Tonight, an Aspie friend wrote and asked me whether I have problems with meltdowns. It was a timely question, because yesterday, I had seen a meltdown coming and had managed to diffuse it. So I thought I’d share my experience.
Yesterday morning, I had an appointment with an occupational therapist for a sensory integration assessment. I had had some trouble locating an OT who works with adults, but I had finally found one. When she offered me her first available appointment, I grabbed it.
That was my first mistake. The OT’s office is an hour’s drive from home, and the appointment was in the morning. I would have to get up earlier than usual, and my morning routine would be completely interrupted. Somehow, all those changes to my routine seemed inconsequential. Ironically, I was so focused on wanting the assessment that I lost sight of how my nervous system might fit into the equation.
On the positive side, I was realistic enough to know that when I got home, I’d need a lot of time to rest and recharge. So in the days preceding the assessment, I discussed the situation with my husband. We both agreed that I’d be good for very little when I got back, and that he’d do the afternoon carpooling to pick up my daughter.
It was a good plan. It truly was. But like many plans, it didn’t quite work out.
The assessment lasted 2½ hours and went very well, but it was very tiring. During the hour-long drive home, I comforted myself with thoughts of how nice it would be to hibernate in my loft for a few hours and do something to soothe my overloaded nervous system. Sometimes, my plans are so vivid that I forget that they haven’t happened yet.
Anyway, I got home, and my husband was feeling really sick. He’d been feeling lousy for about a week, and it had all caught up with him. He’d gone to the doctor and needed me to bring a prescription for antibiotics to the pharmacy. He also said he wasn’t sure whether he could do the carpooling.
This kind of situation is meltdown territory for me.
I was completely overloaded, and I needed to recharge, but then life demanded something else of me—something else that I deeply wanted to be able to do.
So I just stood there, paralyzed.
And then the moment arrived, the moment at which I always go to war against myself, the moment that begins the meltdown. I’d never seen it so clearly before. The key to the meltdown is the moment that I become aware of the dissonance between what my heart wants me to do and what I am actually able to do. When that moment arrives, I feel like an utter failure.
As I looked at my husband feeling so sick, my first impulse was to pick up his prescription, make him tea, pick up my daughter, make him some food, tend to his needs, and let him get some rest. After all, those are the normal things that other people can do on half a night’s sleep while talking on their cell phones, right?
That was the impulse of my heart.
But then my nervous system started saying “Please. Please, don’t push it. Please, I need to rest. Really. I don’t want to set off any alarms. I’m just saying…”
So, recognizing that I was getting caught between two competing aims, I was able to verbalize something about my distress. I said, “I’m very overloaded and I don’t know how much more I can do.” I didn’t say it quite as calmly as it sounds now, but believe me, I was trying.
Because my husband is a very patient and solution-oriented person, he didn’t mind talking about it, and we worked it out. He rested, and then he felt a bit better. He drove to the bus stop, and I went to the pharmacy. When he left, he said that he would like to have his prescription when he got home, so that he could just take it and rest. I agreed.
Problem solved.
Almost.
I went to the pharmacy, gave the nice man at the counter the prescription, and found out that it would take an hour to get it filled. I nearly started to cry. I did not want to go back out in an hour. It was freezing cold and I was so tired. I wanted to climb into my hobbit hole and be left alone. But I also wanted to get my husband his prescription before he got home. After all, he was doing the driving. I was just walking to the pharmacy.
But I knew that I was spent. I couldn’t stay out for an hour, and I couldn’t go back out into the world one more time. So I called him. I’m not happy to say that in my pain, I left a somewhat pissed off message on his cell phone, as though he were the cause of the problem. It went something like this: “WHY are you not picking up your phone? Are you there? Well, anyway, I just found out that your prescription is going to take an HOUR to fill and I CANNOT go back to the pharmacy, so if you want to get your prescription, YOU’RE going to have to figure something else out, so CALL me when you get this. Okay. Bye.”
I spent the next ten minutes in a state of high anger (by myself) and then realized that I didn’t need to be angry at anyone. I was just overloaded. Then I started to cry, which was a vast improvement, let me tell you. When my husband called me back, I apologized, and he said he understood and that it wasn’t a big deal. My daughter drove to the pharmacy, and they got his prescription.
Problem solved. Really.
Except of course, that I still wish I could power through this and do what others find relatively easy. Intellectually, I realize that while my husband was sick yesterday, I am dealing with a disability every day. On a good day, the AS feels like a very interesting and pleasantly eccentric way of being. On a bad day, it feels like a very limiting disability.
My husband does not feel deprived because of the AS. He loves me, and I love him. We find lots of ways to work around my limits so that I can do what I do well. We both benefit from the process of strategizing, and he seems very happy with the outcome, even on a difficult day.
As for me, I’m working to accept myself as I am and to know that I have many other ways of loving.
This morning, we were both feeling sick, and we were having a quiet day at home. At one point, I went into the living room and said, “You know, I feel so sick today, but then I see you, and it doesn’t really matter. It makes me happy just to look at you and to know that you’re here.”
He smiled and said, “I know. I feel just the same way about you.”
© 2009 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg
I completely agree with this:
“On a good day, the AS feels like a very interesting and pleasantly eccentric way of being. On a bad day, it feels like a very limiting disability.”
And I completely empathize (yes, empathy! LOL) with the meltdown, only I don’t think I would’ve made it that far, and I doubt the voicemail I would’ve left Hubby would’ve been as nice as yours. I really am so grateful that he puts up with me, but I also really want to reach a point where he doesn’t have shit like that to “put up with”.
I hope you’re both feeling better soon!
[...] Wednesday, January 28, 2009 by Intern in Israel Do Aspie Children know that they are Different?- Part 2: Early Childhood Perception Meltdowns [...]
I think one of the greatest benefits (if not THE greatest benefit) of knowing about AS is that you can take what you’re feeling and dissect it enough to realize the motivation. I used to always wonder why I would get so upset inside, while everyone else seemed perfectly calm. I’ve come to understand there are a lot of reasons, most of which have to do with overload. As I understand this more, time has allowed me to find more positive ways to cope. As you say, it is important to give yourself enough time to unplug and reorganize.
I’d be interested in how your sensory assessment went. I am supposed to meet with an OT soon, but I’ve been putting it off. My son’s therapist recommended her, because she realized I couldn’t touch paper without extreme discomfort. There’s much more, but that one stood out.
Anyway, I really enjoy your blog. Thank you for putting this “out there” for the rest of us! It is always a comfort to find others who get it.
“And then the moment arrived, the moment at which I always go to war against myself, the moment that begins the meltdown. I’d never seen it so clearly before. The key to the meltdown is the moment that I become aware of the dissonance between what my heart wants me to do and what I am actually able to do. When that moment arrives, I feel like an utter failure.”
This is it. This is what is happening with my daughter. People who work with her keep telling me she has a hard time with transitions, but I have not been able to put my finger on exactly what transitions they mean. Usually I don’t see a trigger which would provoke such a complete meltdown on her part. Now looking back I can see it – it’s the transition inside herself. This is SO helpful. Now I can work on giving her the language to name the frustration and the emotions she’s feeling, instead of reacting with frustration of my own. It also helps explain in part why she is prone to saying “I can’t do it, it’s too hard”…she’s afraid of failing. Thank you SO much for illuminating this.
Quirky Mom: Watch that empathizing, now. We wouldn’t want to confuse people!
Stat Mama: The SI assessment was a great experience, due in large part to the fact that the OT kept checking in about whether I was getting overloaded. I’ve never had a health professional do that before. Very refreshing. I’m planning to write more about the assessment after I meet with the OT in a couple of weeks to go over the report and discuss treatment options.
Erin: I’m *so* glad my experience was helpful. Reading your response made my day!
My meltdowns often take the form of tantrums. I get frustrated and angry, mostly at myself, for things I can’t control, or if I get into a fight with a loved one. I act like Ralph Kramden, and I throw things, etc. I never hurt a living soul; I have that much self-control. Medication helps, but not 100%. I just don’t know where to put the negative energy I feel welling up inside me. (It was far worse when I was a kid.) Afterwards, I feel a momentary catharsis, but then I feel ashamed at myself, and I actually feel depressed (anger turned inward). Does anyone else experience that, or I am the only one? If so, how do you deal with it? I wonder if I’m crazy or some kind of retard, sometimes, for doing it.
Just curious, but have you ever considered medication, like an SSRI? I think they are supposed to help with that kind of overload and meltdown. I used to have moments and days similar to what you describe. I would feel overloaded and worn out by 2:00 in the afternoon and wonder how everyone else ran around all day long and juggled some many activities and responsiblities. I was diagnosed with dysthymia and take a small amount of Prozac. It makes all the difference in the world. I don’t run around all the time and try to be SuperMOM, but I can keep up now.
China, I’m not sure if you’re asking me or Rachel. I take Cymbalta and a Beta blocker. Both help with depression, anxiety and anger, but I think I need an adjustment. I also take Omega 3, and stuff for anxiety and ADD (I have ADD and AS).
Q: Is generic Prozac called Amateur-zac?
I can totally relate to your feelings in this. When I’m going through it, I know I’m being irrational and wish I could do what is wanted of me. But I’ve found that since realising what causes the meltdowns, I can now catch myself easier, or change what is happening. E.g. if I’m in a crowded area or somewhere with lots of noise, I can just move somewhere else.