“Now don’t bite my head off when I say this….”
The face across the table moulds itself, an approximation of somewhere between bracing and trying not to laugh. Obligatory lemonade to hand, ice cold to combat the weather, I try to hide my face and look away. Eye contact has never been my strong suit, even when ‘performing’.
“You’re Autistic - and you have Long Covid. You need to learn to give yourself a break.” And now I want to bury my face, to never see the rest of this universe, having been found out. It’s not the first time, nor will it be the last time.
We are told ‘you are young - go back to work! Learn on the job, you’ll get there in the end!’ What happens when you need to redraw the fault lines as to what that means?
The BBC adapted A Kind Of Spark, a book by Elle McNicoll, on to the big screen; this was broadcasted in April, and showed the first depiction of Autistic burnout on screen. Asides from the hideous recurring Covid 19 fatigue, a separate issue related to another diagnosis, this mirrored exactly how I felt. You perform too long and then what happens?
I’d wake up dreading having to open my laptop, or even to begin writing; pretty much everything felt ‘too much’, and needed a level of masked performance to just cope. (And that’s not healthy.) Pain levels were making a comeback.
I took myself off to the sea, having spent almost the entire preceding week in bed - only getting up for food and occasional phone calls. No deadlines, no appointments, a limited internet connection and faulty phone signal - no ‘performance’ needed for a time. No more ‘you should give this a chance’ even though access is your right.
Time to down tools was harder than I thought. I kept a small(ish) diary over the course, to see if anything would be learned.
Spoiler: it’s a long one. But I won’t be here for August - everything will be scheduled ahead of time.
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