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Apr7
Meltdowns and Otherness
12 CommentsI started to hit a wall today while doing the Passover preparations.
My husband and I sat down on Sunday and made a list of everything we needed to do. (I know, a list! Aren’t you surprised?) We wrote down what I could do, what he could do, and what we could do together. It seemed like a pretty realistic list, and things have been getting done.
Today, I began to have trouble seeing how everything could possibly get done by tomorrow night. My husband’s basic approach is that we should do everything we can while enjoying the process. Whatever gets done is fine. It’s a good approach, except that I’m an Aspie, and I started perseverating on how I could possibly sweep and mop the floors and get all the Passover plates switched with the regular plates before tomorrow night. I started to get teary and agitated. All of my husband’s reassurances fell by the wayside. I felt like I was moving toward a meltdown. I haven’t had one since my diagnosis, and I really didn’t want to have one today.
So I decided to go to my volunteer job for a couple of hours, just to get out of the house, get some perspective, and have something of a routine in the midst of all the doings. I was glad I did. I got to work on some jewelry for two hours, which is like a zen meditation in a corner of the store. I wasn’t feeling great, but I got to focus on something other than the object of my worries, and that was good.
Afterward, I stayed around the store for a little while and began to realize how “other” I felt. I feel “other” pretty much all of the time. The AS diagnosis has only confirmed that I haven’t been hallucinating all these years. And then I realized why getting ready for Passover has been feeling so impossible.
Of course I can sweep and mop the floors. Of course I can switch the plates. It’s not about that. It was never about that.
It’s about having people to my house and feeling my otherness. It’s about knowing that I can’t possibly keep up with the conversation. It’s about knowing that I’m going to get overloaded. It’s about knowing that I can’t just show up in a group of people and have it be easy. For all the years that I’ve been having Passover seders, for all the years that I’ve been having gatherings of any kind, the feeling is always the same. The moment people arrive, my heart drops to the floor, because I feel so completely and ridiculously insufficient. The minute the doorbell rings, I’m about to fall behind the pack, and I feel it. I’ve always felt it.
It’s hard to think about being “other,” so I worry about the floors and the plates instead, as though they are amulets that will assure me a sense of belonging, a sense of being understood, a sense of being one of many.
My meltdowns stem, in part, from this feeling of otherness and from my fruitless attempts to erase it by working harder and harder, hoping that this time, if I work hard and get it “right,” everything will be okay and I won’t feel so alone. Of course, I work so hard and ignore my needs so completely that I get a migraine, or have a meltdown, or both.
Why are migraines and meltdowns preferable to feeling alone? Because feeling alone makes me want to cry. And why are stomping around and getting angry and having a meltdown preferable to crying? It’s the adrenalin rush. When I have a meltdown, I’m on a roll. I’m the most intelligent, the most insightful, and the most unfairly treated human being on the face of the earth, and I’ve got the adrenalin rush to prove it.
When I’m crying, none of that happens. I have to admit powerlessness and sadness and all that stuff. Who needs it? That’s much harder.
Every year at Passover, Jewish people don’t just tell the story of the exodus from Egypt. We relive it. The point is to liberate ourselves from the narrow places that constrict and enslave us. I feel like I’m in that narrow place of having done the same thing over and over, year after year, working harder and harder, trying desperately to be “normal,” all to no avail. Sometimes, it feels so easy to be this weird person who enjoys solitude, and it all feels okay. But there’s the flip side, where I stand apart and my solitude is transformed into loneliness, even in the midst of people who love me.
The only way out is to embrace the otherness, to fully accept it and to feel everything that comes with it. I hope I can start to do that.
It’s an incredible blessing to be able to write about all these feelings and know that at least one other person out there will understand. One other person is infinitely more than none. It makes the otherness all right, because we share it. Perhaps that’s the way out, to know that we are other, to know that we are alone, and to know that we are together in that experience.
May everyone be renewed in this season of renewal, whatever path you walk.
© 2009 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg
12 Responses to “Meltdowns and Otherness”
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suebeedee April 7th, 2009 at 4:36 pm
Hi Rachel,
I have been following along and tonight I sit after reading this beautiful post sobbing. You see although I am not Aspie I have another diagnosis that also understands other. You have stroked my heart chords.
Yes at least one other person out there does understand. Blessings
Namaste Suebeedee -
I definitely understand what you are talking about. Now that I am an adult, it is easier to manage my social commitments to minimise the strain. Unfortunately, there are times of the year when you can’t get out of things, and I dread these occasions as much as you. As a child, it was terrible, because my parents could never understand why I would get so upset when they forced me to socialise, or when they would “surprise” me with an outing. Now, I just accept the fact that in the company of others, I will always be alone.
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I will be other together with you.
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I had a bad evening yesterday, so it’s nice that you’ve shared your feelings. I went to bed thinking “is this the rest of my life?”
I sometimes go into an environment where there are lots of adults with learning difficulties. I then feel very grateful for being the way I am because I can approach them more sympathetically than your average bear.
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Sue: I’m so glad you commented!
Everyone: ^^ This is my dear friend Sue, one of my best friends, and the mom of one of my daughter’s best friends.
Thadine: Thank you for putting it all so succinctly. It helps to hear that others feel as I do.
Quirky Mom: It’s great to be “other” together with you. I love hearing about your adventures with Apple.
Soph: I really relate to the gratitude of being an Aspie and being able to approach others who are “other” with greater empathy. It’s one of our best gifts, I think.
What an amazing way to go into Passover. So much support! I’m having a good day, sweeping, cleaning, and organizing to my heart’s content. Hugs to all.
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You have this amazing ability to articulate exactly how I feel about so many things. I’ve spent my entire life feeling like the other, and coming here, reading this, is such a validation and comfort. I honestly believed for the vast majority of my earlier life that I was the only person in the world who felt this way.
And now I know we’re not.
What a great post.
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Thanks, Stat Mama. Hugs to you and Logic Dad and your awesome kids. I always look forward to the latest news on your blog!
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John Dale Lyons April 8th, 2009 at 5:37 pm
I know how you feel. All my life I wanted to be “normal.” Even today, I cannot always accept myself the way I am. As Bob Marley wrote: “Emancipate yourself from mental slavery.” Wise words this Passover/Easter season.
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sigh. tears kind of, sort of welled, but subsided. not because i worry about you getting through it, just because what you wrote brings so much to mind. when i was younger, i could adopt a brittle, brash confidence about my otherness, but i smartened up, and now sometimes feel lonely, even when my love is near. on the bright side, i’ve never enjoyed being by myself as much as i have since my AS discovery, and i used to like myself a lot before!
Ben
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Absolutely beautiful. I feel the same way, all the time. I wish to hell I could be there to celebrate Passover with you. I have nowhere to go for Passover and am feeling a bit lonely.
Hope it was a good one
Kate -
John Dale Lyons April 11th, 2009 at 9:28 pm
Kate: You could have gone to my synagogue’s communal sedar, if you’re in the NYC/NJ area.
It’s amazing how “emotional” we all are. Refutes the stereotype that Aspies are cold Robocops.
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Moksha June 1st, 2009 at 4:56 am
I try to compensate for my “otherness” by making my room perfect. Strangely, though, even though my decorating skills are pretty good, I can’t seem to bring myself to clean either. It’s too over-stimulating and very frustrating, as concrete tasks are so alien to my random, abstract mind.
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