. Really not long now.
Tuesday. A couple of particularly stressful classes in the evening. Also, turns out the weather forecasts were right. The sun came out. And stayed out. Fuck. Fuck. Here we go again.
Wednesday. I get my essay done on time, but only because several lectures yesterday and today were cancelled. I’ve just had absolutely no energy recently. But regardless, it’s all worked out in the end. I go to the class, followed by a short lecture. I was going to clean my room when I got back, and then didn’t. It’s really bright and warm outside, and it’s freaking me out, mainly just worrying about the months to come rather than the present. It’s all over the internet, too; it feels like an addition to my general sense of “I’m doing all of life wrong in comparison to these people”. But hey, at least I’ve got this week’s deadlines out of the way.
Thursday. A morning spent trying to make myself clean my room and ending up just repeatedly watching the same YouTube videos over and over, vaguely looking at Twitter, and trying to work out where all my energy’s gone. Eventually, a friend from uni back home floats the idea of “weather” over Facebook. I realise he’s probably right, feel horrible about the sheer inevitability of impending summer, but this ends up motivating me into a prove-him-wrong/go-into-denial burst of productivity. I make a playlist, thoroughly clean my room, spend a little while agonising (by my standards) over what to wear because now I have to actually go out there, and head off to lectures feeling quite proud of myself. The area around the university building is really busy, probably because it’s opposite a park, but it wasn’t the horrendous journey I’d prepared myself for. While I’m at uni, someone asks me (in French) to direct them to the toilets, and I only really manage to do so with gestures and pointing. I spend the rest of the lecture worrying about how I can understand this language really well now but often can’t speak it totally off the cuff and unscripted, and it feeds into that fear of How I’m Going To Do Life that I still haven’t managed to shake yet. I’m startled by the traffic noise on the way home; I don’t know if it’s got busier since it’s got warmer, or if I’m just more sensitive. I get some shopping on the way in, I have dinner, I briefly go to a friend’s room and we mainly just talk about uni. I come back to my room. I’m fine. Just tired, and too bloody anxious to make myself go to bed because then tomorrow will happen and I don’t know if I can deal with tomorrow. Friend back home eventually talks me through getting into bed and watching some YouTube videos for a bit. It sort of works.
Friday. Still wake up before my alarm – thanks, brain. And I don’t really feel any better for having slept. Friday’s quite a long day, but regardless, I’m feeling really anxious right now and think following a structured routine at uni will make me feel better, as it briefly did yesterday. It’s warm out, and bright, and crowded, and there are loud motorbikes everywhere. I arrive at the lecture hall and it takes me a few minutes to calm down; eventually, I send out my weekly Snapchat story speculating over whether or not this particular lecturer will even turn up this week (he does). My head is killing me, I’m feeling really drained and anxious and awful and want to curl up somewhere dark and cool and quiet and not have to worry about All The Things. In the break, I refill my water bottle. It doesn’t help. I don’t get much of the second half of the lecture at all; at some point I think “I can’t focus anyway, I might as well just go back after this one and try and sleep”. I get myself back to my room with a combination of London Grammar, muttering to myself and miracle power; I’m thankful I’m on my own and don’t have to explain myself to people, because saying meaningful things verbally wouldn’t happen. I’m in. Window open. Shutters all the way down. Pyjamas. Bed. Right hand scrambles around the table for earphones. YouTube rain noise. Safe. Safe.
I open my eyes. I try and think back to earlier. I didn’t realise until now just how overloaded I was. I’d properly, properly shut down. Did I fall asleep or pass out? Is there a difference? I feel rested, anyway. I’m not going to make the other lecture now, and the idea of going back out there is unthinkable, but I can probably start the next lot of reading. I do, eventually. I encounter a photocopying issue, go to ask some friends here, and then realise I can’t because they (doing different options) think I’m still in a lecture, and I don’t want to have to explain myself, so I ignore it. I’m productive that evening. I get some reading done. I accidentally start a hashtag, and get ridiculously excited when other people begin to use it. I Skype my parents, and put on a half-convincing Everything Is Fine act. I post a relevant article on the Facebook group the people here set up for ourselves. I have a Facebook conversation with a friend back home about the pressure to pass for neurotypical, and how impossible the world seems right now, and it culminates in a full-blown crying/panicking session. I suppose I sleep at some point.
Saturday. It’s overcast – though apparently not for long – and none of the vaguely-planned socialising ideas have come to fruition. Thank goodness. I still can’t do all of life, but I can do today. Just think about today. I make slow but steady progress with reading. I do some file-backing-up. I vaguely plan out a blog post (entirely separate from this one) and can’t motivate myself to write it up fully. I realise I need to do some shopping, and greatly underestimate how silly an idea it is for me, in these circumstances, to attempt the supermarket on a Saturday afternoon. On the way there, someone I’ve only met a couple of times stops to ask me (in English) where a mutual friend’s room was, and it startles me because I can’t place his face and can only blurt out a room number. The supermarket was, at least, survived. A car beeps at me on the way back, the only logical explanation being that I was existing outside whilst female, the noise startles me and I run off. When I get back to my room, I message the mutual friend to finally establish who the guy who spoke to me was, and that means vaguely admitting how I’m feeling, so it took several drafts. Eventually I do some more reading. I go on Tumblr for a bit. I open WordPress, intending just to vent and make a quick point about shutdowns. I write, I write, I write. I write for too long. I think I really need some sleep.
Okay, that really wasn’t supposed to go on for that long. Sorry. Anyway, there is a point to all that, which is that during sensory overload, before, after a shutdown or even a meltdown, sometimes even during, abilities vary. I might have typing spoons but not verbal spoons, work spoons but not people spoons, or the opposite. This also varies from person to person, always depending on a million and one other factors because we’re multi-faceted human beings. I often find myself beating myself up about this, or feeling like I have to continue an Everything Is Fine act, because if I did this one productive thing or seemed fine when communicating with someone earlier, what will they think if I’m just suddenly not okay now? It’s a habit I need to break.
To totally butcher a Doctor Who quote, neurotypical people assume that shutdowns are a strict progression of in to out, but actually, from an autistic viewpoint, it’s more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly… shutdowny-wutdowny… stuff.