It’s a simple image, grandparents surround by their grandchildren. It’s a family celebration of their golden wedding anniversary, and part of that is taking photos outside of their house; everyone is dressed up nicely in new clothes, most likely brought for the special occasion. The oldest, and thus tallest, grandchildren stand at the back, while the two youngest stand one either side of the sitting-down grandparents. Everyone is smiling, including the girl to the right. However, she has blotchy cheeks as she does so. Her smile is not quite as genuine as the others, even though she’s delighted to be there. She’s been crying but hopes it doesn’t show. The girl to the right is me.
It’s lovely to stay with – or near by – my grandparents, their house has always seemed to be a happy place for me. I’ll never forget, nor fully lose, the excitement associated with the early morning get-up to visit them. Admittedly, it’s the only time I willingly get up before 7am. There’s memories of dressing up with the specia
l dressing up clothes, kept in pink cardboard chest in my grandparents bedroom, or playing shops with the set of small cardboard boxes and plastic tins, using the plastic shopping basket they were kept in. As I’ve got older, the memories are more of interesting conversations with Grandpa and height jokes with Nan. Memories extend further than this, though, as most surfaces and walls hold pictures frames, displaying other memories. These range from school photos of us grandchildren and graduation pictures of both children and grandchildren to holidays in a variety of locations and or important birthdays. And, of course, among them is the golden wedding anniversary picture.
I remember it surprisingly well, but then again, I often do with days like this. I’m fairly certain that we – my mum, dad, brother, sister and I – were staying with my auntie, although there’s a chance we were at a hotel. This time is not quite as clear as later on that day would become. We’d gotten dressed up into our nice clothes and headed to our grandparent’s house. There, we chatted a little, before preparing for pictures. It was just before we would begin taking them that I realised something: I’d forgotten my jewellery.
I was only eight, and the jewellery was not impressive nor important. I believe it was a necklace with my name on that a friend had brought me from her holidays, and possibility a bracelet too. It wasn’t important but it distressed me in a way that’s difficult to explain to neurotypicals. I was supposed to wear it. I’d packed it for the reason of wearing it. It then felt wrong without it. It then began: the meltdown.
I didn’t have a word for it at the time, and to everyone – including myself – it seemed like a childish tantrum. It’s important to distinguish that it wasn’t. I’ll go more into this is the next post I have planned, set to work on the informative side of this but for now, here are the simple differences: it didn’t have a purpose, I wasn’t looking for a reaction, I wasn’t trying to communicate something I wanted. I was distress by the situation not being as I expected.
Looking back, it seems small. I have meltdowns quite a lot, I always have, but they’re normally over larger things than forgetting something, unless things have been getting to me. Maybe the noise of everyone greeting each other, the social event, the eye contact I was making or the difference in routine contributed in some way? Maybe it’d been things from weeks ago that I’d pushed down that resurfaced? Maybe I wasn’t fully physically well, making me more vulnerable to such a meltdown? Maybe I was still adjusting to the first-time-ever-worn clothes? Or maybe it was simply the necklace and the necklace alone.
Whatever caused it, I vividly remember having a meltdown in my grandparents back bedroom. I remember a lot of tears, difficulty breathing and general confusion. Again, something I plan to go into next time, but I can only describe it briefly as being in the sea, trying to swim but the waves are too harsh so you give up. It’s hard to focus on what is actually around you, the creatures you might see or the brilliant day it is, because you’re dealing other things.
I can almost hear my mum reassuring me that it’d be okay, to no avail. At the worst point in a meltdown, I can’t be calmed. You’ve got to ride the waves with me for a while, before we begin to swim again. My cousin came in, a couple of minutes later, kindly offering me her necklace, but I declined. It didn’t change the fact I’d forgotten my own. Again, float before you swim.
When the height of it all passed and things began to get better, a level of panic set in. Cue the next stage of the meltdown: desperately trying not to cry because you’re worried of how the blotchy face will show in the pictures, but crying seeming like the only way to deal with the anguish caused by the situation.
I think, more easily consoled this time around, my mum dusted a little powder onto my face to reduce the redness, while she reassured me that I didn’t need a necklace, it probably wouldn’t be noticed in the pictures anyway. The same with my red face. To be fair, it isn’t that noticeable, but photos, for me, have always vividly triggered memories. Combined with the fact meltdowns have always remained in my mind, more vivid than photos maybe, mean I remember it clearly.
The rest of the day, once again, falls into the realm of a blur. Nothing is quite as prominent as the meltdown, but I’m sure I loved the time spent there, as it was time spent with my grandparents and family.
This post is something that’s been playing on my mind recently, and as I mentioned, I hope to create more informative follow-up. It’s a reflection for me, part of collection of them I’m beginning to post, on autism things that I didn’t know had a name at the time.
Finally, I’d like to thank my wonderful Nan and Grandpa for supporting me through everything and accepting me for who I am. If you end up reading this, I hope you remember how wonderful you are (and how short you are, Nan, not that I’d ever let you forget!)
Organised Chaos 