School's Out For The Summer - With a Twist You Don't Want to Miss

Or: when you plan to just make some announcement statement about being autistic and end up writing about a shutdown/meltdown experience instead. Classic.

A note, before we get started: despite the cheerful title and cover picture, this one gets dark. Please do whatever you need to do to take care of yourself.

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I just wrote 1,352 words and deleted most of them (99.6% to be exact).

These are the only ones left: I think I am Autistic.

I’m not sure why I decided to write 1,352 words trying to figure out how to share with the world that I think I am autistic on the last day of school of all days.

No, that’s bullshit. I do know why.

I have been hiding away at my desk, pretending that this transition into summer break isn’t hard for me this time around because I’ve finally realized how much of an impact fucking transitions have on me.

I have been pretending, hiding away. I did not plan anything past 11:45am today - which is when I needed to pick them up.

No plans for the rest of the day;

no dinner plans;

only a rough idea about what’s on my calendar this week;

I had the best intentions to plan out the week this morning, but those 1,352 words didn’t write themselves. Immersing myself in a topic that I’ve been thinking, reading, writing, talking about every single day for 13 months felt much better than acknowledging the transition into summer break. Classic.

I still don’t know where I am going with this essay, having deleted most of it, but I feel good, creative, busy, productive. Look how easy going I am! Don’t even need a plan! I’m winning at winging it, wahoo!

My phone alarm goes off, reminding me it’s time to leave and I am on such a roll, I decide to surprise the kids with a trip to a local diner. It’s next to the library and a playground - perfect! My husband even decides to join us there for a fun end of school year celebration. Yay!

The wind is blowing through our hair on the way there, Alice Cooper’s “School’s Out” blasting through the speakers, everyone singing along. What a fantastic start into the summer!

Photo by Juja Han on Unsplash

…Right?

The moment we get inside it hits me. I feel overwhelmed by the food choices and let my husband do the ordering, standing awkwardly by his side, not sure what to do with my body.

it is so fucking loud inside.

I am frantically digging through my bag to find my loops to reduce the noise, but they must be at home. Fuck.

the smell of grease...

the kids are all talking at the same time (as they do, they are kids).

I can’t filter out any of the other conversations happening on the table next to us.

the booths are small and we are a family of five - I feel myself squished against the wall as my son is picking the lettuce of his burger really really really close to me.

my body is tense; I’m there, but not really there. I feel trapped.

the fries are different from last time; soggier.

we all start snapping at each other and I realize I’m barely holding it together. fuck.

The kids and I head home and my husband back to work.

I am in autopilot mode now. Focus, let’s get home safely.

At home, my oldest starts to play the piano - with headphones on but I can still hear the keyboard noise. “Mom, my report card!” “Mom, I want to read this poem to you!” “Mom, look at this, look at this, look at this!”

I really really want to be there for them, celebrate their last day of school, join them in their excitement, but now I’m feeling it all bubble up to the surface as I sit on the floor covering my ears.

“You can play but can you PLEASE play as quietly as you can?” I say a bit too firmly through clenched teeth.

My youngest is now reading his poem to me he’s so very proud of and oh how I wish I could smile at him and ask him about it and tell him how much I love when he shares his creations with me. Instead, I’m barely listing as I’m starting to rock back and forth.

The piano sound is getting louder in the background, I can hear every tiny fucking thing.

My dog is touching me; he wants in on the fun.

My daughter brings over her story book and I can see she’s getting ready to read one out loud to me.

Tears are streaming down my face now.

I cover my ears as hard as I can, trying to block out all of the noise.

I want to scream; but I won’t.

I focus on the movement; it helps a bit. At least things aren’t getting worse.

I need to get out of here.

It takes all of my determination and strength to make my way up and walk to my bedroom. It’s quieter here but I’m hit with an overwhelming stench of greasy deep fry smell still lingering on my clothes. I try not to breathe through my nose.

I grab my noise cancelling headphones; they dim some of the noise but not all; that FUCKING piano noise. I yell. I’m not proud of it. It just came out of me. I’m glad I had at least communicated earlier that it was already too much for me; I hope he understands. (it’s not like this is the first time…).

this is the moment I find myself unable to speak.

I pull out my phone and type an announcement into the Alexa app “kids, can you please come here and bring pen and paper?”
It doesn’t take them long.

They know what's coming and wait patiently as I write down my notes.

I tell them what they need to do before they can watch TV.

I tell them I love them.

I apologize for yelling about the piano noise.

We hug; they are okay. They can’t wait to get out of here to turn on the TV.

I cringe at the tone in this note; doesn’t feel very loving, does it? This was the best I could do that day.

Finally it’s quiet.

My cat comes up to me and rubs against me.

I feel so bad when I push him away; gently at first but more firmly next: no, this is not a game. I just can’t have anything fucking touching me right now.

I should probably sleep; but I smell grease. A shower maybe? There is no way I’m going to make it out of bed for a while.

Might as well use the moment and type it all up.

Who knows if any of this will make it.

The blank stare… Nothing left. It feels heavy, looking at her, at me. All because it was too loud?

I wonder why it’s almost easier to write all of this down than to say the simple words: I am Autistic.

In the end, I have - yet again - underestimated the transition. Maybe pretending it was all going to be fine wasn’t the best strategy and today it hit me. Who knows.

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What is an Autistic Meltdown?

An autistic meltdown is often mistaken for a temper tantrum, but they are not the same. Meltdowns, are cries of distress due to sensory or emotional overwhelm. To outsiders, an autistic meltdown can look like an oversized tantrum. They are often preceded by signs of distress or anxiety and commonly involve stimming behaviors, like repetitive rocking.

What is an Autistic Shutdown?

An Autistic shutdown refers to the condition in which an Autistic individual retreats from their surroundings. This shutdown is often a coping mechanism triggered by an overload of sensory or emotional stimuli, or simply due to exhaustion from excessive processing of stimulation.

This article inspired me to add a note on shutdowns:

Autistic Shutdowns, Meltdowns, Inertia and Apathy