Drama Club, the Worst Walk Home Ever and "why I don't get left to my own devices"

Last week, the Soulful One took part in a free trial for a local drama academy to see how he took to it (at £100 a term, I'm not taking chances or assuming he'll enjoy the class and/or listen to the teacher) and I'm happy to say we'll be back again this week.

We took both pairs of ear defenders as the Feral One was joining us (no childcare and the class happens to fall on one of the days the Space Cowboy is busy with his boys), of this I'm very glad as it was indeed quite a noisy class! FO brought his big motorised Thomas toy along which, unfortunately, was just as noisy; as the bathroom was located a few feet away from the main hall I set him up in there away from the chaos - don't worry, it was a very clean bathroom ;) this way I could watch them both.

SO joined the other children around the teacher; he listened very well for the first 20 minutes or so. Once everyone was up and out of the comfort of the circle on the floor, he began spinning around (as he tends to do when his mind wanders and it's a busy environment) and forgot to pay attention. I brought him out after a few minutes of this, gave him some juice and asked him to try again. He managed to follow what she was asking of them for a few more minutes before lapsing back into spinning.

Meanwhile another little boy had decided from the outset he was NOT taking part, and made his frustration at being made to stay very clear and very... verbal... :) sweet relief from the shrieks was found when he noticed the Feral One and Thomas in the bathroom. They somehow managed to share without having what I (and, I think, his parents) were expecting to be a WW3 style blow-out, so all was swell in the end. He actually gave it a bit of a go toward the end, once the pressure was taken off - nice to see him turn it around, whoever he was!

I kept watch over the Soulful One as he ran about the place - which was fine as the others were also running, though with purpose and doing actions, he wasn't causing a distraction to the others and the teacher seemed completely unfazed by his antics. I called him over once again when they were being asked to line up in groups as he was, in typical SO fashion, rolling up and down the gym equipment at the end of the hall, completely oblivious to the ongoings nearby. More words of encouragement, more juice and a bathroom break later I guided him back to the group - this time, he managed to follow what she was asking of them for around 10 minutes. Although a little erratic and highly comical, he copied actions and (sort of) stayed where he was told to when asked; he even said a phrase on cue! Proud is an understatement :) 

With less than 10 minutes left, I began getting the Feral One prepared for leaving and we stood together watching the last few minutes of class. SO lost interest again and went back to his gym equipment but I didn't push him any more. He did, however, managed to sit down for a minute at the end while everyone gave themselves a clap, received welcome packs and said goodbye. We were just leaving when I turned and walked head first into a table leg (one stacked upside down on another), smacking just under my eye and instantly howled out the word "F**K!" amidst a sea of small children and their parent(s).

This was the start of the Worst Walk Home Ever.

Holding my face in equal amounts of pain and shame, we left the centre and crossed the road to the shops. I sent the Space Cowboy a text to let him know we were beginning our walk home and to tell him my tale of woe, we stopped in the shop to get some treats and I bought a bag of chips from the nearby chipshop for the boys to share at home. Feeling like I'd successfully recovered from my earlier mess up, we headed home.

Ten minutes into our journey, the Feral One vocalised his need for the toilet. I swallowed panic and asked him to hold it as long as he could, we were nearly home (lie). SO was walking slightly ahead as he tends to do, so got to the subway first. He likes to climb up the sides and, as FO and I got closer I noticed a cyclist coming toward us on the path... right as SO started running from his spot on the side of the subway. They almost clashed but luckily the cyclist was able to weave and I reached him about the same moment. I chastised and apologised, we moved on and I sent another text to tell SC of the scare.

We were now just ten minutes from home, crossing by our local skate park, FO repeatedly letting us know he needed the toilet and SO sulking after being told off. I didn't hear them at first, I still had my ear plugs in from being in the centre, but then I turned to see a group of young lads asking me to throw their ball back over into the court they were in. I accepted, walked a few feet into the field and tossed it over. We started walking again when, a few minutes later, I went to check my phone for a response. It wasn't in any of my pockets, so I put the bags on the pavement and checked them again, then checked through the bags.

Panic rising, I started back at a light jog, shouting for the children to follow. I reached the spot I stopped to help the boys and searched all around; nothing. I began to cry - I don't like admitting this, even partly anonymously on here. I've tried many therapies and distractions, mindfulness and meditation but nothing has ever been able to stop my tears from falling during times of panic.

 Taking hold of the boys' hands I began to head back to the spot where I sent my last text but it was useless - the phone was gone. As we walked past the skate park again, I checked where I'd walked again but when I came back - this part was what broke me - my poor boy had given up and was stood in wet pants and a little puddle. I sobbed as quietly as possible, hugged him and told him how sorry I was for making him wait. We hurried home as fast as we could but the tears just wouldn't stop - only the Soulful One was dry eyed.

We threw ourselves through the back gate - I'm not sure I've ever felt more relieved to be back in our "safe space". I started running a bath for them and put a movie on in their room for them to sit while we waited for it to fill - I'm both ashamed about the the next part of this story and shocked at the ferocity in which it happened. As I've done in the past during extremely stressful situations, I harmed myself. Badly. Not badly enough to require hospital treatment - just steri-strips at the walk-in centre later on. My arm is still bruised from the bite marks and 3 of the 17 cuts on my arm and leg are still weeping. I'll remember this one for a long time - not least because of the scarring. I cleaned myself quickly and wrapped flannels around my arm and against my leg, hiding the evidence before bringing the boys in for their bath.

Quickly bathing the boys, I reheated their chips and rang the Space Cowboy from the housephone. I'd somehow managed to stay calm(ish) around the boys, especially once we'd reached the house. Within moments of hearing his voice I broke down again - I couldn't calm down enough to articulate what had happened in any way, shape or form. He eventually said he couldn't understand and was going to have to hang up if I couldn't calm down. He had to hang up. When he got home 40 minutes later, I was rocking myself back and forth in the middle room and the children were in their beds - granted I'd forgotten teeth brushing, school reading book and, very likely, a few other things too.  

Now we're here. We're trying to find out about the possibility of having another carer stay with me during the hours SC has to be away - I'm simply not equipped to handle stressful situations. This is part of the reason SC stays with me every other time - the time he has with his boys is just not a time he should have to part with. He cares for me for 156 out of the 168 hours in a week. He deals with everything; medication, communication/translation, travel, emotional outbursts and everything in between. He's my hero but he's also human, he can't be here every single minute of the day. Unfortunately, autism and its co-morbids don't have a pause button and neither does life, nor it's stresses.

Wake up and smell the coffee.

Upon first hearing this expression I misunderstood and, the first chance I got, I grabbed my mum's jar of Nescafé, took a good whiff and almost fell off the counter; the smell itself was incredible, but overpowering to the point I actually felt a little faint. 

My enjoyment and seeking out of odd/overpowering scents didn't end there - since as far back as I can remember I've found intense enjoyment sniffing my way around petrol stations, the contents of my Mum's cleaning cupboard, laundry rooms, my worn shoes/underwear and (if they're nice enough to comply) other people, the latter becoming even more tempting to my nose as I (and the Sniffees) matured in age - believe it or not I seem to enjoy the smell of certain people's sweat more than I do vanilla! These habits, as you'd expect, lead to a fair amount of teasing - mainly from other children, but a few adults too. Added to my other strange behaviours, dreadful social skills and emotional outbursts (meltdowns) I may as well have been walking into school with a great big target on my jumper every day. School was (as it often is for children with any kind of difference) a very difficult time in my life, and at some point I'm sure to write more on that subject, but bringing it back to the original point; I was very much lead by my sense of smell.

Not only do I derive intense pleasure from smell, I also experience a temporary calmness in my body when allowed to sniff indiscriminately - in a world where things make very little sense to me, this can feel like a necessity. It's the same feeling I get when I can pace, flap or rock with abandon and without concern for other's perceptions. 

As a child I was uninhibited, for the most part, by a lack of awareness - both of how other's perceived me and of social responsibility. As an adult (an anxious, overly self conscious one at that) I'm far more discreet with my stims when around unfamiliar people. It took years to get to this point, but over time I've become a little more self aware, learning from my earlier mistakes through other's negative reactions and attempting to mask or correct my behaviour. I've developed techniques in order to be able to continue my favourite things; my secret hobbies. My efforts to hide these "undesirable" behaviours aren't always successful - self awareness will probably never be my forte.

As it is, the Space Cowboy apparently adores me despite my eccentricities - he even lets me bury my head in his armpit/crotch area whenever I'm stressed and need a calm place. Now that's love ;)

No matter what the social backlash, I sincerely doubt I'll ever stop - I don't even know if I'm able to. I don't know if life would hold any more pleasure for me if I were to withhold my "stims" completely. It's difficult enough to remember to not speak of certain things around certain people, to stop myself fidgeting during conversation or make sure I'm not swaying/pacing too wildly - usually while I'm trying to cope with whatever's got me so worked up in the first place. I'd truly love to live in a world where I didn't have to use up so much mental energy just trying to fit in - all of it to keep other people happy. Not even people I like. Most if not all of the people I like have no problem with me being, well, me. It's for nameless, faceless people - so they're not uncomfortable, or scared, or concerned, or disgusted. In the past I've dealt with all manner of negative responses - from strangers, friends and family, even lovers. This alone has contributed a great deal to the self-esteem issues I now face.

I'm writing this post in the hopes that at some point, it'll reach someone who will read it and suddenly feel a little less weird, a little less alone, if not make other's a little more aware :) It's not every day I admit to the public (and any friends/family members that read this blog) that one of my stranger habits is sniffing my underwear, but if that's what needs to happen so there's something, some kind of information, out there for people like me (even if you've not resorted to pantie sniffing) then so be it. While I'm at it, I'll also admit I compulsively scratch my scalp (and often chew said scalp out from under my nails), rub my hands over my face repeatedly to enjoy the smell of warmed up skin, walk on my toes when I'm really anxious/happy, compulsively pick my nose (I'll let you wonder about what happens with the findings) and manipulate/hyper-extend my fingers when I'm nervous or upset. Be kind, internet.