Maybe a Poem…

I was never
A poet.

Aside from:

School creations

And a few rhyming ditties,
Lost
When an old blog server
Closed
And an old computer
Ceased
To function.

Yet,
Since last year,
Since I discovered
I was autistic
And everything
Changed…

Sometimes
Brief
And structured
Words
Have become
The way
That thoughts
Emerge
From my mind.

They are sometimes
More accessible
Than
Crafted prose.
When the machinery
In my head
Is operating
A slow
Translation service…

From
Thoughts…
To
Words.

I don’t even know
If they are poems
Or not.

They are what they are.

And they say what they need
To say.

Apparently
It is World Poetry Day
Today.

And for the first time
I wrote something
That might,
Or might not,
Be a poem.

Talking About It

I described, in Strategy Deployment, how I had dinner in College a few nights ago. The routines and protocols of such dinners are generally well-known to me, and one of those routines is a loose convention that you tend to chat to one of your neighbours during the first course of dinner and another during the second. It’s not a hard and fast “rule”, and who you actually end up chatting to depends a bit upon circumstances, but you can reasonably expect to talk to at least two people during the course of the meal.

On one side of me I had my best friend, who knows everything about what’s been going on in my life over the last eight months. He and I chatted, initially, across the table (we were on a corner) to his other neighbour. My main memory of that conversation was that we discussed the renovation of a pianola, owned by this other person – for me a nice, easy, safe topic of conversation, music and mechanics combined. No problem!

On my other side was another person I know reasonably well, a former tutor of mine from nearly 30 years ago, who I last saw at a dinner in 2013. As the main course arrived, he turned to me and first apologised for ignoring me during the starter (he’d been catching up with his other neighbour), as appropriate, and then he asked me, predictably, what I was doing these days.

There had already been a slight mention of the fact that we’d sat right on the end of the table, in the corner, when we first sat down. My best friend had explained that “there was a reason” we’d chosen those particular seats, and the fact that I was wearing dark glasses gave another clue that things were not “entirely regular”.

So, at the moment the question about “what I was doing these days” was asked, I had a choice. I could either (a) try my hardest to come up with some sort of conversation that made some sort of sense and would be adequate for the occasion, (b) ramble on a bit about “life being interesting” and “a few sensory issues” (to explain the dark glasses), or (c) just give the whole “I just got diagnosed autistic” speech!

A couple of months ago, when I went Out to Dinner, I was pre-diagnosis, and just being out of the flat at any social occasion at all was a huge thing for me. That evening, there were a couple of people there who knew what was going on in my life (one was my best friend, and another is friends on facebook and reads some of these blog posts), but a third friend didn’t know, and, two months ago I wasn’t ready to tell him, in person, by speaking. On that occasion I opted for option (b) and then e-mailed him after the event, sending him the link to this blog to explain more fully.

A month later, just before diagnosis, I was at an orchestra rehearsal, and wanted to explain to another non-facebook friend, what was going on. I managed, just, to get the words out, but was shaking and terrified, even though I knew that she was the sort of person who would be absolutely understanding and, like everyone I’ve so far told, she reacted by saying “Yes, of COURSE, that makes so much sense.” However, being able to articulate, in words, out in the big wide world, to other people who didn’t already know, that I was autistic, was still, at that point, seriously difficult.

Those of you who have been reading this blog since its inception must be wondering how this can possibly be. I’ve now been writing about being autistic, in as much detail as I can persuade my head to produce, for months. Yet just one month ago I could hardly form the spoken words to describe what was going on and two months ago I couldn’t do it at all. Of course, what might or might not have been evident from the early posts of this blog was the absolute fear when I posted The Discovery as to how my news might be received, especially as I was taking a huge gamble by disclosing after the disaster of my first assessment, as described in Too Articulate and Too Complicated. At that point I decided to disclose anyway since I couldn’t work out how to carry on living without doing so, and I got to the point where I’d decided that the risk of losing what remaining social life I had was probably worth taking in order to stop the feelings of no longer wanting to exist. But it wasn’t easy.

However, the blog moved on, the response has actually been amazing, and I’m now typing stuff about being autistic into one of my various devices on pretty much a daily basis.

But I still hadn’t reached the point where I could TALK about it to people who didn’t already know by reading the blog – at least not without almost falling apart on the spot and wishing the ground would swallow me up there and then and never spit me out ever again.

So, now returning to the point at which my former tutor turned to me and asked me “what I was doing these days”, what did I do?

I started with a couple of sentences reminding him that there was a “reason” I was sitting on this side of the table, I mentioned the dark glasses, and then I finally got to the point where I went for option (c) on my list above.

I’m certain I talked too much, and probably didn’t obey the proper rules of back and forth conversation. I also couldn’t quite multitask and eat my dinner at the same time. And my “I’m recently diagnosed autistic and this is how it came about and so on and so on and so on…” script is still very much in its embryonic stage (part of what I’m doing when I write these blog posts is teaching myself how to talk about it, part of what I’m doing when I read other blog posts and articles and books is giving myself the vocabulary to be able to talk about it, and starting to form my own ideas and where I fit in to the autistic world and how being autistic affects my life).

But, for the first time, I told someone who didn’t already know, and managed to do it without falling to pieces and shaking so much that I nearly dropped my drink, or starting to feel my speech fragment, and was able to have some discussion about it.

Admittedly, for me, dinner in College, at a place that has now been familiar to me for the best part of 30 years, feels like a safe environment. I’m lucky to be able to return to the social world, gently, in such a place, following familiar routines, and knowing that the people around me are likely to be sympathetic, and, on the whole, interested. So it was a good place to start.

However, I think the other thing that really helped was the confidence I have gained since I was formally diagnosed. I don’t think I could have had that conversation at this stage without that extra confidence.

But, whatever the circumstances, and whatever the reasons, it was the first time that I had been able to sensibly discuss being autistic with someone who didn’t already know. It was the beginning of being able to talk about it to other people – actual talking, not typing on a blog post, which is very different. I have known since the “autism hypothesis” formed, right back in August 2016, that if the hypothesis turned out to be true then I would need to find ways of talking about it, and I would need to construct scripts and work out how to explain to people (maybe, even in the fullness of time, be able to educate and inform and advocate, who knows). I’m not fully there yet, but I’m a huge step nearer than I was this time last week!

Fragments…

67-2017-02-15-14-27-23Sometimes my words flow smoothly and fluently, but sometimes they don’t. Even the written ones can sometimes be difficult, especially if I’ve used them a lot. The system needs time to reboot. I spent nearly all of yesterday writing, information for the forthcoming assessment. As a result, today, I’m aware that written words are not flowing terribly smoothly and even the skeletal draft blog posts that I have I don’t have the power to edit them and work on them before they go out because my head is simply saying that it needs a rest. The busy times of last weekend, then yesterday’s endeavours, have left me in need of recuperation.

Often, when I can’t manage to write prose I will try to make some sort of a poem. When things are at their worst, I can’t even manage that, and I am left with a few fragmented words. Here are four such fragments, which, I suspect, will never be completed, because their moments have now passed…

 

Wanting to Write

So many things
I want to blog about.

So many feelings
I need to sort.

I have a list
Of posts I want to write

But it only works sometimes.

 

 

Old New Autistic

Being newly autistic is very very tiring.
Except I’m not newly autistic.
I’ve been autistic for over 45 years.
So being an old autistic is tiring.

 

 

Slowly Words

The words come slowly this morning,
Often in a jumbled order.
Back to front, front to back.

No wish to talk, no need to talk.
I stay quiet.

Even the written ones are an effort.

 

 

Overdid Stuff

So
Crash

Overdone
Too much.

Please Communicate…

65-2016-12-29-12-40-19Just looking at the title of this blog post is enough to raise my heart rate. I chose the words deliberately, even though they, and many variants thereof, are triggering for me. As I type this, just thinking about it is making my legs jiggle wildly, making me want to stop typing so I can chew the ends of my fingers, and making me feel slightly sick.

“Why?” I ask myself. I am a reasonably intelligent person in my mid-40s and I consider myself rational and logical in so many ways, yet when I’m asked to communicate I turn into a petulant child and have to use every ounce of my energy to make myself do what I know I have to do, because somehow it is so very very difficult. When I am well, and have lots of energy it becomes easier. When I know exactly what I need to say or it is something easy and straightforward, it is also easier. But much of the time it is really really difficult and triggers something completely irrational in me. I didn’t realise why until a few months ago.

I was reading an e-mail from my Open University tutor. She’s a lovely tutor, and is being really amazingly good considering how badly my work is currently going, and she’d said she was fine with an extension but since it was over the extension limit I would need to contact student services too…

And there was the trigger. I slammed the iPad down on the sofa and sat and cried for 2 hours.

Unreasonable reaction?

By any ordinary standards, and by the standards of my logical brain, yes, of course it was unreasonable. The woman had asked me to send an e-mail. That was it.

I eventually contacted my husband and told him that the degree was finished. Even if I could eventually get enough brainpower together to do the mathematics, the communication and the form-filling was so way beyond me that I might as well give up.

And then the penny dropped. The trigger wasn’t anything to do with the work or the extension, but with the request, by one person, that I communicate with another. It’s bad when there is just me and another party involved, but becomes exponentially worse when a third party is added, especially if I need to communicate something unknown or not simple.

And we started to look back on incidents throughout my life. I went back to summer 2016, and to sitting on a bench with one of my colleagues from the viola section and saying to her that I needed to cut a rehearsal because I wasn’t feeling well. She said to me that I really should tell the section leader. That remark triggered a meltdown that saw me run away across 2 fields, have an asthma attack sufficiently bad that I had to empty my handbag out onto the grass to get at my inhaler, and meant that I missed lunch and spent several hours crying in my tent.

And I remember back to an occasion when my father-in-law visited our house, not long after we were first married. My late mother-in-law was very fond of writing letters and he suggested that it would be a nice thing for me to do to write to her regularly. I very nearly hit him. I ended up running up the stairs in tears on the landing of the house, screaming about how horrible my life was and how I was so overstretched that I couldn’t possibly imagine being able to write letters. It took several hours of very gentle work by my husband to calm me down.

One post-Christmas time as a child. I always found thank you letters really really difficult, but my parents were very keen for me to do the polite thing and write to the assortment of random folk who sent me postal orders or whatever. One year I’d actually done the letters, without being asked. They were in envelopes, with stamps, ready to post. My mother came into my room and said “Have you done your thank-you letters?” I felt the anxiety rise, I felt the stress, the angry, the bad. She walked out of my room and I took the thank-you letters out of my desk drawer and ripped them into tiny pieces. I’d done it on my own, but the being ASKED to do it had ruined it. The feeling of stress that this was something I’d been told to do was so overwhelming that I couldn’t bring myself to send them.

And all of these things, when I consider them logically, make no sense. They’re simple requests – write a letter, talk to someone, send an e-mail. What on EARTH is so difficult about this? Why do I find these supposedly simple jobs so challenging? Why do requests to communicate send me into meltdown? It’s utterly incomprehensible.

Until I factor in autism. Until I view these incidents (and many more like them) from the perspective of someone who has a condition that is partly defined by problems with social communication. Until I sit here at my desk, looking at my “master” jobs list and see that the jobs that are still to be done are mostly ones saying “E-mail x about y” or “Message so and so” or “Contact somebody about something”. The contact and communication jobs are the ones that fall by the wayside as soon as my energy levels fall and as soon as I start to feel at all unwell.

I can “perform” on this blog, and, to an extent on my facebook wall – I regard both of those, ironically, not as communication in the same sense that sending an e-mail or even a facebook message is. They are the equivalent of standing on a stage giving a presentation. I can do that. The e-mails are the equivalent of sitting around in the pub talking to people individually after the conference is finished for the day. Unless I have a lot of energy to spare, I can’t do that.

My e-mail inbox has always been an issue. I have a limited number of days per week that I have sufficient energy to send e-mails, and they pile up. The jobs left on the jobs list have always been the ones requiring communication. And many many meltdowns have been caused by someone asking me to communicate either with them, or, even worse, with somebody else.

As for the telephone? The ringers on both my telephones have been turned off for months. I only turn them on if I’m expecting something specific (such as I will be next week when the car goes in for its M.O.T. test and the garage will need to contact me for authorising work). The number of nonverbal episodes I’m currently experiencing make the telephone impossible at times in any case. I do still use the phone from time to time, but currently only for well-scripted conversations, or with a very few known people, and at times that I’m feeling particularly strong and capable.

When people first started suggesting to me that I might be autistic and when I started reading about autism, I came across the notion of a “communication disorder” and, at first, dismissed it. I can talk. I can communicate. Me? Communication problems? I was, of course, thinking of more overt communication difficulties, of those who are unable to speak at all. I can speak perfectly competently for much of the time (not all – there’ll be a blog post about that at some point), and so I didn’t instantly think any of this applied to me.

Until I started to investigate, to find out what was going on under the surface, to discover just how much energy sending a simple e-mail takes, to observe the leftover items on my jobs list, to think about how many people I’ve lost touch with over the years because I haven’t communicated with them, to observe how easily a meltdown can be triggered by someone asking me to communicate with someone else or pressuring me to communicate with them.

And I asked myself why a logical sensible grown-up person like me should react quite so badly to all this stuff. Why am I so exhausted by sending a few e-mails? Why am I sitting here now feeling angry and triggered and upset even by my own blog post?

And I realise that it is because I find communicating with other people so very very difficult.

Misunderstandings

61-2017-01-14-16-41-18“Big or small?” the barman asked.

I couldn’t believe my ears. Had he really just asked me that? This was just an ordinary pub, nothing particularly sophisticated, the sort of place where you order a pint and a steak and chips at the bar and eventually someone brings it over to a table with a gold number screwed into the corner.

We’d ordered our drinks, which were now sitting on the bar, and were just completing our food order. Steak and chips or something like that. Then the barman asked if we wanted any side orders. I thought that onion rings would be nice, so I said “Onion rings please” and received the answer “Big or small?”

I stood there at the bar, absolutely amazed that the pub sorted their onion rings by size. Utterly unable to comprehend this level of onion ring detail. I guessed that the big ones came from the outside of the onion and the small ones would maybe come from the middle. I thought the small ones would probably be quite cute.

I turned to my husband and asked him what he thought. He suggested big, and said that he might steal a few. I told him that he could steal a few if I had small ones…

And, of course, he laughed, because, on this occasion he’d understood correctly and I’d understood wrongly. This wasn’t anything to do with the size of the onion rings, but the size of the PORTION of onion rings. I’d completely misunderstood the barman’s question and gone off into a reverie of onion ring categorization that would probably only ever occur in some sort of gastronomic competition – certainly not in a very ordinary pub.

This is the sort of ambiguity that most people’s conversation seems to be full of, the sort of thing that people are supposed to understand as if by some sort of magic. The sort of thing that I’ve been trying to learn all my life, and have never quite got right. Close enough for survival most of the time, and because I’m generally quite affable and quite content to laugh at my own mistakes, it’s all just been put down to being a bit eccentric. Furthermore, there have been occasions where people have laughed at me and I’ve wondered what the joke was, until I realised I’d misunderstood and they’d actually assumed that my suddenly talking about, for example, miniature onion rings, was in fact my quirky sense of humour!

My husband is not immune to the “literal effect” either. He once volunteered to help at a party (partly because he had to be at the party and helping is one of his ways of avoiding having to make small talk – in general he’d much rather work than chat), so the hostess of the party said it would be really helpful if he could gather up empty glasses from around the house and take them to the kitchen.

A simple and understandable instruction – empty glasses to kitchen. Easy.

So, every time he saw an empty glass he took it to the kitchen. Each time someone took their last mouthful of wine or beer or whatever and put their glass down, he swooped in and took it to the kitchen, before there was even a microchance that it might be refilled.

The consequence was that people kept having to get new glasses and the supply of glasses ran out about half way through the party and the glasses had to be washed up so that people could carry on drinking.

But the instructions were clear – empty glasses to the kitchen, so that’s what he did!

I’ve apparently been making similar kitchen-related mistakes for many years. I go to have lunch fairly regularly with my best friend and his wife. I sort of know that I should help somehow, because my husband has told me that people are meant to offer to help in the kitchen, but to be honest it always seems so terribly complicated that I just sit there and hope that if I’m really needed to do something then someone will ask me – communal working is something I find really challenging.

Occasionally my friend’s wife has handed me 3 plates and asked me to put them onto the table. I have done this, reliably, exactly as instructed, for around 20 years. I take the stack of 3 plates from her and place them on the table.

About a week after it became obvious that the autism hypothesis was true and I told my friend and his wife that I was autistic, she suddenly said how much sense it made, and immediately mentioned the plates. Apparently for around the last 20 years, when handing me plates to put on the table, what she’s actually meant is that I should LAY the table, putting plates in situ in front of the places where people sit. And similarly with knives and forks.

I have been completely clueless about this hidden meaning. She’s always thought I was being slightly obstinate and unwilling to lay the table. I’ve believed I was doing exactly as I was told!!!

It seems that there are hidden messages all over the place in human communication that I often miss, even when they are apparently clear and written down.

Around 20 years ago I had a boyfriend for a year or so, and, as it became obvious that the relationship wasn’t going to be a permanent one and we started to drift apart, we both started to go our separate ways and move on. It wasn’t an acrimonious parting, just a recognition that things were now over.

I then got a new boyfriend, and started to move on with my life, and shortly afterwards received a letter from the old boyfriend. In this letter the old boyfriend wished me well, and told me that he had a new beautiful girlfriend and was very happy spending time with her now (or words to that effect). I read the letter and thought “That’s nice, he has a new girlfriend, I hope she treats him well and they’re happy together.”

The next time I saw my new boyfriend I reported that the old one had now moved on and showed him the letter. He took one look at it and said “There is no new girlfriend, he’s trying to get you back.” I was completely gobsmacked and couldn’t believe it for one minute. If he wanted to get me back then why on Earth would he invent a fictitious girlfriend? Why not say “I miss you, is there any chance we can see each other again?”

But my new boyfriend was right. Not very much investigating showed that at that time the old one didn’t have a new girlfriend. And the letter was just some sort of ploy – apparently I was supposed to feel jealous or something. One which, of course, completely backfired because I had no way of understanding this sort of game, no way of comprehending that there was some sort of hidden message in the letter – like almost everything in life, I simply took what it said at face value.

There have been many of these sorts of incidents over the years – too many for me simply to have been “a bit slow on the uptake” or to have just ordinarily misunderstood quite so often. I’m certain that everyone misunderstands communication from time to time, but I seem to do it rather more often than most people do, and I know I spend a lot of time deconstructing sentences in my head, trying to work out exactly what they mean and attempting to understand what the other person is really saying, and I often get it wrong. I’ve learnt and learnt and learnt to try to read what people mean when they communicate, but there have always been holes in the learning, and I’ve always been thinking very very hard and very very consciously about what things can mean. I learn from each mistake – I now know that onion rings come in portion sizes, not actual sizes, I now know that putting things onto a table sometimes means laying a table, and I now know that boyfriends pretend to have new girlfriends as a way of trying to persuade old ones to return to them. But all of this is learnt, consciously learnt, one mistake at a time, and I still don’t really understand why people don’t just give more accurate instructions.

I’m still learning, still working it out, but at least I now know that the reason I get things wrong is because imprecise instructions that assume I have a level of social knowledge that I don’t have are really confusing to me. As I start to remember these seemingly innocuous and isolated incidents they’re linking up to form a consistent pattern of things that I misunderstood, or didn’t pick up on. I’m a fast learner, so I keep learning, and I copy copy copy other people who seem to know what to do, but I don’t have the inbuilt social knowledge that other people have.

The social games that so many people seem so fond of are totally lost on me. However hard I try to learn how they work, I always seem to be running along behind all the social people, trying to catch up, trying to figure it out!

But the whole thing is a massive effort, and a whole load of trying to guess what exactly I’m supposed to be doing!

Strong Emotions

60-2017-01-05-20-04-34I get these waves of strong emotions.
Huge and overwhelming.

I get these waves of strong emotions.
Don’t know what they are.

I get these waves of strong emotions.
Really really powerful.

I get these waves of strong emotions.
Maybe good or bad?

Sometimes they make me want to cry,
Sometimes they make me want to jump,
Sometimes they make me want to hit myself,
Sometimes they make me want to bury my face.

I cannot describe them.
Except strong.
Really strong.
Overwhelming.

“What are you feeling?”
People ask,

I don’t know.

I discovered
It has a name:

Alexithymia.

Too Loud

53-2016-12-29-22-14-42I sat in the masterclass, trying to hear what the teacher was saying to the student, straining my ears against the noise coming from my left. A woman who was sitting a couple of seats away from me was taking notes – with a pencil, and the sound of it scratching on the paper was getting so loud that I could almost hear it drowning out the voice of the teacher. I glanced round the room to see whether anyone else had noticed, but if they had they were giving no indication that they were the slightest bit worried by it.

I’ve noticed that since I’ve been in burnout my sensitivity to noise has increased dramatically and my ability to filter out extraneous sounds has declined substantially. I’ve always had issues with background noise, and usually I’m working really hard to filter out the things that I want to hear from those I don’t – this takes a huge amount of energy and I can only usually do it for a finite amount of time before some sort of meltdown occurs.

Interestingly, the noise in the eating place last summer (see The Discovery) was one of the main contributing factors to my eventually being identified as autistic. Not being able to cope with the noises of food, plates, eating, talking and so on AND then having to eat my own food was one of the big triggers that made me seriously anxious and I ended up figuring that it was so stressful being in that environment that the best thing to do would be just to give up eating while I was there because the whole food experience had become so very difficult. Of course, that wasn’t a great strategy, and explaining my difficulties and being given dispensation to eat somewhere quieter was a rather more realistic approach!

Eating noises in particular are something I find very hard to cope with and, as I’ve seen memes on the internet, I’ve gathered that there’s a name for this – misophonia – which is apparently something else not really recognised by medics. So I have a double problem – I can’t cope with quiet eating situations because the individual noises are too stressing, but I can’t really cope with noisy ones too well either. Catch 22. Maybe I should just accept that communal eating is a jolly unpleasant experience and stay away from it completely? Or maybe a more sensible solution might be to limit it and be aware that it takes extra energy!

But it’s not just eating. We don’t have a separate kitchen at home, just an area at one end of the sitting room. When my husband is cooking, particularly if he’s frying anything, the sound of the stuff in the pan can sometimes quite literally hurt my ears. I also get similar problems with cutlery clanking on plates, or pots and pans being rattled and so on. Even when there’s no cooking going on, I sit there waiting for the fridge to stop making a noise so I can get some peace. I really would be the world’s worst kitchen worker!

Usually I manage to cope with most of the noises in the everyday world. Like bright lights, they exhaust me and I need to recover from them. Like with light I’m trying to figure out a way to dull them somewhat, especially now I know that I’m not hearing the same things that other people hear (not because there’s anything wrong with my ears, but because the way my brain processes sounds is rather different). Unlike with light it’s more difficult. Wearing sunglasses is an easy adaption – I’ve worn glasses since I was a teenager and have to wear them anyway to be legal to drive the car and to be able to see. Glasses are no big deal.

Earplugs or headphones are an entirely different matter. I can tolerate having earphones in for a short while, but I’m permanently slightly uncomfortable with them in because of how they feel in my ears. Apparently there are people who can sleep with earplugs in – I don’t know how because they drive me nuts after a very short time. I have worn earplugs at airshows and so on, but the sound of my own voice is then totally unbearable and I only keep them in for the noisiest jets. I would also feel very vulnerable out alone without being able to hear what’s going on around me, because I use my hearing so much as a safety mechanism – maybe the advantage of hearing so much of the background noise upfront is that I notice things like footsteps behind me or the whistle of wind in bicycle wheels when I’m about to cross a road, or similar. I haven’t yet solved the noise problem – that’s very much a work in progress!

And, of course, sound has the additional problem over sight in that it isn’t just the filtering of noise that’s the issue, but a lot of the time coping with sound requires the auditory processing of language too. It has now become obvious that spoken language doesn’t come naturally to me and filtering out conversations from other conversations is something I’ve always found really hard work – which is why I’ve often found myself at parties following a conversation that I’m not even part of and when I’m then asked to contribute have had to ask what has just been said as if my hearing was a bit dodgy!

I’m fairly confident that when I’m recovered from the current burnout things will get a bit better. During most of my life I’ve generally preferred having music playing to having silence – music is a huge and very important part of my life. Interestingly, sometimes, background music (as long as it isn’t too loud) can be a steadying influence on me when I’m surrounded by talking and conversation. It feels to me as though it enters my head on a different channel from conversation – it goes straight in and has meaning instantly without the translation mechanism needed for words. However, when I had the 2001 burnout I couldn’t cope with music at all and craved total silence most of the time. This time around it hasn’t been quite as bad, but all my volume controls have been turned right down and I need everything very soft. On bad days I can’t watch the television with sound and simply put the subtitles on and read them instead. I have managed to play in the occasional concert and the music itself hasn’t been too bad, but the applause at the end of the show is very very painful at the moment. Again, I’m hoping this will improve.

Of course, living in a flat with 3 lots of neighbours is really not ideal in this situation. And the fact that I’m only getting out about once a week means I’m spending an awful lot of time listening to the neighbours’ doors squeaking, their showers running, the noise they make in the corridor outside, the car alarms in the car park below, the dogs barking, and worst of all, the noise of the primary school kids arriving in the morning (the primary school is very close to our block of flats). The voices of babies and small children produce the same effect that knives clanking on plates or people chewing or pencils scratching on paper do. I’m guessing it’s something to do with the frequency of the sound or the structure of the wave or some similar thing – maybe I’ll research it one day, but for now it’s just simple observation.

And, like everything else, now I know how much energy I’m using to cope with filtering noise and trying to focus in on what I actually need to hear, I’m going to have to adapt things a bit. More recovery, more time spent in silence (or the closest I can get to it, given my living circumstances), more time on my own. We’ve also discovered how to disable the entryphone to our flat (nobody ever visits unscheduled anyway) and we now have all ringers on phones permanently turned off. Social occasions will have to be prepared for, recovered from, and rationed to things I really want to do. Having to cope with the sheer amount of noise in the world is yet another thing that drains my energy and causes exhaustion, overload, and sometimes meltdown.