ADHD, Autism and me: Neurodiversity Celebration Week

Last week was Neurodiversity Celebration Week. I missed it. There was no clear deadline, my ability to prioritise awol, and the structure I always need not there. So I missed the week to celebrate the lives of us ND folk. I missed the week to write inspiring posts and celebrate our differences. I missed the annual Instagram vs Reality week where we focus on the joy and relegate the reality. Ignore the exhaustion, bluff away the burnout, deny the overload.

Finding the energy to celebrate after weeks of burnout isn’t so easy for this ND soul. Months of change and anxiety burning the bridges of my executive function and rendering me buggered. But what is an autistic “meltdown”? What does it feel like? ?For me, it’s as if I was born with a borehole in my skull. A direct tunnel to my brain. Unseen by most but there, always there. And when life gets too intense, the sensory overload kicks in, change comes knocking unannounced, and my rejection sensitivity dysphoria goes full pelt, that borehole in my brain fills with what feels like paint stripper, its slow descent into my brain melting my ability to function, to process, to think, to decide. To be.

?At first, there’s just the shock of the burn but you’ll think you’ll be okay. A little angry at yourself for letting it happen, leaving yourself so vulnerable, but assured it will pass. But within minutes of a meltdown, the reality kicks in. Surroundings and circumstances dictate how soon you can succumb. The pause button often has to be pressed for hours, sometimes even days, until it's safe to break. But when it is my ability to think, to focus, to remember, is gone. Sense is no more. My autistic twitch, the head-hitting self-harm genius of an idea my wiring thinks will clear the overload and clear the twisted picture in my head (note to bruised self - it doesn't) comes to the fore. Frightening loved ones, alarming the neighbours and triggering headaches no morning after the rave head has ever bettered. When the meltdown finally eases, the shouting is silenced, the tears wiped, and the fallout continues. My masking skills may kick in to cover the overload whilst my brain searches for a safe zone but once there the reset button powers down as my brain retreats to overload mode. Cutting out, shutting down, saying no more. I can't remember my coffee order, choose things as simple as which sweetpeas to buy, what to put on my toast, why I should shower, how to connect to the world. My stutter returns. I only eat the same foods. Over and over. Patterns and predictability become my lifeboat. Tears are a constant. Joy a distant sensation I watch in others with envy. I can’t read. Nothing sticks in my head. Messages left. Calls missed. Emails left unanswered. Music stops. The energy I once had, that puts one foot in front of the other is gone. Not just the motivation but the physical strength. I ache like the mother of all flu had camped up in my body, the pain and exhaustion like a weight I can never hope to shift. And I don’t care. My principled core, just and forever insistent on doing the right thing doesn't give a fuck anymore. The motivation, the daydreams, the planning, the ideas, all gone. Nothing really matters. Except sleep. Sleep and the comfort of a beloved box set. Of certainty. Of familiarity. Of the same. Right now that’s Friends. I know. Forgive me. Season 6, Episode 6 The One on the Last Night at the time of typing. Watching Ross, Rachel, Monica, Chandler, Joey and Phoebe. Over and over and over. Like a pizza ordering service that never stops delivering, Monica’s apartment had become my only reliable reality. ?The one where Kate has a meltdown and everything goes wonky. Again.

Obviously, because I’m writing this my latest burnout looks like it is passing. Queenie and Arnie my guides out of there. The walking begins to work. The Turner-like seascapes and green landscapes of Stanmer drag me back to life. The days are less heavy, the desire to put one foot in front of the other stronger but the exhaustion remains, as my empty head slowly refills with the usual anxieties as I let the fret of fear kick in once more. My ability to think is as bent as my sexuality. But the late-night to-do lists will begin again soon. The low-level terror that I won't remember anything, like ever, covering my days like the myriad of post-it notes on my desk. The masking is starting, the clocking of others as the copy begins and the nods of pretence as I try to hang into those conversations, those meetings, that socialisation you all seem to do so well fill my days once more. Planning lots and achieving little. Overthinking and overworking and yet seemingly still standing, always standing still.

?But yes I'm writing again. An anchor of words and self-soothing that seems cute now but I might delete later. ?Self-confessional words that render me brutally honest yet forever difficult, interesting yet best kept at arm’s length. Again. So I write a blog, create some content, and share the Instagram version of this autistic ADHDer DJ’s life. Like I do. Because I always do. Raising awareness and celebrating neurodiversity by forcing my un-fittable self to fit in. That's how it works, isn’t it? Agreeing to represent the ND whilst struggling to find NHS support for the very ND wiring that sabotages every part of your life. Booking support group sessions you’ll find impossible to attend. Attempting to pay the bills whilst declaring yourself not the most ideal of employees. Being part of something you desperately need to be part of whilst trying to protect that part of you that will never fit. Working with the overload in the hope you can find a way. Earplugs and weighted blankets, Cerys Matthews and long walks, JIM and sea-swims, Quick Calm Plans and all.

I know there are many reasons to celebrate neurodiversity. I get it. Some days this wiring of mine feels like a blessing. Hyper-focussed on details, people pleasing the details and filter-less honesty and all. But the reality is it doesn’t always. It never stops and it's fucking hard. Really fucking hard. All the autistic ADHD reels for Neurodiversity Celebration Week on Instagram won’t take that reality away. Managing the stresses, coping with the overload, pulling back on the overthinking, living on the right side of RSD, and finding a path through reality, that's the golden hour of ND life. And when you see it you share it, people salute it, and you shine because of it. It looks golden on those socials. But turning that hour into a day, a week, a life, that’s the reality we need to work on. For me, for you, for every ND soul. Whatever the hour, the week.

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