Monday Meltdown

I can be really rubbish to myself sometimes. The only thing worse than a Monday Meltdown is the accompanying feeling that I really should have grown out of this.

I should have grown out of reacting to a sudden change in my week’s plans. I should have grown out of needing to prepare carefully for an upcoming event that holds meaning for me. I should have grown out of scripting it and predicting it and plotting it and worrying about it and wanting to perfect who I am for it.

Then suddenly, and for no discernible reason, that thing is taken away – not just taken away, stripped away, because I had to earn the thing by applying for the thing and being found worthy of the thing. I should have grown out of letting them make me feel unworthy.

And I certainly should have been grown up enough not to have this pain splitting my mind from just behind my left temple. Reaching its way behind my eyes like a crack in the pavement. A crack through my thoughts and a chasm where I should be. Change and uncertainty looms.

I should have grown out of the core of anger in my chest, that weeps out of my traitorous eyes in a ceaseless stream of salty pointlessness. I should have grown out of sore, swollen eyes when I earned my first wrinkle.

I should have grown out of how often I have tapped my forehead today; my constant need to find a rhythm in the mess. I should have grown out of the stunted movements that have plagued me, like I’m dancing the robot to some unheard jazz. I should have grown out of not liking jazz.

Inside I am rational and logical and I will choose my path and actions with great care and delicacy, but the howling tempest of unfairness and unjustness in my breast rips and claws at it, and I have no choice, for now. All I can do is sit and rock.

I should have grown out of these waves of emotion that break me. I should have grown out of the cost of poor communicators in a world that could so easily just work if what people said and what people did matched. Or if I could just grow up enough to be like all those others who are untouched by change.

If I could just grow up and give up hope and stop fighting for this world to be better than it is, then I would not be me.

I loathe that voice inside, that internalised negativity about who I am, that tiny thing that thinks I’m lesser rather than different.

When my autistic brain is in full flow – and I am so lucky that I live in my world where the opportunity to flow is there more often than not – then I am complete. I am completely me and completely comfortable with who that is.

When my autistic brain is overwhelmed and overloaded and I jolt and cannot find my words, it is less easy to love myself. I feel fragmented by the change, as though my world is fractured to fractals, a floating shatter of a thousand mirrors and the light just bounces on and on. It’s hard to see yourself when everything is moving.

I don’t want to grow out of who I am, I’d just like to grow past this moment. I’d like to let these feelings fade and water them into the grass. It always feels like such a terrible waste; it takes my time, my joy, my plans, my days, my sleep, and I can’t get them back once they’re lost.

But when the water flows I learn who holds my hand. I learn who metaphorically holds my metaphorical hand when I can’t do the literal touching. I learn who does respect my efforts and values my being, and so maybe there are other things to be found amongst the loss. Maybe.

My heartbeat is slowing as I write, because although I value and appreciate every single reader of these words, each word is written for me and not for you. This is my processing in the moment. A grasp of sense following the nonsense that came before. This is how I come back to where I am meant to be.

Thank you for holding my hand.

12 thoughts on “Monday Meltdown

  1. I’ve been having so many meltdowns of late, I’m literally just a big meltdown. Marriage has ended and there’s so, so much change and uncertainty, loss and loneliness. All I can do is try to keep my focus small, and just try to get through each day. Thanks for sharing Rhi x

    Liked by 2 people

  2. It’s interesting isn’t it? Meltdowns aren’t limited to autism. The PTSD that I was diagnosed with last year confirm that meltdowns are common with other neurological conditions. I empathise but wanted to make the point that it’s not only “you” but “us” too…

    Hope you’re well
    S

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Ah that relatable, visceral agony. To call It that ‘howling tempest’ is to know it so deeply as the the vilest nemesis. And yes, writing to stabilise, to re-find yourself in that storm is the purest kind of self love; a hope-filled grab at the harbour when the sea is taking your last gasp. May you know the rest, the descent you so need in these coming days.

    Liked by 2 people

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