How to deal with an aspie meltdown




How do you deal with an aspie in  meltdown? I deal with it very badly, even though I'm on both sides of the fence. When I'm in full lava flow down the hill myself, I'm in no mood to be dealt with at all; but when RT Teen is being the lava, I feel like I should fix it.

Even knowing how he is feeling and how supremely, outrageously aggravating the whole world has suddenly become, I still tip-toe in and try to help. I poke him with verbal offers of help, I reach out a hand (I must be insane) and try to give him a comforting pat. I talk to him from a distance, hoping logic will prevail (you can guess the result).

I don't do this to make it all worse, though I know it might. I risk making it all worse to make it better. And sometimes it does help, just not very often. But there is that magical moment where you can stop the meltdown before the volcano has done more than choke out a few smoke sobs and done a bit of lava-spitting.

When RT Teen has a meltdown these days it is much more emotionally charged than when he was little and that makes it harder to deal with. When he was younger, he was a raging ball of sorrow, fury, anger, despair - you name the negative emotion and he was the raging of it. I treated him like when he was younger still and let him calm down on his own, unless there was something breakable between him and his predicted crash site.

The smallest things set him off then. Once he was given the choice between sweets and candy floss at the Christmas fair. He chose sweets and ate them, but then we walked past the candy floss stall...

The result was a full-on meltdown: legs, arms, head held in that special arc of protest which gives the lungs their best chance of shouting to the heavens. He also would not move. (Only an aspie in full meltdown can somehow be a flurry of action without moving from the spot).

In a crowded Christmas shopping centre what could I do? I couldn't let him bellow out his temper with an audience like that, so I did the next best thing: I moved him to a place where he could bellow it out in peace. I lifted him by the back of his coat (carrying him normally would have meant getting hurt by flailing limbs) and I carried him through the whole of the fair, back to the car.

The walk was a long one. At two hundred yards, it wasn't long in steps but in terms of suffering, it lasted a very long time. Right through the crowd, screaming six year old being carried by his coat, his arms and legs pointing downward but moving like his batteries were on overdrive; his head pushed back as far as he could manage while he screamed, maroon-faced, eyes clenched shut in pure, candy-floss-deprived anger.

Whispering, voices, stares, pointed fingers, tutting, shoulder-turning: a general wave of why-isn't-she-doing-anything as I struggled through the crowd. Not Helpful. What might have been helpful was to recognise I was actually doing something - I was carrying my raging child out of their way and back to a safe place.

I know now that all the whispers and condemnations were probably not what they seemed and some were a result of me feeling so watched and judged. Now, I can look at a situation like that and recognise a child on the spectrum, along with struggling parent. Then, as the parent, I felt alone amid a sea of people whose children had stopped this behaviour before they were three.

Now, with RT Teen as an almost-adult, I couldn't carry him through the town if I had to, so I suppose it's a good thing that his meltdowns happen mainly at home and are so focused on emotions rather than frustration-fuelled physical activity. But even so, you can look to the child he was to see what must be done.

If someone has reached the stage of meltdown, be they child or adult, and you have missed your chance to stop it before it starts, then all you can really do is make sure they are safe (and the rest of your house/pets/family are safe) and let them be.

You know that volcano analogy? Imagine you could pop a top on it, just as it's about to erupt. The relief as the lava is held in, the terrible, ravaging destruction is stopped, the world is safe. But then, you know, volcanoes do not erupt because of forces coming down on top of them, do they?

They erupt because of pressure building within, beneath the seen, under the visible part. They erupt because they are forced to and nothing in the world can stop them reacting to that build-up of pressure. The only way to be rid of the pressure is to allow it to pass.

Putting a lid on it and forcing down the eruption does nothing to stop the pressure building underneath. What it does is the opposite. That pressure now builds even more, it has to if it is to escape and re-set the balance. It now has to push against your imposed control, as well as what has built up within the volcano. It has to break through two barriers instead of one. And the eruption, once the pressure builds enough, is far, far worse than it might have been.

When your aspie is having a meltdown, try to help if you still can. Otherwise let them be, let it out, let the pressure rip through the air instead of through your aspie's feelings and defences - and then through yours. Let the meltdown do what it is designed to do, which is to reset the balance.

And when it is over, take comfort from the fact that if your aspie did not erupt and could not let go of the pressure, they would not be the person you know between times.

How to deal with an aspie meltdown? Just be there, somewhere, for when it's all over.

Amanda




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Conversation Code




Category: Conversation

Sub-Category: Small talk/gossip

Subject: Mrs Neighbour and her front garden

Response Required? Y/N

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N

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Y

Y...Y

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Subject: Mrs Neighbour and her front garden (continued)

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Y

(respond that if front garden such an issue why not finally confront Mrs Neighbour and solve issue)

Interruption in conversation - restart? Y/N

Y

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Y (please)

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Amanda




My books and writing blog, with free stuff.
Find me on Facebook.and Twitter!

The Disgruntled Aspie



It stands, like a disgruntled bull at the farm gate, watching you as you cross the kitchen. You are followed, the angry eyeballs moving only to track your progress as you tip-toe past on the way to the bread.

'Would you like a sandwich?' you ask, your voice an imitation of innocence. You know your aspie won't have a sandwich, it's the wrong bread, but you pretend not to know and ask anyway, just to break the thunderous silence.

The silence holds, then an exhalation like hornets exiting stage left as your aspie loses the fight between frozen anger and needing to answer a question when it is asked.

'No,' they manage, breathing in, then out, then failing once more to resist routine, 'thank you,' they add, angrier with themselves now as well as you.

You make the sandwich, very conscious of the laser-beam gaze fixed on your back. In trying to pretend normality, you hum a little tune, like you do when you are on your own in the kitchen. Big mistake.

'Stop it!' a strangulated whisper comes from your aspie. Yet another misdemeanor to add to your list. Or their list, you can never tell whose list it is anymore.

'There's yoghurt in the fridge, would you like some?' you venture, feeling awfully brave. If people who understood could see you now, making conversation with a fiery aspie, they would be very proud.

'Ungh!' Your aspie sounds like they just bit their tongue but you are complicit in the ways of such creatures and know the pained squeakish grunt means they are biting back a torrent of flaming fury because you asked another question and now they have to answer it.

'It's cherry!' they gasp, forcing out the reply. 'I don't like cherry!' they add, getting a better hold of their temper and fanning the flames again.

You sigh. This isn't going well. You did hope that by ignoring the steaming firebrand in the middle of the kitchen that you would also avoid the meltdown associated with your terrible crime. But it seems that pretending everything is fine is not going to make this go away.

You sigh again, opening your mouth to say something mollifying, still hoping for salvage.

'It's not like I ask for anything!' The wailing starts from behind and you pause, hand on cheese. 'I only wanted one afternoon to myself!!'

You take your hand off the cheese and look longingly at the waiting bread. Oh well. Turning to face your aspie, you rearrange your face into what passes for I'm Not Going To Lose My Cool and open your mouth again.

Sensing comforting words, the aspie gets in first, keen to stop you from minimising their suffering. 'And I am not making a fuss about nothing!' The hands clench at the sides and the face thrusts forward.

'I know you're not,' you say, accidentally doing an eye roll. As usual, the aspie who notices no expressions ever sees this one thing and takes complete offence.

'Stop rolling your eyes at me!' they shout and turn on their heel, ready for the Storming Out. At the last second, they pause to look back. 'And for what it's worth,' they add, looking justifiably superior, 'I might have wanted to come to the birthday party, if you hadn't sprung it on me.'

The feet march off, the aspe body marches almost in tandem with the feet and the kitchen is clear once more. You turn back to the cheese, thinking how nice it is to have uncomplicated dairy in the room instead of an aspie.

Soon you will have to risk offending them again by re-springing the party invitation. Until then you know to enjoy the quiet time in between, just you and your sandwich and maybe a little glass of something later. With a bit of luck your aspie will sulk all the way through your favourite show and you won't have to swap over to Trucks That Tumble again.

Perhaps tomorrow you could bring up the party? Or maybe the next day? Sometime soon anyway. You have only a month between now and your brother's birthday to convince your aspie to come along. And you know your aspie hates having these things sprung on them.

What was your brother thinking, only giving you four week's notice? Does he not know you need lots of extra time to spoil your aspie's day/afternoon/morning/bedtime? Does he not realise how horrid you will have to be between now and then, with all your awkward silences and making of sandwiches?

Sighing happily, you retreat with your sandwich, pausing a moment to listen for the keyboard clicking in the other room. Safe.

Nodding to yourself, you settle down, ready to recharge for the next time you need to corral your aspie into doing something awful, against their will and just because you want to spoil their day.

Amanda




My books and writing blog, with free stuff.
Find me on Facebook.and Twitter!