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.

The price we pay.

Before I begin, I'd like to say that, for the most part, I'm happy with who I am; happy with my life, my family and friends - I do truly appreciate how lucky I am to be where I'm at now. My partner is incredible - his inner strength has always amazed me - and I'd be absolutely lost without him. Life can be beautiful.

This past week, though, has been tough. Tough is actually an understatement - it's been one of the hardest weeks I've experienced in a very long time. Expectations have been raised to almost insurmountable levels, and our home has seen a lot of negativity over the last 10 days - and not all of it came from me. 

Around this time last week, I was reaching the later stages of a suicide plan. My partner surprised me by turning up an hour earlier than expected - in fact, at that point, I wasn't entirely sure he'd be returning at all, bar to collect his things. My rock, the cog that keeps this family running, very nearly crumbled. Discovering my intent pushed him over the edge, and I (we) came seriously close to losing him completely. I absolutely regret acting on my suicidal thoughts.

I hadn't yet taken anything above my prescribed dose when I was discovered, but had spent a good three hours getting everything in order before I took the final steps. I'd collected my presciption for Tramadol after I'd said goodbye to my beautiful boys - by far the most painful admission in this post. They had absolutely no clue anything was wrong, they were picked up by a friend to spend time with her children; nothing was out of the ordinary except my inability to stop crying. I got my youngest dressed with the utmost care and consciousness, taking in every single detail of them both before they walked out of my garden gate. I'd prepared messages for my parents and my partner, and was trying to work out whether I should take the pills and walk somewhere to avoid getting caught, whether I should do it at all, when my partner pulled up outside. I'm thankful he did, although at the time it felt like my insides had fallen out; not only would he likely discover the evidence and be upset, but my chance to escape the hell I was in had just slipped away. 

My partner was, in a word, devastated. Angry... so very, very angry too. He couldn't even bare to look at me or touch me, his hate filled words inflicting pain I can't possibly describe. Of course, I deserved them. What he said was true; I'm a pathetic, selfish individual. What I tried to do highlights that. The people I would have left behind would be affected, in ways I probably don't understand. His anger spilled over, and all of the tension of living with me came screaming out; admitting he simply gets annoyed when I get upset these days - no matter whether I can control the situation/reaction or not. This is not something I can simply fix, the answers aren't simple. 

I'm not sure how, or why, but despite stating his intent to leave over and over, he stayed. The anger seems to have stayed too - to be honest, it's been lurking for a long time. After several frank, brutally honest conversations with him, I've discovered he's struggling immensely to deal with me. His feelings of love, although currently still there, are allegedly under threat by the stress of dealing with my more "difficult" behaviours - even the small annoyances, like my tendency to interrupt/talk over him, or dealing with anxieties when out shopping, are starting to get to him. I despise myself for this - a perfectly nice person who's become angry and resentful just living in the same house as me. The person I met would never have ripped my earplugs out and screamed in my face (note, this was 4 hours prior to the suicide confrontation - my own fault for trying to go walking at the wrong time, I was in a complete brain fog at that point and didn't check the time). He's a good person, the best - but living with me has taken it's toll on him. 

All this is not to say that I don't try - oh my, if you could know how much effort I put into being "better". Better at staying calm, at juggling tasks, at being a person. Just making a phone call leaves my mind exhausted - having to put on a façade in real life is even harder. I'm almost constantly on edge - learning about autism, although eye-opening and incredibly helpful in learning more about myself, has brought about a certain self awareness that is, at times, unbearable. Knowing I have an issue with, say, conversation, means I can work on developing those skills specifically - but it also leaves me with a kind of paranoia, which again, is both a help and a hindrance. This paranoia, or self awareness, leads me to put my full focus on the problem area - either leading to success as a result of good planning/attitude, or failure as a result of anxiety over the thought of failing, generally not being good at whatever it is to begin with, or losing concentration. This, in turn, often results in me beating myself up - both figuratively and literally. It's a vicious cycle I'm struggling to break. 

Putting the suicide plans aside, the past week has been a mass of tears, meltdowns, shutdowns and deep loneliness. More than ten severe upsets and what felt like a hundred smaller ones have left me, and the people around me, exhausted. In fact, the turbulence of that period was most likely the cause of my complete loss of hope to begin with, the catalyst to my choice to opt out. I'm not entirely sure what's caused the recent increase in emotional outbursts - I know the barbed comments from the Space Cowboy in the past few weeks haven't helped, but surely there's a cause beyond that? The only big changes have been the boy's return to school, the Soulful One joining Beavers and myself attempting to be at least 10% more social than usual. I've coped with such changes better than this in the past, though, being fair, usually one at a time. 

I'm also no longer allowed to bring up suicide in discussions, which is difficult as I tend to feel the urge to split my head open every time I have a meltdown, and is difficult to get used to. When I mutter or cry the words "I want to die, I need to die" during upsets, I'm not saying that to anyone in particular. I just feel the intense urge to remove the words from my head and blurt them out into the real world. I suppose it could also be seen as a plea for help - at that point, something needs to change in the environment - usually it's for whatever it is that's distressing to either stop, or be removed. Whether that's a person who wont stop talking, or a fire alarm going off, all my mind wants is a big red button that just ends it all. I don't think in terms or permeability at this point - my mind is stuck on automatic speech and response. I'll often shift into catatonic states, making very little sense of incoming information from the world around me; most of what is said to me in these periods is completely deflected and simply impossible to process. Some words/phrases sink in, though it's hit and miss. I often lose speech, or am reduced to just repeating the same phrases/words until things just. stop. being. so. awful. 

Then, in anything from 5 minutes to 12 hours or more, I'm okay again. I'm still me - flawed, goofy and ridiculously easy to amuse/please, but without that ache in my chest, the pressure in my brain that makes me think nothing will ever be okay again, the itching all over my body that feels like tiny worms snaking their way under my skin, making me twitch, shake and flail, the intense feelings that flood me and then let go, leaving me shaken, exhausted and, depending on who saw what, deeply ashamed. 

As of right now, things between the Space Cowboy and I have settled, slightly. It's taken two days of relative calmness (only one moderate upset per day) to be able to come on here and write this down. As always, I believe I may have gone off on a slight tangent - my apologies.

I will, as ever, continue to try my best to make the people I love happy - whether it's by trying to avoid speaking of my suicidal thoughts, making their favourite food or even keeping the mask on, out there and at home, for them - no matter how much you wish you could just rip it off for good.