amplified senses

soup

What happens when an autistic person with hyper senses becomes unwell / sick? Do those hyper sensory antennae suddenly shrink to ‘normal’? Nope. They are amplified still, as ever, if not even more so. The pain is compounded, and searing terror all the more gripping.

Staring into my delicious bowl of hot potato and leek soup this morning at the Arthouse Kitchen, after an entire night spent retching into the loo, I felt a sense of relief – just simply because I was no longer trapped inside the swirling sphere of excruciating agony. Last night, it was as if time had snapped its back and was lying on the ground in a crumpled heap, sneering at me each time I convulsed, perspiring profusely like a tap at full blast. Not a pretty sight. Not one I’m happy to allow any to witness, so another episode came and went, with only the cosmos as voyeur, and my paltry words to record. I don’t want or need anyone to hold my hand during the ordeal, no thank you, it adds to the distress, really. Yet, being all alone in the cold, stark artist’s studio while teetering on the brink of physical and mental breakdown, was admittedly most frightening.

I couldn’t swallow more than 6 spoons of the goop, no matter how tasty. The throat is inflamed from all the coughing and sputtering. Sorry, Massimo. Please don’t take it as an insult to your culinary offering.

It was a comfort to sit in an old favourite and familiar space. Though with a sad twitching tingling feeling, because that was one of ‘our’ places to be – Lucy and me.

Takeaway: Autistic hyper senses = amplified horror and pain when unwell. Spare a thought for us, we’re not being dramatic. In fact, we prefer to hide inside our excruciating terror. But being nearby and knowing that you are somewhere does help a bit, if only to call an ambulance if needed.

beads

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we traverse…

Anxiety is a demon, roaring fury echoing in mocking silence, dancing tentacles teasing and mutilating quivering raw flesh. Shortness of breath and throbbing heart escalating into blazing fury, gasping for breath under thick smoking dusty throws, pearly beads of toxic pain oozing from unseen frantic pores.

The Canine Angel is a mysterious entity. One does not need her the way air is exigency for life’s breath. In fact, many inconveniences present incorrigible upon such Angelic visitation. The Angel does not wait for opportune time and space, her Beingness occupies your entire ecology. She creates calm from chaos, yet stirring waves so gently disruptive the heavens chortle in cruel delight. Continue reading

sad nosh

Sad nosh. Uninspired hunger. Cyclical despair. Stultified stillness. Desperate isolation – PLEASE do not disturb! Just go away! Thrashing, kicking, screaming silence. Jumping from hot sizzling oil into seething heaving bog. Deprivation and excess in twisted pas de deux. Scraping with broken coin. Tunnelling for salvation. Down, down, down.

How low can you go? Is there a bottom anywhere?

 

unreasonable fear

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sleep…

Voices outside the door. Low droning baritone melding with alto interjections, a contrapuntal interplay of human verbal exchange. Rising and falling dynamics, punctuated by snippets of silence, ebbing and flowing. Footsteps on the wooden boards. Shuffling sounds. More footsteps. Rustling again. Clicking, I hear plates and glasses being gathered. The tap turns on in the kitchen. Someone is washing the dishes.

Ordinary soundscape, ordinary living.

Why then the white fizzling silent roaring of fear? Trapped inside without locks. Frozen cocoon. Holding breath. Muscles stiff. Auditory nerves straining and fraught. Continue reading

wordless enunciation

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angel unspeaking

My Angel cannot speak the worded language. Yet, I know she tries to tell me things. There are times I am tuned in and able to sense, just by touching her, watching her eyes, her mouth, her body, but there are times when I am sadly oblivious, lost inside my own domain. Then, there are the moments of sheer terror, when she is unwell, and I am haplessly flailing, desperate to grasp her subtle wordless enunciations. Continue reading

my love

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Till a’ the seas gang dry…

Collected my baby girl from the emergency vet this morning. Back home, fed a bland diet of cooked turkey mince. She is now sleeping in bed. We are waiting for her regular vet to come and pick us up, because Lucy is too weak to jump in and out of a taxi. Dr. Ivor is a wonderful vet, and he has been ever so kind to us. It seems like a long road ahead for us both, but I owe it to Lucy to do all I can for her wellbeing. Right now, our immediate goal is to stabilize her, before we head on towards a plethora of tests and explorations. Not a good time at all, I am in the throes of completing my Ph.D dissertation, and have (as it is) blown apart two whole months running around doing all kinds of things – moving house, packing & unpacking, dealing with Lucy’s accidents, battling my own monsters of meltdown and physical pain, fighting the bullying of the Evil Twins (real estate agents) etc blah – just about everything but proper work. Not much time left, and I face an impossibility. But we have come this far, we now have no other choice but to rely on the great cosmic clemency that has carried us through, to propel us forward. And thusly we shall go!

A Robert Burns poem that I like to sing to her… as we wait… I am trying not to overwhelm her with my anxiety and singing helps us both at times like these.

O my Luve’s like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June:
O my Luve’s like the melodie, 
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!
And fare-thee-weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ ’twere ten thousand mile!

Robert Burns