It was hard getting off last night. I woke at half-four and struggled to get back off, what with my musical head. However, I was bloody asleep when the alarm went off at half-six!
I made a coffee and sat in the garden with the dog for a bit. I plucked up the courage to call the hospital. He was delirious last night, which is worrying.
I’m back at the flat working; the flat feels calmer. I let my boss know what was happening – he was just as supportive as ever. It means a lot to me that trusting him costs me nothing and is very rewarding. I suggested that I might bring my husband back to the flat to recover, rather than the house. He thinks that, when he does come home, that I should take him to the house and keep the flat as a sanctuary. I think he’s right: emotional regulation is difficult for me at the best of times and is becoming increasingly harder.
Today’s early doors triumph: I have worked out the washing machine! Hurrah! Clean clothes are here again!
My husband phoned mid-morning, but didn’t make a lot of sense; I think he just wanted some reassurance that I was coming in later.
I picked a few things up from the house: some painting bits a pieces for me to decorate the coffee jars I’d bought from a charity shop on the weekend, some bike maintenance gear, and an old apron of my mums. I dropped the dog off at kennels, so that’s once less thing to worry about for a while. Husband phoned just as I was pulling away from the kennels; he wasn’t making a lot of sense, so I narrated my journey back to the flat, which kept me calm, but also meant that I got lost! Frustratingly, I was thinking of doing some proper SCREAMING AND LOOSING MY SHIT when I was on the motorway and nobody could hear me. So I still have this barely contained meltdown inside me.
It was tricky to focus for the afternoon; there was a strange phone call from the husband – I am not one hundred percent sure what he was talking about, but it sounded as though they might be moving him. I’ll phone the hospital before I leave this afternoon.
I am feeling the pressure.
Over the years, my emotional resources for dealing with crises like this has slowly dwindled. I can no longer defer the consequences for me until a later date – they are more and more demanding.
Sounds like burnout…
Autistic burnout is a state of physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion that can occur after prolonged stress and masking (suppressing autistic traits to fit in). This can lead to feeling like you are running on empty and struggling more.
I must admit that I’m feeling really low, tired, and irritable. I am going to have to force on a happy face and I really don’t have the energy.
To be honest, I’m feeling angry; angry because I was starting to build a routine that worked, that enabled me to go to work and do the reading and reflecting that he had effectively demanded, but also that I am absolutely desperate to do – I need to make sense of my life. I need peace and I need a routine – for my own sanity!
I feel like a bad person for thinking that.
The traffic on the way to the hospital was pretty bad, but I parked in my usual car park, so finding the ward was easier – as was finding the exit afterwards!
The husband was sat up, still looking very poorly, but all the tubes and wires had been removed, so they were no longer so worried about him. The nurse taking care of him said that the only reason that he was still there was because they couldn’t find a room for him.
He was still very confused and said a few strange things about his parents, but I just listened.
Before I walked into the ward I felt seconds away from a complete mental firestorm.
Once I was in there, I shoved it all down somewhere. The room was quiet, if bright, and my husband wasn’t capable of any complicated or challenging conversation. I could feel the migraine that is been fighting all day growing, so I took some pills. The room did feel as though it was pulsing; or was that just my head?
My dad tried to call twice while I was there, which was very strange. I’d skipped a couple of our regular weekends calls because I just couldn’t cope with him was well, so I figured that he’d finally noticed and was calling to check on me.
He was actually calling to let me know that Bob, his ten year old Alsatian had died.
My dad got Bob the year after mum died. He’s always wanted an Alsatian and mum didn’t like them as they are very big and she was terrorised by one when she was little. So, of course, dad indulged himself with this enormous dog that was away too strong for him and that he could never walk as a result.
But they were best friends and now my dad is all alone again.
Eunuchorn 
Leave a comment