The conversation was much more difficult this time. In a casual conversation with one friend, the pace is slower and feels more leisurely and I have more time to think about how I might respond. It’s also easier to laugh off or deal with the odd inappropriate comment or awkward phrasing I might use.

With three people, the pace increases and it’s much harder to work out what’s going on. Working out when I can slot in a word without interrupting gets a bit trickier. With familiar people, the odd weird comment or sentence structure from me is still easily absorbed into the discussion.

With four people, one of whom I don’t know very well, the pace is even faster. Hopes of getting in diminish. I worry a lot more about being inappropriate and my occasional odd use of language feels even more awkward. I realised that I was finger drumming and my feet were going.

Spoons ten to fourteen

I was already starting to feel very drained when the afternoon began. First I had an issue getting my code accepted; other developers were creating problems without offering solutions and my interactions were getting a little techy.

Then somebody phoned me out of the blue. I hate that. I’m all flustered and I have, what I call, the “mental bends”. Deep sea divers get the bends when they surface too quickly, it’s the oxygen dissolved in their blood suddenly undissolving and creating bubbles, which can be very painful or even fatal. In a less dramatic way, it’s similar for me when I’m focusing on something – a phone call comes and I surface too quickly.

There was another phone call later in the afternoon; the fellow who phoned me was lovely and messaged me beforehand to ask if this was a good time. I took a few moments to compose myself before saying “yes”. It still has it’s stresses, but I’d say that he didn’t use up a spoon!

Spoons fifteen to twenty

I dropped by my husband on the way home. I could feel a headache coming on, which wasn’t a good sign.

When I got in, I put the oven on and got a pizza or if the freezer for him. Then I sat on the sofa with him.

He’s is now in day four of a PTSD episode. He started talking to himself, but I couldn’t really hear him. He seemed to be saying “I don’t deserve to be treated like this” but then he also sounded like he was saying “I deserve this”. I asked him what he was saying, but he started to get angry. Anger uses up spoons much more quickly.

I would say that he found eating the pizza difficult, as a good portion of the topping slipped off and down his T shirt, but he was oblivious to it, so I just picked it off him.

Then he started with more quiet words, so quiet that I couldn’t hear.

I could feel my impatience rising. Thanks to the low T, I could feel my body hot with anxiety which I might be otherwise unable to detect, but I could also feel a pressing urge to just EXPLODE and swear and call him horrible names. I had to leave: I knew that I was moments away from something regrettable.

My head was killing me.

I told him, kindly and quietly, that I had to go. I even mentioned that I was out of spoons – he might know what I meant as he used to be a counsellor. He begged me to stay in the most heart wrenching way. I said that we could sit and watch telly for a bit, but that I wasn’t up for conversation. He didn’t want to do that. He then told me that he was ok; “thank you, Bab,” I said “but you’re an appalling liar.” He laughed. Then he begged me again not to go.

In a moment of quiescence, I gave him a hug and told him that I loved him and that I would be back in the morning. He told me that he loved me, too, which was lovely because he very rarely says it.

The last spoon

The drive back to the flat was difficult; I was ready to scream and smash things. Not a good thing to be feeling when driving. There was too much traffic. The traffic lights were red for too long. The car in front was too slow. Fucking pedestrians wandering into the street. The rage was building.

I parked the car (or dumped it – I wasn’t going to fart around trying to park perfect).

I ignored a neighbour (nice fellow, I hope he didn’t notice) as I dashed into the flat.

“Alexa, stop playback”

And I lay on the floor all out of spoons.

I couldn’t even do my tea straightaway – I needed to just stop, be still, and be in silence for a bit. And pop a migraine pill.

I regain a spoon

I chatted with a good friend after I’d rested for a bit, and finally found a bit of energy to make some food.

I realised that I needed an early night.

I’d better bloody sleep: I have to do it all again tomorrow.

Then I get the phone call “I’m burning up. I’m burning up.” It’s my husband. He’s had sepsis twice, so temperatures are very scary for both of us: both times it was touch and go whether he’d survive. I have to go.

I cry out and shake and fuckityfuckfuckfuuuuuck.

Then I realise that he’s still on the phone. I hope he didn’t hear any of that. I reassure him that I’m on my way. I pack a few things and drive to the house. All the way there I am narrating my journey to him to try to calm him, not realising that the very thing I was doing to calm him was also calming me.

I gain another spoon

When I got to the house, I hung up the phone. He was hot, so I gave him a couple of paracetamol. I realised that I would have to stay with him over night to make sure that he really was ok.

He then told me that he’s not been taking his medication because he didn’t know how to make it up. I started to make it up for him.

I start using spoons again

I don’t know what I said or did, but then he started having a go at me for judging him. I probably did do or say something that triggered this, but I wasn’t aware of feeling judgemental. I’m afraid I had a bit of a fit – I don’t know how I avoided a full on meltdown, but it didn’t get so out of control: I shouted at him that I wasn’t judging him and that I was coming by morning and evening and at his beck and call worrying about him and completely out of my own mental resources to cope.

After that hissy-fit, I suggested that he went into the garden to cool down a little. I made myself a hot chocolate, that little bit of self-care calmed me a bit. I went and sat with him in the garden.

He took a bit of persuading to take the pills that is just made up for him at his request.

It was nearly eleven at night. I said that we should go to bed. I was shattered and past being able to do anything more. I tried to watch some trash telly to wind down. I was too tired, so went up to bed.

It was a terrible night. I could not settle. My head was playing music at me, two bars of Kylie’s new single round and round and round. He fidgeted and fell out of bed. At one point he got lost in the corner of the room and started shouting at me something about a cup. When he got back into bed he went on about this cup. I just lay there with a feeling of an explosion inside me.

At half-five I gave up and got up.

I am still drained, although I have recovered a little over night.

I feel like I’m starting the day with about enough emotional spoons to see me to lunchtime at most.

Almost out of spoons

I have got through to lunchtime sat work. So far it’s been an enjoyable day really – nothing too taxing, which really is just as well! I don’t have that much left in me and I have another three hours to go.

Fortunately, the afternoon was as quiet as the morning, with only a few easy meetings. A few little frustrations, but today my weariness has meant that I am too exhausted to worry about them.

At the end of the day I had a few phonecalls, they drained me a little, but not too much.

An online friend suggested that I try the NICE assessment form for autism. When I eventually found it I scored 9/10. 6 or above they said should be referred.

And now I’m heading back to the house to check on my husband and cook him some tea … I can feel a scream in my chest … I am going to have to be so careful …