Managing energy levels with Aspergers

A lot of people commented on my post about Asperger Syndrome and Fatigue, saying they really identify with what I was describing. And I’ve had a couple of comments asking me more about how I manage fatigue, so I want to talk more aobut that. One person, gabygarzalinde, has asked:

I was hoping to hear if your “battery” goes up and down, with regards to the amount of stuff you can do without getting fatigued? Or have you found some kind of baseline?

I found this an interesting way to think about it – I’ve never seen my energy levels as a battery before. But certainly my energy levels do vary. These are not random variations, but rather they are based on a combination of factors. This is similar to everyone, I would imagine – varying energy levels is certainly not purely an autistic thing. Those of us on the autism spectrum are  simply are more vulnerable to fatigue because of the huge amount of energy we expend in trying to process the world with oversensitive brains which don’t automatically process and filter.

I have come up with a list of things that cause my energy ‘battery’ to go down, and a list of things that cause it to go up. I will call these ‘energy drainers’ and ‘energy boosters’, respectively. Some of these will no doubt be the case for most people, regardless of whether or not they are on the autism spectrum. Others may be very specific to me. I can only share my list, and recommend that people come up with their own lists – the more you are able to monitor your reactions to things, the more you can form strategies to maximise your energy levels.

Energy drainers

  • doing a lot of different things in one day, which require constant switching of attention
  • interacting with a lot of people
  • being in a noisy environment
  • being in an environment with fluorescent lighting
  • being in a new situation, or meeting new people – this requires a lot more mental processing
  • not having enough sleep
  • eating a lot of processed foods with artificial additives
  • simply eating too much – more than one’s body needs
  • having had an unpleasant interaction with someone
  • a miscommunication that wasn’t sorted out
  • an unresolved problem in one’s life that one is thinking about
  • feeling confused about something
  • being in a hot environment

Energy boosters

  • being able to focus on the same thing for an extended period of time
  • spending time alone, in a quiet environment with natural lighting
  • having a bath, or going swimming
  • going for a walk alone in the woods
  • having enough sleep
  • having a duvet day – where you are alone and don’t go out
  • reading a novel
  • drawing a picture
  • talking to a friend who understands
  • burning scented candles

For me, a really important thing has been simply recognising that I can’t compare myself with other people. I used to feel constantly inferior, thinking to myself: ‘Why is it that other people have the energy to go to work, hang out with people after work, and then go out in the evening and stay up till 2, and then be able to get up for work the next day? What am I doing wrong?’

Actually, a nice thing about getting older is that after a while, one’s peers are also no longer able to do such things either! But when I was a teenager and young adult, so many people my age could stay up all night and seemed to have endless energy for chatting and partying!

I’ve found helpful to look at it in terms of threshholds. Things like not enough sleep, and unhealthy food, are bad for everyone, but different people have different threshholds of tolerance. There are people who can get only five hours sleep each night for a week, (or a month, or a year) and still be functioning and able to go out socialising in the evenings, and come across as full of energy. They may still feel tired, but their tiredness isn’t disabling – they can still function with it. If I had only five hours sleep for a week, I would not be able to function. My tiredness would be a completely different level from theirs, and I would become unwell.

Sadly, there is a prevalent view in society that ‘if you think you can, you can’, so the people who are thriving on, say, very little sleep, or a very busy lifestyle, are seen as being more positive thinkers than those of us who get exhausted and ill. We are apparently just not trying hard enough, not being positive enough, not embracing the ‘mind over matter’ mantra! We’re giving up too easily! When in fact, we are actually constantly expending way more energy and effort than a non-autistic person, simply to function and survive.

Interestingly, people don’t apply this same logic to those who have physical disabilities. With someone who has a bad leg, or a bad hip, people generally understand that this person won’t be able to walk so far as someone with no mobility difficulties, and that they will tire more quickly. It is not seen as a character flaw, or laziness. Same with someone with cancer – society understands that someone with cancer will easily be tired. I suppose the difficulty with autism is that it’s not a physical disability or an illness. It really isn’t understood very well at all, and fatigue generally isn’t listed as a ‘symptom’.

I had an interesting conversation with someone I met recently. We both have difficulties with fluorescent lights – hers is because she has lupus, she told me, so I told her that mine is because I have Aspergers. Her response was one that I imagine many people with Aspergers will be familiar with:

‘But you don’t seem like you have Aspergers.’

‘Well, no,’ I said, ‘but then that’s because the media portrays it in a very stereotypical way, and it’s different for everyone.’

‘No, but I know about Aspergers,’ she insisted. ‘I know a child with Aspergers, and he’s nothing like you. He doesn’t know how to interact with people. He has challenging behaviour, he fights with the other kids, he screams, the teachers don’t know how to deal with him.’

‘Ah yes, it was the same with me when I was a kid. But I’m forty now – I’ve had many years to learn strategies. My brain doesn’t automatically process a lot of things, so I’ve had to teach myself how to do it deliberately and consciously, working out strategies.’

Her response to this indicated an awareness and insight that I can only say I wish more people demonstrated. She said, ‘Wow, that must be really tiring for you.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, it is.’

It is rather ironic that the more a person is able to find strategies to deal with the difficulties their disability may present, the more they are seen as not really disabled. But the difference – and it is a huge difference – is the effort and energy that person is constantly expending to enable them to function on this level. Never forget that just because someone else is doing something that you find effortless, doesn’t mean they are also finding it effortless – it could be taking every ounce of energy they have. And if sometimes they are not doing it, this doesn’t mean they are being lazy or not caring – they could be simply be taking a much needed rest to restore their energy.

This can apply to socialising, and also to many other things. Spelling everything correctly, for instance, for people with dyslexia – if someone is making spelling errors in an online interaction, never assume they are being stupid or lazy. Spelling does not come equally effortlessly for everyone, and people are not obliged to use up all their energy to do something that happens to come naturally to most people. I am fortunate enough to find spelling and grammar comes naturally to me, but I am aware that this is through no particular virtue of my own, and am constantly amazed at how it’s seen as totally acceptable to judge people for whom this isn’t the case.

What if I compare it to walking with a limp? For example, if you hurt your foot, it can sometimes be possible, with a lot of effort and pain, to walk normally, without a limp, as if nothing was wrong. But that doesn’t mean you are being lazy if you limp, or that you should be judged for simply ‘not trying hard enough’ to walk like everyone else.

Managing one’s energy levels means having to be strategic – prioritising what is most important, simply so you don’t crash. For those of us on the autism spectrum, this can sometimes mean allowing ourself not to fully focus on social skills and social etiquette skills every second of the day. So we may find we have neglected to smile at someone, or to say thank you, and this can really bother people – but actually, it really isn’t the end of the world. This is sometimes what we need to do. And it is something that friends who care about us and want to be understanding should be able to accept. Not that it’s okay to use this as an excuse to be rude to them – it is of course vital that friendships are two-way, with both sides valuing and respecting each other and trying to understand each other. But it’s so important to be able to have that conversation with friends, where you explain that you care about them, but you need time alone, and that you will sometimes make social errors, and that you don’t always have the energy to maintain social skills. Friends who are able to understand this are true friends, and together you can find ways to understand each other and value each other.

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Asperger Syndrome and fatigue

A couple of years ago, a guest lecturer came to college and gave us a lecture about Asperger Syndrome. Of course, I already knew all about Aspergers, so I sat there internally nodding and smiling, as I recognised all the things that were talked about, and found it half-amusing and half-disconcerting that what we were learning about potential clients actually applied to me too, and that I knew more about it than what was being taught.

Then the lecturer said something that made me stop and think. She said that people with Asperger Syndrome experience a great deal of fatigue, because they are always conciously processing things with their intellect, as their brain doesn’t do it automatically.

Now, in all the books and articles I’d read about Asperger Syndrome, none of them had mentioned fatigue. Many had talked about the act of processing things by intellect, but none had talked about this causing fatigue. But now this lecturer mentioned it, it made so much sense – and explained so much.

Fatigue became a huge part of my life when I lived in Canada for a few years. I went there at age 21, after completing my first undergraduate degree. Before that, I’d been a very solitary person, not really having a lot of awareness of what was going on around me, and not really needing to. I spent my time reading, in a world of my own. But when I was doing my undergraduate degree I started to realise that I wouldn’t survive in the world if I continued like this. I needed to learn social skills. So this is one reason I went to Canada, so I could have a new start, in a different country, and try to learn how to be social there.

In fact, being social almost became a special interest. In the five years when I was in Canada, I put my energies into socialising with anyone and everyone. I had observed social people when I was at university in England, so I tried to imitate their behaviour when I was in Canada. I put aside my books, and people became my focus. I was chatty, jokey, and took any opportunity to go out to various social things. I found it quite new and exciting – I’d never done this before, so it was fascinating to observe how people responded to me. I enjoyed analysing everything and trying to work out social norms, although I often found people very confusing.

I realised that I had a big advantage in being a foreigner, because I could tell people that I was from a different culture and ask them to let me know if I was being rude in any way. People explained the etiquette of their culture to me, which was useful, and they often excused all kinds of oddities and faux pas on my part, because of the fact that I was foreign – an eccentric Brit, as they saw me.

I found it fascinating and fun, but after a while I noticed something strange started to happen. I would get incredibly tired throughout the day. I’d go out with friends and find myself falling asleep instead of chatting. If ever I went to anyone’s house, I would invariably fall asleep on the sofa.

Now, I am not very good at being aware of my bodily needs. This is something that can sometimes happen with the autistic spectrum – difficulties being aware that you are hungry, for instance, or that you are tired. But my tiredness had finally got to such a threshhold that I couldn’t be unaware of it – especially not when I was actually falling asleep during the day, every day, despite having had more than enough sleep at night. I went to the doctor, convinced that something was wrong with me, but blood tests all were normal.

The tiredness only lessened when I spent a lot of time alone. I observed the same when I returned to England. The jobs I chose were all working with people – because I wanted to learn how to do this – and whenever I had days off work, I would spend the time alone at home, completely exhausted, sleeping a lot. I made myself do overtime a lot, to save money, and would get even more exhausted, and often have to take time off sick, because I would become dizzy and unwell from the mental overload.

I didn’t understand what was happening. I went to the doctor and asked what was wrong with me, and told him I want to be able to do overtime without getting sick, and he just shrugged and said that some people’s constitutions are such that they can’t do that. This had never occurred to me. I thought that if others could do it, so should I be able to. And it did seem to me that my tiredness was not normal, compared with other people.

Of course, I don’t know the experience of other people’s tiredness, only my own, but I know for myself that when I’m very tired I seem to be shaking internally, and my brain seems to stop functioning. I notice this happening when others seem to be functioning fine, and they are merrily chatting with each other and making jokes and doing all sorts of communicative things, whereas I have stopped communicating, or limited it, because it’s too much work. But of course, such communication isn’t hard work for other people, because it’s automatic for them. If the task were switched, and we were given algebraic or geometrical problems to solve, by ourselves, in a silent, darkened room, then maybe others would be tireder than me.

Anyway, in my life I have pushed myself very hard, because there were always lots of things I wanted to do. But it seemed I never managed to get done even half of what I wanted to. I never managed to get up as early as I’d planned in the mornings, or to do what I’d planned to do during the day. I thought it was because I wasn’t trying hard enough – that I was lazy.  I knew what I wanted to be doing, and it seemed to me it was possible to achieve it (I made neat little timetables of how I wanted to use my time) and yet I never did.

It’s really only in the last year, since I’ve switched to part time at college and have a support worker, that I’ve come to realise that I don’t have the same energy levels as most people, and to accept that I need more rest and that it’s okay to have days where I do nothing – in fact, it’s essential. I’ve realised that the following things cause me a lot of fatigue:

  • fluorescent lighting
  • noise
  • too much going on around me
  • interaction with others, particularly those I don’t know well
  • travelling
  • change – different, new situations

Often I don’t notice the fatigue at the time – it’s afterwards, when I’m back home in my house, in the quiet, by myself, that I realise how exhausted I am from a day at college under fluorescent lighting, interacting with others.

Because I am part time now, I am very fortunate that I don’t have to go into college every day, so I can spend the following day resting. And so I can manage my tiredness. I felt horribly guilty about this at first – I would tell my support worker gloomily that I’d wasted a whole day when I should have been studying. But she would tell me that actually it’s good for me to have a day resting, and that this is the reason I am part time, because I don’t have the same energy levels as others, and I need to rest. So I have gradually come to accept this need to rest as part of my life, and I try to make sure I rest so I can manage my fatigue levels.

I do still struggle with all this a bit. There is so much I’d like to do. My brain is very active and full of ideas and curiosity and a desire to learn, and it really feels like a waste of time to spend time doing nothing much. But I know that this fatigue is a real limitation of mine, and I have to accept it and work around it, or I’ll exhaust myself completely and then won’t get anything accomplished at all.

It seems bizarre logic that to achieve more I have to rest more. But, bizarre as it is, I have found it to be the case, so I know it’s something I must go along with. And then, the more I rest, the more I am able to put my entire energy into interactions with people – because it does take a huge amount of energy and focus, to take in all the subtleties as well as the big picture, to express myself in an appropriate way, and then, ironically, to hide the fact that it is taking so much energy (because people don’t like to see the effort – they get uncomfortable if they think you are ‘intense’ or ‘trying too hard’)! Pretending to be normal is a tricky business!

A night out on the town

Yesterday I voluntarily subjected myself to sensory overload. Otherwise known as a night out pubbing and clubbing.

I have never learnt the appeal of this choice of enjoying oneself, but I occasionally go when invited, because I think it’s important to share in celebrations with friends and fellow students, to show myself friendly and happy for them. I know that probably sounds a bit stuffy or disparaging, because that’s the kind of language people use when making fun of certain activities, but making fun or being stuffy is not my intention. I’m struggling to find words to express why I choose to do something so unnatural to me. I care about the people around me and want to show this – and am aware that I can find it very hard to show this. It’s very easy for me to inadvertently seem distant and aloof, and I am not good at banter, which is the way that people often show affection for each other. So choosing to go along to a social event is a concrete way of showing myself wanting to be part of the group and caring.

First we went to a pub. I had decided in my mind beforehand that I would buy the first round of drinks – because I know buying rounds is what is done when groups of friends go to the pub, and sometimes I forget or get confused as to when to do it, and if you don’t buy a round that is considered rude and looks like you’re taking advantage of people, whereas buying a round of drinks shows you’re friendly and being part of the group. I decided I should do it first, to get it over with, so I wouldn’t be worrying all night about when to do it and whether I wouldn’t get chance. So it was all clear in my mind what I would do – we would get to the pub and I would ask everyone what they wanted. I know from observation that this is how poeple buy rounds – they don’t declare it, but just ask everyone what they want. So this is what I would do.

It was all clear in my mind until we got to the pub. And then I took in the crowds of people gathered around the bar, people standing, people moving around in all directions with no clear destination, people moving then stopping, people standing then moving, people talking, shouting, laughing, and my mind felt swept away by a sense of chaos. I forced my mind to focus and realised the first step was how to actually get to the bar through the people.

The music was loud and rhythmic. I didn’t dislike it, as such, but it seemed to be pervading my body, taking away my clear sense of myself as an individual, so the boundaries between me and the music were not clear. I tried to focus on the bar, and my companions, trying to see what they were doing and following their lead. I would sometimes feel someone touch my back, to move me aside as they walked by. Every time this made me jump and took a while to process – why was a total stranger touching me? I knew it wasn’t rude. When I was younger I thought people were being rude and intrusive and it made made me angry, but I have since learnt that this is simply what people do in pubs and bars, because of the crowds, and the reduced inhibition from alcohol. They do it to everyone. People brush past people, or touch them to move them slightly, and it’s seen as normal and people don’t mind. But for me, each time it happens, I jump or freeze, momentarily shocked and distracted, losing my focus on getting to the bar.

My awareness and sense of self and general meaning became more and more fragmented. I was no longer a distinct being in my own space, with my thoughts clear. I was somehow merged with crowds and noise – invaded, violated, confused. I knew this was a pub and that people were here to have a good time, but the overall meaning of it eluded me. I didn’t – and still don’t – understand the appeal. My thought process was as follows:

Must buy a round of drinks. Must buy a round of drinks. How does that work again? Must find out what everyone wants. Where are they? How many of them are there again? Are they all here? Can I distinguish them from the many other people? They are all merging in, rather than a separate group. Okay, let me count in my mind – oh! My arm – who touched my arm? Who is moving past so quickly? Was I in the way? Must I move? Where are my friends? One’s over there – talking to someone I don’t know. Let me count – yes, I see all of them. Must ask them what they want to drink. Who to ask first? How will I remember all those drinks in my mind? It’s too loud – can’t focus, can’t hear myself think, can’t keep drinks in my mind. What if I forget and turn round to ask them again and I can’t find them, or I can’t remember whose I’ve forgotten?

To my utter relief, one friend said ‘Shall we buy rounds or just buy our own individual drinks?’ and it was agreed to buy individual ones. I focused on reaching the bar, ordering a drink, and taking it to a table with my friends.

Sitting at a table is good. Once I have a seat, I have a spot, which is my space, and no longer being invaded by strangers.  A wave of relief came over me as I sat down. I put my drink on the table and focused on my drink.

But then comes socialising. Socialising is hard anyway, but when your body and mind feel invaded by noise, and your ears are so full of noises of music and crowds that you can’t actually distinguish the separate noise of what your friends are saying, socialising reaches whole new levels of difficulty. My instinct is to zone out, because nothing makes sense, and the effort of making it make sense is exhausting, so it would be much easier to go with the flow and zone out. Then everything could just flow over me, as fragmented pieces of the world, making no sense, and not needing to make sense. But that would be rude – and defeat the whole purpose of going out with friends. So I make myself focus.

I know it’s important to make it look like I’m having a good time, to make people feel comfortable around me, and free to enjoy themselves without worrying about me, so I try to arrange my face in a sort-of smile. Not a huge smile, because to fix one’s face in a huge smile would look unnatural and creepy. So just a general happy sort of look. Even then, I’m aware of its fixed-ness, and try to alter it a bit, so it looks like I’m reacting to what people are saying. When others laugh, I laugh. I focus hard on their lips and try to lip-read. When people look at me to address me specifically, I concentrate extra hard and often say ‘pardon?’ because I didn’t understand.

I remember eye-contact. My eyes more naturally look down lower than the face – there’s too much information in the face, so when someone is not specifically talking, it’s easier to look at their clothes, which are neutral. But eye contact is important, so I make myself look at the faces, and in the eyes. As I am easily zoning out, I must avoid just staring at the eyes – must look at eyes for a few moments, then look away, then look back at eyes, then at forehead. Am I doing it right? How are people mentally responding to my eye contact attempts? I have no idea. I am sometimes aware of eyes fixating for too long, and make myself switch.

Some guy I don’t know comes to stand next to where I’m sitting, to the left of me, and talks to the girl next to me. She chats to him and they banter, not knowing each other, but able to banter. He is young and enthusiastic and fun, and she makes her eyes go big and look up at him. I try to analyse it, to make sense of it. It’s sort of a mating game, these whole bar interactions, where men come over and talk to women, and banter. Some kind of sexual thing – but yet not quite the mating game, because no one seems to be looking for a long-term mate. Just a sort of taste of it – maybe practice for future, or maybe to make them feel attractive and sexy.

My thoughts are brought short by sudden cold wetness! What happened? Everyone is shrieking with laughter. A drink has fallen over, and liquid is all over the table and all over my lap. The bantering man is apologising to the girl next to me, promising to buy her another one, while she’s saying that it’s fine. The drink is dripping from the table. I move my chair away, so the drips don’t go onto me. Everyone is still laughing and chatting about it. I remember that this drink was Southern Comfort and lemonade, and there is some satisfaction – some sense of order in chaos – identifying the exact type of liquid that is on my leggings and my legs.

A little later the friend to the right of me says that she’s getting wet. The drink has spread over the whole table and is now dripping onto her legs. The guy who spilt the drink didn’t think to wipe it up when getting a replacement drink. I don’t like uncontrollable liquid all over the table randomly dripping on different people, so I declare I will go get a cloth. I go to the bar and tell the barman that a drink has been spilt and ask for a cloth. He grabs a blue j-cloth and comes and wipes it himself. I watch the liquid get seeped up by the cloth, and also watch him miss bits. As he goes back to the bar, I see the table is no longer overflowing with liquid, but there are random islands of liquid on the table – little rings of liquid, merging together. I watch them, waiting for them to evaporate. They sort of evaporate, but sticky marks are left on the table The barman can’t have used soap. My mind focuses on the circles of stickiness – they are a good focus. Nice orderly geometrical shapes.

The pub closed at midnight, and then we went to clubs. But the description I’ve just given doesn’t really change a great deal for different settings. I had a couple of drinks, but was very careful to control alcohol intake so that I didn’t become dizzy. If I drink too much (and the threshold is pretty low for me!) then sensory overload is even harder to control, and zoning out harder to stop. My friends, however, drank quite a lot, and remained alert and cheerful and able to banter and know what was going on.

Several times I thought about the fact that my friends saw this night as a good, fun, relaxing time after the hard struggle of an exam they’d just had, and I realised that in terms of difficulty – concentration-wise, focus-wise, effort-wise – I would probably find the exam easier. I was amused by the irony of this. And yet I wasn’t unhappy – the people I was with were nice, easy-going people whom I like. Sometimes I’ve been out with people who seem to look down on me a little and can make snide comments, and this creates emotional discomfort as well as sensory discomfort. But this wasn’t the case here. There was friendliness and goodwill. Furthermore, I had made the choice to be there, and I was glad to be there, because I wanted to be with these people, and I was happy for them that they were so happy – and there was no doubt that they were totally enjoying the night out. And I wanted to be part of that – to share that with them, by being there.

I was also aware that, sensory-wise, the pubs and clubs we went to were not the loudest, and they didn’t have the intense flashing lights that make me automatically zone out. I’ve been to clubs that are so loud, with such intense flashing lights, that I’m actually unable to make myself focus, and zoning out no longer becomes an option that I can prevent by concentrating. So it was nice to have a night out where, although there was sensory overload, I was able to keep hold of some kind of focus.

And yet there remains in my mind a complete lack of understanding of the appeal of this sort of night out. Why do people choose this sort of experience as pleasure? And how does it function as a sort of relief from the stress of exams and a way of celebrating? I don’t get it at all. All I do is observe that it clearly does function in this way, and thus I speculate that the actual experience others get from this setting is totally different from the experience I get.

Overloaded: what it feels like

Right now I’m feeling sensory overload, and my head feels all scrambled. I really do not feel like writing a blog entry – I feel like hiding under my duvet – but it occurred to me that it would be good to try to write about it when I feel like this, because it’s immediate and I can explain what I am feeling. If it’s a bit jumbled, I apologise, but it will hopefully show how my mind works when I feel like this.

The kind of overload I get is not just sensory. It’s also an overload from too much information in general – doing too much, spending too much time with people (and of course ‘too much’ is a relative term, and will be different for each person, and will depend on all sorts).

I’ve spent quite a bit of time with people lately, and right now I’m thinking I do not want to spend any more time with people. So I thought I would like to explain why this is, because often people have a stereotype that people with Aspergers aren’t interested in people, don’t care about people, etc. And this is really not the case. So I will explain.

I find people fascinating. From a very young age, I read novels, because to me they were a great way of understanding people. There is also a stereotype that people with Aspergers don’t read novels, and while this may be true of some people with Aspergers, it is not true of all, and certainly not true of me. To me, people have always been a fascinating puzzle (you know how people depict autism as a missing jigsaw puzzle – well, to me, autistic people are the easiest to understand! It’s the other ‘normal’ kind who are the puzzle!).

The puzzle was much more manageable in novels – there was no sensory overload, no auditory processing issues, no multitasking oftrying to read body language, words, and meaning. Just words on a page. I learnt a great deal about people by reading. As a child and teenager, I didn’t speak much to people – I found them too overwhelming and confusing – but as I reached adulthood, I decided to try getting to know people. I wanted to understand people, and to talk to them and spend time with them. I made myself do this.

And here is the result. I found that being with people could be very rewarding. I could enjoy their company and find them fascinating to talk to. Obviously some I felt more comfortable with than others, and some I felt uncomfortable with. Small talk confuses me. I prefer talk that goes beneath the surface. So with people I know a bit better and can talk about more meaningful things with, then I feel more comfortable. But at the same time, being with people is extraordinarily exhausting.

If I don’t know the people well, then the unsureness of what to say and how they are interpreting me, and the attempts to analyse this, are very tiring. But even if I know people well, and am comfortable with them, being with other people requires an extra layer of awareness that being alone doesn’t. You are always aware of the presence of the other person as well as your own presence. You’re aware of the other person interpreting you, and your effect on the other person. If you are close to the other person, it’s not so much a question of anxiety obout being wrongly interpreted, but more simply a multi-tasking thing. It’s so much easier to have no other person to keep track of in my mind. When it’s just me, I can lose myself in whatever I’m doing.

So, while I enjoy the company of others, I also need a great deal of time alone.

Some other things that affect me are weather, diet, and exercise. While sitting out in the sun can be nice for a while, it leaves me exhausted afterwards. As for diet, all kinds of things affect me badly – processed food, caffeine, sometimes wheat. Exercise is a difficult balance – the right amount gives me more energy, but a bit too zaps all my energy. Another factor which applies to females is the menstrual cycle. I understand that one is not supposed to talk about such things, but quite frankly, I think it could be useful to talk about this, in case others are affected in the same way. In general, for all women, not just those on the spectrum, PMS causes the body to be more sensitive to sensory stuff, and more fatigued, and also causes an inner feeling of mental tension. For someone on the spectrum who already has sensory sensitivities, is easily fatigued, and also easily feels mental tension, then this time of the month can be quite disabling.

Right now I have PMS and I have also been out in the sun for a walk with other people, and have in the past few days spent quite a bit of time with other people (whose company I enjoy). The effect on me right now is as follows: My head feels like it’s all over the place. I am finding it hard to concentrate and I feel hot and prickly and unsettled. I am sitting on my bed, but a while back when I was standing up and on the phone, I was pacing back and forth, feeling a strange unsettled feeling. I want to shut my eyes and stop writing this. The laptop is hot on my lap, and my neck aches and my eyes ache and I half want to scream and half want to hide under my duvet. I can’t tell if my body wants sensory stimulation or lack of it. I felt the need to turn on music (which I don’t like to do very often) but as soon as I was listening to my favourite music, I realised my body was at a heightened intolerance to it – the music seemed to be prodding my head and somehow intruding uncomfortably into my body. And this is quiet relaxing music.

I am very tired. And hot and cross and not wanting to write this blog post, but not really wanting to go to bed, because I’m not feeling settled, but still my body is heavy and tired and my eyes are closing. I feel dizzy and my tummy hurts – sharp stabbing pains. My mind wants to focus but darts back and fro. My eyes are closing so much I have to sleep right now, but I want to post this. I’m trying to find a way to end the post, to tie up the loose ends and give some good advice, but my mind can’t focus and I’ve lost track of the entry as a whole, and how it began, and I feel too tired and unfocused to read it through.

So this is me in ‘overload’ state. The solution for me, right now, is to go to sleep!