Aspie Writer’s Quick Reading List: My Ten Most Popular Blog Posts for 2012

This is just a quick list of my top ten blog posts this year.  Thank you all for reading! Have a happy and healthy New Year!

1. Why you should never ask an Aspie, "How are you doing today?" 

2. Be Careful of What You Say to ASD Children; the literal-Minded 8 year old

3. Aspies do not lack empathy; we crave it.

 

4. I Married an Aspie - A husband's perspective on Asperger's Syndrome

5. DSM-V - New Diagnostic Criteria for ASD – What will this mean for me, an Aspie?

6. High Functioning My Ass-perger's Part II: Massive Sensory Overload and Major Meltdown

7. I am not ignoring you; I don’t recognize you

8. My Awesome Aspie Teen: Praising the Good Stuff

9. A Voice in a Fake World; Asperger's on the Inside--Social Frustration

10. The Adderall Experiment: Irritation and Headaches

 

Bring on 2013!

 

Navigating the Holidays with Autism: Part II: Is your Aspie a Christmas Control Freak?

Let’s talk about control. 

Autistics have a deep seated need for control. A need for routine, and to control our environments is paramount. In fact, it is very difficult for us not to do things the way we have always done them; the way we know they should be done.  Unfortunately, my rigid, often completely inflexible thinking does not allow me to be flexible (I am working on it). The problem is when things don’t go as planned, as expected, as they should go, I come unglued. 

Children can have complete meltdowns with small changes in their routines, heck I can have a complete meltdown with small changes.  I even need to make a list of all the stores I need to shop in and in which order I will visit them.  Believe me these lists are well thought out, planned, and I have a reason for the order (although you may not see it).

If my shopping trip, which is already a sensory nightmare, goes askew, I am done. I might as well go home, and you may be able to find me in the parking lot of a large shopping center in tears. I can’t get away from my plan; I need to follow it precisely. 

The same goes double for holiday preparations.  I am a complete Christmas control freak. I take way too long to pick out the perfect Christmas tree, and then figure out how many strings of lights it needs.  When it comes to decorating the tree, there is an order I must follow.  First all the white balls go on the tree, and then the red ones.  The red ones must be spread out evenly so they are not too bunched up and the dots of red are sprinkled through the spruce. Then and only then, do I begin to distribute the nicer ornaments, the heirlooms, and other decorations.  After that, garland, Father Christmas, ribbons, and the snow—in that order, no changes.

MUST FOLLOW THE PLAN

Needless to say, I am not very fun to trim the tree with. I don’t mean to be completely neurotic, I cannot help it. We MUST FOLLOW THE PLAN! Again, there is a reason for my plan, and a reason for the order we must trim the tree in, but if I begin to tell you what it is we will be here all day.  Why don’t they just trust me? 

In my last post, I discussed our problems with gift giving and receiving. We hate surprises! To be honest, surprises are stressful, and I can wind up a teary mess, as can my Aspie Teen.  Therefore, all gift giving is thoroughly planned out. I have lists of people, lists of gifts, prices, coupons, store locations—it’s very comprehensive.

Before diagnosis I just believed as I was told, I was a neurotic lunatic!  There still may be some truth to that statement. But, now understanding my need for routine and order coupled with my need to plan and know what to expect, my family can now adjust.  I in turn can learn to let go a little bit knowing that many times it is just my autism jumping in and interfering with my flexibility.

This year was better (so far), we all trimmed the tree, and I tried not to touch it too much.  I tend to re-place all the ornaments that everyone places because they are not in the right spots. This time I just handed the ornaments out—in order of course.  Then I saved the last few things that I couldn’t be flexible about to do myself. I spent much less time being annoyed, yelling, and making everyone re-do the tree.

No Surprises!

Now let’s go back to gift giving for a moment. I told you that we all make our Christmas lists.  This year, and he has done this every year, Aspie Teen is trying to micro-manage my Christmas shopping.  He always makes me a list (his Santa List) complete with prices and pictures (I wonder where he gets that from??), and then he starts to obsess about it. Adjusting his list, removing things, replacing things, finding better deals, and in general driving Mom crazy!

He has asked me for the Assassin’s Creed Gauntlet. It is a replica of a weapon from one of his video games. The thing has been on backorder since October. Would you believe that he has been monitoring the backorder situation and has found that it is now available in limited quantities online.  Last night, I caught him researching what materials the thing is made of, some kind of polymer plastic, and something else (I wasn’t really listening too intently since he’s been driving me crazy about this thing since October).

I tell him every year to make me a list of all his most wanted gifts, and we will see what he gets. (It was easier when he still believed in Santa!) It goes in one ear, and right out the other.  Every day so far since giving me his list, he checks on my progress.

“Mom, did you buy…yet? Because …has it on sale right now.” He says.

He is driving me absolutely bonkers, and making me wonder if I am this bad! 

The answer: Yes.

In fact, I buy my own Christmas gifts!  Then I tell my husband, “Here, this is from you.  These are from the kids…etc.” So unfortunately I must report that not only am I as bad as Aspie Teen, I am probably worse!

Don’t be too dismayed, I drag my husband into the stores now and make him pick out his own gifts too.  There really is no reason to spend time and money on getting him something he doesn’t really want.  If I do pick up a gift without him, I always show it to him to make sure he will like it before I wrap it up and put it under the tree.  Poor guy, no surprises for him either—ever.

The ASD Family: Feeling Our Differences

              I read somewhere that the first thing a parent with children on the autism spectrum realizes is that other families do not go through the same struggles with their children as we do.  We see other families in the supermarkets, the parks, and at school, and they do not seem to struggle the way we do. The relief of the diagnosis is that we now at last know why, we have a reason; it is not just bad parenting.

That realization goes double for the parent of the ASD child, who is on the spectrum herself. I naturally assume that other people go through the same things that I do. I never considered they were experiencing their lives differently. I just assumed the problem was me. I was a terrible mother—my children were undisciplined because of my parenting.

I could not keep up, and it was MY FAULT.

I was peripherally aware that others seemed to be doing better than me, that other children were calmer and more behaved.  Because I do not socialize with other parents, and my friends and family live 600 miles away I live fairly isolated. The isolation has sheltered me somewhat from really feeling the difference between my family and other’s.

My brother stayed at our house with my two year old niece over the Thanksgiving weekend. She is a beautiful, calm little princess that I love dearly. We spent the days playing and giggling, and on Friday we drove down to the beach and put our little ones on amusement park rides.

Over this past weekend I really felt our differences. My niece napped, she didn’t bang her head and flail around for hours. She sat and ate her meals, while my son (6 months younger) screamed, threw things, and tried to run away.

My eight year old had multiple meltdowns due to the overstimulation of the holidays and extra people in the house.  Aspie Teen become Hyper-Aspie Teen because he was excited about having family over for the holidays, and had difficulty being appropriate in adult conversations.

My niece was happy and smiling riding the amusement park rides, while my little one screamed, climbed out and ran away. Then of course, he wanted Mom, who was riding and began screaming and shaking the gates around the rides to get to me.

Although I had a great weekend, it was incredibly exhausting, and at times very lonely even amidst a group of people. For the first time, I felt very acutely our family’s differences. Feeling the differences made me aware of the people around us, their scolding looks, and the comments like, “we would nip that right in the bud,” when our children had an eye-raising reaction to the stimuli around them.

             No—they would not, they could not, not if they lived in our family.

            When was the first time you FELT the differences? Do outings with friends or holiday gatherings with family make you feel it more?

Be Careful of What You Say to ASD Children; the literal-Minded 8 year old

Our Words and our ASD Children

Being mindful of the words we use when we speak to our ASD children can be exhausting, but so can the meltdown that follows misinterpretations. Understanding how their highly literal minds process the words is crucial. 

It’s Sunday again and I am reminded of what my 8 year old boy said to me last Sunday.

I didn’t watch him get dressed and leave the house to go outside to play. Only a few minutes after he left the door burst open again.

“Ma-a-a-, I’m fr-r-re-e-ez-ing,” he said putting his ice cold hands inside the sleeves of my shirt. “It’s cold outside!”

He sounded truly perturbed, which puzzled me.

“Of course it’s cold, Matthew, it is November.  And you’re wearing shorts and a t-shirt! Go get changed.”

“No, Mom it’s freezing outside.” He said completely ignoring my instructions to change his clothes.

“If you put some warm clothes on, you won’t be cold”

“But it’s not supposed to be cold!”

“It’s November, put warm clothes on,” I insisted.

He still didn’t budge. “It’s Sunday, it’s not supposed to be cold.”

“Why not?”

The little man dropped his shoulders, and sighed, “Mom, SUN-day.”

He walked away from me shaking his head like there was something seriously wrong with Mom. How could I not get it?

To little man it was Sunday, which meant the sun was supposed to be out, and he was not supposed to be cold. He left me sitting here at my keyboard completely dumbfounded.  How long has he believed that Sunday meant the Sun would be shining?

I told a friend of mine (who I suspect is an undiagnosed Aspie) this story. She told me that when she was young she always insisted on eating French fries on Friday, because that was what she was supposed to have—her fries on FRY-day.

I often get glimpses into his literal world, fortunately, I can relate to his literalness but I often forget what it was like to be that young and take the world even more literally than I do now.  I wrote last week about his irritation with the “Slow Children” sign at school here.

My youngest (22 month old) has begun a screaming head banging stage! It’s awful.  And—he has had an ear infection, and has not been sleeping well at all.  My husband has taken to driving him in the van at night to get him to fall asleep. 

Finally after a long day of screaming, I got him down for a nap. It was just in time for my 8 yr. old to get home from school. He came running in the house with his friends from next door.  Since the baby was sleeping upstairs, I let them play the Wii down in the living room (big mistake).

After several times of telling them to quiet down that went ignored, I finally shut off the game and made everyone go outside to play. When they burst through the door again, waking the baby, I yelled that everyone needs to go outside to play.

“And don’t come back in the house!”

About a half an hour later I was sitting in my bedroom, which has two windows facing the front of the house, when I heard my eight year old crying—hysterically. I ran outside to find him bent over the front of our mini-van, with his head in his arms, tears flowing down his cheeks as he sobbed. 

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

He could barely get the words out between sobs. “I-I c-c-c-an’t come back in my house. I’m kicked out.”

The girls next door had to go inside, and my little man thought that he could not come back inside—ever!

LESSON LEARNED: I must be extremely careful of the words that I use when I speak to him. He will take every single word literally, and infinitely. Don’t come back in the house—for him, meant don’t ever come back into the house—EVER. This little mistake caused a complete meltdown which could have been avoided.

The word “NO” is another pitfall to avoid.  If he asks me a question, for instance, “can we go buy ice-cream?” I cannot simply say, no. I must qualify my answer.  No, we cannot go today, or right now, or it’s too cold outside today, or something. If I do not and simply answer, No, meltdown can quickly follow.  It is not because I told him No, but because he took that NO to mean no, not ever.  We can NEVER go and buy ice-cream-EVER.  

To the non-ASD person, this can seem like a child just being a brat, just wanting to get their own way (sometimes, yes—this can be true), but more likely it can be a misunderstanding, a literal misinterpretation of the words that you speak.

Growing up I had many of these misinterpretations, which were looked upon as my being difficult (intentionally), or throwing a tantrum when I didn’t hear the answer I wanted. Many times, that simply was not the case.

For an example of my literal-mind growing, where just one word made all the difference, or rather caused all the problem read: School was a Minefield.

Moving Madness: Part I – Nothing is Ever Easy; Rage; Meltdown; Shutdown

 

I mentioned in my Stupid Wizard post in August that I wanted to move, and am happy to announce that we finally did.  In fact, we were able to find a great deal on a townhouse, closed on October 1^st, and have moved in.  Sounds all sunshine and roses doesn’t it?

This past week I’ve been fairly silent.  Two weeks before we were planning on moving, hubby was sent unexpected away for a week of training by his job; I stayed home to begin packing. When he returned home we had one week to pack the entire house (I have entirely way too much crap), get all the utilities set-up, my 8-year-old’s school transferred, and everything else that goes along with moving.  Not fun—but we were steadily plodding along.

The owner generously gave us access to the home a week before closing so that we may begin moving our things and complete whatever work we wanted done.  I was so grateful because the idea of closing on the house late in the afternoon on the first, and moving out of our rental that same day was daunting.

No Lights

First hiccup in my plan: Hubby calls the power company to turn on the electricity—easy peasy right?  Wrong!

On the Tuesday before we were scheduled to close on the house, the power company came out to install the meter.  The old one was removed because the home was empty for a while.  Unfortunately they could not turn the power on. The meter base was damaged and needed to be repaired before a new meter could be installed.

On Wednesday the repair men showed up but could not fix it; the entire meter base needed to be replaced.

On Thursday the electrician installed a new base. Great! Let’s turn on the power.  NO—the power company wanted the city to inspect the electricians work before installing the meter.  Grrrr. Permit paid for; inspection scheduled.

The inspection should take place on Friday. The city would inspect, and then send their report to the power company, who would then schedule the installation of the meter. Now, my head hurts, but it is still alright because we continued to pack and move things to the new house while there was daylight. Closing was not until Monday afternoon, and the power should be on by Monday. 

The weekend came and went. We needed to vacate our rental by Sunday (the day before the first) to make way for new tenants. There was no electricity on in the townhouse, so after we moved all our things, we checked into a hotel (Sunday night).  At least we were all able to just fall into bed without the chaos of assembling beds for the kids and wading through boxes.

 

There is nothing like being homeless, when you just purchased a home.

Monday afternoon we went to the attorney’s office, and signed the papers.  Congratulations, we now own the townhouse!  Yay! The city never did the inspection; back to the hotel.

Tuesday we checked out of the hotel, and by this time I was going seriously broke. Moving, attorneys, down payments, utility deposits, moving costs, eating out, and hotels!  Seriously broke, and no city inspector in sight.

After spending most of the morning on the phone with different city offices, we found out they hadn’t even scheduled the inspection! They wanted to wait until Wednesday, which meant no power until at least Thursday—not good. 

Persistence paid off. We did get someone to agree to come out that same day to inspect the electrical work, and the power company agreed to send a crew out as soon as the inspection report was in their possession foregoing the “at least one business day wait.”

It was late afternoon before the inspector showed, but everything went well and we were assured that he would be sending the report to progress energy the minute he got back to the office. He told us to go ahead and call the power company (the wait-time is usually at least 20-30 minutes), and by the time I had someone on the phone they would have the report.  Great—no hotel tonight!

The phone beeped only a few moments after a customer service representative answered my call; it was the inspector.

“I am sending the report now.  It is going through the fax as we speak,” he said.

It was nice of him to call me. I returned to the customer service rep., who I got to put on hold for a change, and asked him to check for the inspection report.  That had it!

“I am sorry Ma’am, this report says Unit 21—you need service for Unit 20.” What?? I have my copy of the inspection report and it clearly says Unit 20!

“I am sorry; we cannot send anyone out there until the city resends the corrected paperwork.”

My eye is twitching.

Of course, the inspector was out of the office when hubby called back to ask him to resend the paperwork. The clerk was not at all helpful, would not try to contact him, and continued to just send the calls to his voicemail.  What did she care, she was going to home to a house with electricity!

Foot is flapping. 

Frustration = Anger building 

Rage Meltdown?

I felt like a pressure cooker. I called the city office myself. I know that I asked if the inspector had a cellphone they could contact him on and have him call us, or give him the message. It was approaching five o'clock and I was concerned that progress energy would not send anyone out to install the meter if I didn’t call them back before six.

To be honest, I don’t remember what she said, but I know it could not have been good because the next thing I remember is her telling me, “you’re not gonna call here and curse at me!”

My cellphone paid the price when I flung it across the room.  Did I curse at her? I don’t know…maybe…it is possible since I cannot remember.  I didn’t remember during then, or two second afterwards, or now. 

“Well, did you curse at her?” Hubby asked. 

“I don’t know!”

My insides were shaking. I wanted to scream, to break things, to toss all the boxes piled in the living room with no lights onto the floor and kick them! My hands trembled. I clasped my fingers behind my aching neck and squeezed my head with arms. I had both forearms squeezing my temples, my elbows together in front of my face—desperately trying to breathe—to control the massive rage meltdown that I felt like was coming. 

Rage meltdowns are rare for me. But, one thing I know is like a bull I see red, and then it all goes black. I don’t remember what I said, or did afterwards. Thankfully, I can count on one hand the times I can remember having full-blown rage meltdowns—most occurring in my teenage years.

The anger took me by surprise. I was too tired, too frustrate, too overwhelmed, and my body and brain were rebelling.  With my hands on the back of my neck, and my face buried between my arms, I rocked and rocked and rocked and rocked until the tears fell. This is what usually does happen.

Shutting down

Deep breaths…tears…all the energy draining from my body at the same time. I felt dizzy, and laid my head down on the sofa. It was like my entire system was just shutting off; it was overloaded; circuit boards fried—a robot shorting out.

I don’t know how I can go from being so angry to asleep in such a short amount of time! In fact, I don’t even remember falling asleep.

I slept for about an hour.

When I woke I was nauseous and still groggy.  Hubby informed me that the inspector called him back, progress energy received the correct report, and were sending someone out tonight (it was already after six). Our power would be on in a few hours. We left to get some dinner.

 

Talking About Selective Mutism: What is your experience?

Let’s talk about Selective Mutism—I think this is a subject that many do not really know much about.

 

What is Selective Mutism?

“Selective Mutism…is the temporary inability to speak. This is more than just being quiet, it is more like a seizure, and it physically hurts when this happens, especially when we are younger.” ~ Rudy Simone

22 Things a Woman with Asperger's Syndrome Wants Her Partner to Know

(Kindle Locations 836-837).

 

What is happening to me? 

The first time it happened to me my brother took me to the Emergency Room.

I was in a flea market that we opened (that’s a whole other story) and I was characteristically obsessed with rearranging the place. I would stay there for days only coming home for a few hours to sleep here and there because in my mind I was never done.

Because I was medicated into insensibility due to yet another wrong diagnosis, I cannot remember what I was doing there all alone past 10 o’clock at night.  I was apparently folding clothes in the after dark.  

I was exhausted, I hadn’t slept in days, and I remember wanting to go home but I couldn’t because I was not done. No-one would stay longer to help me; after all they had been there since 6 a.m. I was in a complete medication-induced psychotic mania.

Not being able to stand any longer, I laid down on the floor in the dark and cried.

I don’t know how long I laid there before my brother found me curled into a ball and unable to speak. I so desperately wanted to but I couldn’t—no words would come, only tears and a lump I couldn’t swallow.

Thinking I was having some sort of breakdown (maybe I was, but looking back it seems to me more of a massive meltdown) or a stroke, he called my husband who met us at the Emergency Room. I waited speechless and terrified with my knees drawn up to my chest on a chair in the waiting room.

My husband arrived long before I was seen. It was a very long wait, had it been something more serious, I would have died there without being triaged. By the time I saw a nurse, some, but not all of my ability to speak was returning. My brother was explaining what happened, and how he found me.

The nurse sneered at him and said, “I need her to tell me,” flipping her chin and nose up at me.

Well damn it wasn’t that the problem! I was having trouble speaking!

I admittedly don’t remember much about that night, but I will never forget what she said next.

“It’s not that she can’t speak, she refuses to speak,” and then she got her big butt off the chair and stormed from the room Iike I personally offended her.

Doctor's Explainations--they had none!

This incident happened before I had any inkling that I had Asperger’s Syndrome, and I certainly had never heard of selective mutism before.

The next day, a report was sent to my physician who then called me to ask if this had really happened. (At least, he was concerned) I was referred to a neurologist, he found nothing. Then to a psychiatrist (you would think maybe she would have had a clue—no), she said I must have had a small Ischemic episode. (a mini-stroke really?)

I am thankful that to date I have not had an episode quite as severe before that time, or since—but I have had episodes. They are usually preceded extreme or prolonged stress, either physical or mental. 

I wonder if this is partially the reason that during childbirth I enter a semi-mute state. I labored with my three children in near silence, and became quite irritated and semi-unglued if someone tried to talk to me or worse, ask me to speak.  I can’t tell you if that is in anyway related to the selective mutism that I experience after prolonged stress or during severe sensory overload, but I thought it was an interesting little observation.

Does anyone else have any mutism experiences they can share? I wonder if some of us experience this to some degree without really recognizing what is happening, or knowing there is a name put to it.

Blogging to Know I am not Alone

Please share your experiences.

“Alone. Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym.” ~ Stephen King

 

 

High Functioning My Ass-perger's Part II: Massive Sensory Overload and Major Meltdown

Is it sensory overload, executive dysfunction, or plain old Stress?

Lately I have been trying to figure myself out—again. The more I learn about Autism and how my brain works, the more I understand why I have difficulties in certain areas. I feel like I have the most difficulty keeping up with the business of everyday living.

The housework, the kids, homework, getting to school on time, paying the bills—Did I mention paying the bills?

These are the things that appear to be easy for everyone else in the world, but I can’t manage them! I look around at other women who have their homes in order and feel ashamed. This has been a tremendous source of self-loathing and guilt my entire life...

I’ve been trying to look at myself through different eyes since I’ve discovered my Asperger’s may be the culprit. I have been trying to figure out a way for me to do what I am good at and compensate for what I am not. In this way, maybe, I can begin to feel worthwhile, and forgive myself for being unable. I haven’t succeeded—not yet anyway.

Hire Help!

Hiring someone to handle the financing, someone else to deep clean the house once a week, and putting the baby in daycare for a couple of days per week sounds like the solution, but unfortunately, I cannot afford such luxuries.

I’m angry that I have been trying to balance a budget, stay out of debt, and get ahead financially for years only now to realize that I may be working toward and impossible goal. Dishes, laundry, cooking, cleaning, homework, car pools, doctor appointments, dental cleanings, oil changes, and anything that requires regular maintenance is damned near impossible for me to master. Is this an executive functioning issue? I think so, but it is more than that.

None of these things are narrowly focused and task oriented. They all call out to me at once, don’t take turns speaking or wait in line. They all need my attention—NOW! And, now I’m overloaded.

The tasks act very much like all the sensory stimuli that causes an overload, and the end result often the same—OVERLOAD = HELPLESSNESS = MELTDOWN = ANGER = LOSS OF CONTROL AND/OR OPTIMAL PERFORMANCE AND ABILITIES.

Sensory Overload

I experienced this last night: sensory overload when trying to accomplish budgeting and paying bills. There were too many bills, too little money, and they all needed my attention—NOW!

My famous foot-flapping began followed by my hand, and the headache. A headache that felt like a sweatband two sizes too small was wrapped around my forehead.  I felt dizzy, the room spun—mayday; it was near crash time.

I was either going to meltdown or shutdown, but one thing is for sure, something was coming. Colors meshed into one another. I looked down at my black flip flops and watched it blur out of focus. The straps melted into the black rubber leaving only a black puddle on the floor. 

“Crap!” I don’t think my words were audible.

"My husband was talking but I couldn't hear the words."

My head felt heavy, my body weighted down as if under a thick heavy wet blanket. Sleep—I need sleep. My husband was talking but I didn’t hear the words.

After staring at him and trying to figure out what he was saying, I asked him to stop speaking, and start over. He did. Three times I made him stop and start over to tell me what he was saying from the beginning, until finally I gave up. I could not hear his words; they were not processing.

I heard sounds, and parts of words like when someone is talking to you on a cellphone and every other syllable is cutting in and out. That is what I was “hearing,” and worse I couldn’t make out a single sentence.

Selective Mutism

Panicked I tried to articulate, but my words caught in my throat. I golf ball sized lump held back the words… (not a physical lump). Selective Mutism is what they call it, when you cannot talk for a time.  I hate that term—I didn’t friggin select this!

When the words finally stuttered out they were jumbled. This is one of my classic signs of severe overload.  The jumbling words—I will mean to ask for a banana, and the word orange will come out. Or, I’ll say, “I want to finish my hot dog.” But I was eating a pork chop. Yes—both of these are real examples that have happened. It seems to me that my overloaded brain is pulling words from a familiar filing cabinet drawer (bananas and oranges are both fruit, and hot dogs and pork chops both meat), but then it is selecting the wrong word. In my mind I am thinking “banana” but my mouth says “orange” anyway. Why this happens is a mystery to me.

Finally hubby grabbed a pen and wrote down (IN EXTRA LARGE LETTERS) what he was trying to tell me.  He wanted me to go and lie down. I, of course, stubbornly didn’t want to. I wanted to record what was happening. He handed me a pen and this is what I wrote:

Words…jumbled…some spelled incorrectly…

My fine motor skills were “off” because the writing looks like a child wrote it.  And my husband says this was the third attempt and the first two were illegible.  Incidentally, the motor skills get this way when I am overloaded and can manifest itself by my taking turns a bit too wide when I am driving, bumping the curb with my back tire and having to reposition the van several times when I am trying to get straight into a parking space. Maybe that is more perception or depth perception?

I spent the rest of the evening, at least two hours, trying to calm down. I tinkered on the computer, read a book for a while, and tried desperately to remain isolated (ear plugs in, of course).

In the end, I did not completely regain control over my sensory processing. My speech was “off”, the dark room was too bright, and the blood rushing through my ears too loud. Even my taste buds were wrong because simple buttered crackers tasted funny.

Rest and Re-boot

Finally, I gave up, took 800mg of Motrin for my aching neck and head, and 5mg of Melatonin to try to fall asleep in the hopes that sleep would allow my body to re-boot before morning. It didn’t, not completely. This may be an overload meltdown that will take a few days to normalize from, but at least now I partially have my answer. These particular tasks, the ones which overwhelm, actually over stimulate and ultimately overload me. The result: Massive Sensory Overload and Major Meltdown.

Simply telling me that I must try harder and do better in these areas is like asking me to run down the block with no leg, and then chastising me for not getting there fast enough! Had I been in a wheelchair no one would ask me to run down the block, but because my difficulties are mostly “invisible” and I look “normal” I am expected to run. After all…“Asperger’s is mild high-functioning form of Autism.” Isn't it???

 

What I learned from being punished in school

Sights, Sounds, and Asperger’s:

What I learned from sitting in the hallways at school. 

I came across this post today on Parenting with Asperger’s Syndrome, Reasons Why Your Child Might Meltdown atSchool , and it got me thinking.

Since I‘ve been diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome(AS), which many of you already knowing was only recently (earlier this year at 38 years old), I have been trying to look back on my life through a different set of lenses.  Looking through a pair of eyes who now has an explaination for the thing no one could explain properly has made me start to wonder why I do not have that many memories of school.

I am sure they are suppressed somewhere deep within my subconscious brain.  It would make sense that school was such a painful experience that I would block out the memories, but I now wonder if it isn’t something more.

The grades I remember the most were second and seventh grades.  Now that is a big distance between the two.  This is not to say that I don’t have sporadic memories of other grades and events; I do.  But—not the same way I remember these two. 

Second and Seventh grades had one thing in particular in common; Both years I had teachers who “dealt” with me by making sit at my desk alone in the hallway outside the classroom.  I loved it out there.  I can remember even in the second grade waiting (impatiently) to be sent outside.  After all, I knew it was coming; it was only a matter of time.

Before Asperger's Syndrome was an Official Diagnosis

When I was in grade school, before Asperger’s Syndrome (AS) was an available diagnosis in the U.S. (AS became an official diagnosis in the DSM-IV in 1994), I could not be considered autistic.  Back then, in order for doctors to consider autism the child had to have a below average IQ and be practically non-verbal.  No one else fit their “idea” of what autism could be.  Therefore, I was just sensitive, spoiled, “too smart for my own good”, The Princess and the Pea, hard-headed, sassy, obnoxious…and the list goes on.

All these things equaled—sitting in the hallway.  I still remember my favorite “offense.” It was when I was sent to the hallway for correcting the teacher, and made to write 100 times, “I will not correct my teacher in front of the class.”  Well, dang it if the teacher didn’t need so much correcting, then maybe I would have stopped correcting her in front of the class! 

To this day, I still don’t understand being punished for being right, and pointing out her misspellings, mistaken facts, and the list of other “mistakes” she made throughout the day.  She should have been grateful to learn something and to correct the incorrect things she was teaching her second graders.  So, now you see why I spent most of my days out in the dimly lit, muted green and grey hallways of my NYC elementary school. 

After reading Parenting with Asperger’s Syndrome’s lovely description of all the things that rush at our children at once in the classroom that can overload their senses and cause meltdowns, I wonder if it also affected my memories of those situations.  Or if in some way I withdrew so far into myself (something I now consciously do to block out the world and try to avoid meltdown) that I cannot recall my surrounds at the time. 

Maybe my love for my seat in the hallway was in part that I was able to regain a degree of control over my surroundings.  By being put out of the classroom, I was also allowed to escape all the stimuli.  The hallway was dark without those damned florescent lights flickering, humming, and giving me headaches so I was able to sit without my thick, round, tinted prescription sunglasses that I had to wear during class.  (Now that wasn’t something the other kids got to make fun of me about, was is?)

The hallway was usually deserted and quiet.  Although I could hear the teacher in the classroom teaching and retained the information she taught. It was peaceful so I could concentrate better on her words and absorb the lesson.

Are those with Asperger's Syndrome affected by colors?

The colors were probably a big contributing factor as well.  I have read that those muted greens, greys and tans are being or have been taken out of the schools in favor of more lively and vibrant colored surroundings.  In fact, my son’s school’s hallways are brilliantly filled with painted murals or dinosaurs, fish, and sign posts. I love walking through them. It has a very cheery feel, but I would not be able to learn anything in that environment because it is too stimulating. 

Greens, greys and tans are basically subduing colors; they are the colors used in our prison systems designed to keep inmates calm and subdued.   The walls of the prisons are cinderblock grey, with muted green floors, and the jumpsuits wore a desert tan. Nothing vibrant whatsoever exists—it’s interesting how that is just like my schools growing up.

Painting the school the color of prisons is a terrible way to create a learning environment for most children, but for me those colors seemed to have sooth and calmed me.  It was not because I like the bleak coloring, but because the onslaught of sights, sounds, and bright colors from the classroom and other children’s attire had stopped. I actually love color on my walls at home, especially greens and browns.  My dining room is painted a Mediterranean red. But I each room has one color scheme and I cannot keep pastels or too many bright colors in any one room at a time. 

Thinking back to school I find it interesting that no one cared if having me sit in the hallway interfered with my learning during the day.  They were more interested in my not interrupting or correcting the teacher than in my education; it still makes me angry when I think about it.  But the truth is that those were probably the only two grades that I actually feel like I learned anything, and it was probably because I was able to sit by myself and listen in peace.  Did they ever realize that I was instantly calm and not disruptive once I was outside the classroom?

 

Autism: Sensory Overload and Fevers

Does having a fever help stop a full-blown meltdown or shutdown? Can it lesson or control sensory overload?

Mayday! Mayday! Meltdown Imminent!

I have been running an unexplained low-grade fever for the past few weeks. The only connection I am noticing is that they come on the heels of over stimulation, overload, and meltdown.

Last night, I was so close to classically holding my head and rocking in the corner that I had to retreat to my bedroom and quite literally lock everyone out. I am pretty sure at some point one of the boys walked in before I locked that door because I heard my self yell, “Intruder!” Then leapt for the door to get it shut again.  Mom was cruising down meltdown highway.

The kids had been loud and rowdy for over two hours, the TV was on with flashing cartoon characters bothering my eyes, the baby was screaming, and all the while hubby was snoring away on the sofa. How in the world he could sleep through the madness is beyond me.

My head was pounding, my eyes went fuzzy, and the room was beginning to spin. I felt out of control, and disoriented. When I my son tried to speak to me, I barked something that did not resemble actual words. My earplugs were failing to even filter out the sound of the crickets outside. Mom was about to lose it!

After about an hour locked away in my bedroom with earplugs in and my head underneath a stack of pillows, I felt the fever start. I can always feel when a fever is coming on.  It starts with a tingling in my back, which travels to my head and rest of my body.

Not long after it turned into a full-fledged fever my sensory overload began to lessen. Then I was able to remove the earplugs, come out of the room, and re-enter the land of the living.

Research Study about Fevers and Autism

After doing some research, I found a 2009 article citing a study, which implied the reason why some autistic children show marked improvement in their behavior while running a fever.

The correlation between my fevers and the lessening of my sensory overload is makes sense according to the logic behind this article, but I am beginning to wonder if my body is becoming so worked up from the overstimulation that it is actually causing the fevers, which then in turn calms down my senses.

Wouldn't that be an odd way for our bodies to compensate for the overload? It figures being sick would make me feel better.

Of course my fevers could be completely unrelated and just happen to come on at the exact times of my overload. I’m inclined to think this is unlikely, since I am not a big believer in coincidences and this has been happening more frequently lately.

That said I will be making a doctor's appointment first thing tomorrow morning for a check-up just in case there is another explanation for these interestingly timed fevers.

Am I the only one who has experienced fevers in the face of overload or meltdown? What do you all think? Fevers related to autism and meltdown, or a separate issue altogether?