http://www.thinkingautismguide.com/2021/05/its-never-just-sandwich.html
Autistic meltdowns are one of those things we all wish didn’t happen. They’re about as much fun as being tied to a railroad track and watching the train rush you at high speed. Nobody wants to melt down. It just happens.
There’s a lot of reasons why. We autistic people live in a world not designed for us. It’s noisy, and full of distractions. The way we communicate isn’t recognized or respected. We’re told, directly and indirectly, that it never will be unless we communicate exactly as everyone else expects. Our coping mechanisms (like stimming and unusual hobbies) are vilified and punished.
We develop comparatively rigid habits and preferences as a result of this unfriendly, unfair, and frustrating world. It’s a way of making a small part of the world more friendly. Small things, at least, can be designed for us. When those small things are violated, it’s upsetting. It’s really less about how the sandwich is cut. Rather, it’s about having that small thing we relied on to keep us sane taken away. Typically, our reliance on that thing is belittled on top of the violation, which only hurts and stresses us more.
Autistic meltdowns are what happens when the body and mind get too wound up from the stress, anger, and frustration. It’s never just one thing. It’s never just a sandwich cut the wrong way, or a flickering lightbulb, or one person being rude for no apparent reason. It’s all about how much we’re already putting up with.
An Overall Burden
It’s the last metaphorical straw on the metaphorical camel’s back. Or, a more solid comparison might be the first World War. The war began after the Archduke Ferdinand, the heir to the throne of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, was assassinated. If you ask most historians, they will tell you this incident was the spark for the World War. But it was not why the war began.
There was, in fact, a great deal of tension between the European countries at the time, as well as an ongoing arms race and some smaller conflicts called the Balkan Wars. The Archduke’s assassination did not cause these circumstances. Rather, it was likely the opposite. Because of all the circumstances around the assassination, the repurcussions devolved into the largest war the world had ever known.
This building of tensions, with specific incidents that paved the way, is very much how I experience meltdowns. Except the incidents are much less notable than an arms race and the Balkan Wars. They’re less notable because they happen every month, every week, sometimes even every day. In small but meaningful ways, the world and the people around me cause me suffering, and that suffering builds up over time.
Personal Examples
In my own life, it’s things like my spouse leaving piles of dishes in the sink for a day straight. (This is either because he doesn’t see them, or because when he does, we’re just heading out the door.) It’s ducks cackling loudly at 2am or landscaping machinery at 7am, waking me from badly-needed sleep. It’s trying to have a conversation with someone, only to see them giving you the “what a weirdo” look or being rude for no particular reason. Or someone choosing to pull their mask off their face indoors mid-pandemic, essentially saying that their personal choices are more important to them than other peoples’ lives.
It’s babies screaming because they’re hungry or wet or suffering some kind of sensory overload themselves. It’s stupid store policies that demand their employees greet every customer at the door whether they want to or not. (These add an extra, very unwanted, social interaction I don’t want to handle and don’t know how to handle to every shopping trip- ugh.) It’s even stuff that’s really only my fault, like people I vaguely know greeting me by name and the ensuing panic attack when I realize my face blindness has once again screwed me over- I have no idea what their names are.
Maybe most lastingly, it’s painful miscommunications between me and people I love. Things that turn into boomerang memories. Stuff that sticks with you just to torment you later. Words people can’t or won’t say to you because you were supposed to know already, and didn’t. Uncommunicated expectations, like criteria set up specifically to make you fail. Family and friends that turn away from you. Assumptions about what you meant, all while they ignore what you actually said.
Inescapable
And over all of it looms the indelible knowledge that all these misunderstandings are your fault. Even though they’re not: the research shows us that autistic people interact just fine with other autistic people. Communication is a two-way street. If neurotypical people were truly so wonderful at communication, they would have no issue making themselves clear to autistic people, and the problem would only be autistic people communicating back. But that’s not how it is. The communication failure is on both ends.
This failure on both sides is a known fact. But in the same way we’re told that women can’t be beautiful unless they’re impossibly thin, the people and systems around us insist that every failed interaction is the autistic person’s fault. That everything would be fine if autistic people just disappeared. It’s hurtful, painful, and for many of us, inescapable. Like the ridiculously unhealthily thin standards of beauty for women, and the impossibly chiseled abs on male models (achievable only by being dehydrated for days at a time), this toxic mentality becomes internalized.
With all of that hanging over us, it’s no surprise that it all becomes too much sometimes. And we haven’t even started adding in the things that typically stress people out, like paying bills, job hunting, commutes, any form of public speaking, or other large life events, like moving, the death of a family member or friend, or living in a global pandemic.
Autistic meltdowns are a natural reaction to the building stress of living in a world not designed for us, among people that don’t understand us and often won’t try to. Punishing us for having them solves nothing. Yelling at us only makes them worse. Instead, please recognize why we’re upset. Don’t get angry or defensive or upset with us. As the article’s author says, a dark room, a cool drink, and clear, simple communication are your best bets.
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