No Wonder I Cry In Public So Much; and Yelling At Me About It Isn't Going To Change ANYthing, Broski

Growing up sensory: as an adult I have been given to understand that most people can't hear the high-pitched whine of electricity. Aren't bothered by lightbulbs vibrating against glass fixtures if the size is wrong.

When I was growing up my parents would naturally plan for us to go to places when the foot traffic was lightest, the saturation of people was lowest - when it was quietest. Sensory friendly, I guess? And so I never thought twice about it. That was just the way we Did Things. Kind of like how my mom and I covered our heads during church or prayer with scraps of lace, how there was a very specific version of benediction that we preferred, and drinking anything other than powdered milk was incomprehensible. We were encouraged to "mask" in public, and roles and rituals needed to be very strictly observed.

Now, I realize all this was just protective and insulatory. My niece's autism diagnosis was surprisingly well-received by my parents. My mom has said she thinks maybe she's autistic. My dad hasn't really said, but he clearly is - and looking back was prone to meltdowns and shutdowns. At the time I couldn't understand why he didn't just calm down because his behavior was disruptive to the rest of the family. Now I relate. And, I mean, my brother and I melted down then too. But we were encouraged to just ride it out in our rooms alone. And come back when we were ready to mask again.

It's tricky because couldn't that just be...mental illness? Yes. Of course. And...couldn't that just be a personality disorder being passed down from generation to generation? Yes. But I wonder if my niece, diagnosed at 2 years old had really had time to acquire a personality disorder, you know?

At one point soon after starting therapy five or so years ago I walked from my (chaotic) classroom to the (typically orderly) backroom and noticing at the desk I was approaching there was a small mess of some kind next to the keyboard. My eye alighted on the mess and clear as day in my head I heard, "FUCK YOU." And anyway that's sensory overwhelm for you.

The mess, the noise, the lights, the tactile sensation, the needing to keep yourself still - they all say: FUCK. YOU.

Okay. Time to clean up the frat party situation downstairs from last night, go to the trampoline park, and go work a store I never usually do that is my store's arch-nemesis.

Bye! And hey - you're doing a good job. This is HARD, man.