Autism: Wish He Got It

05 Dec

After thirteen years, I wish he could understand this. I would think I had expressed it well enough in the past. I know that he doesn’t like to be controlled, but I wish he would realize that my response… this need… isn’t about controlling him. It isn’t about him at all. It is about me.

My energy had been overwhelmingly low, yet we had company coming – so I had to push myself to clean. We didn’t even have much warning, as he called the night before to let us know that he was coming. It was my day to clean, but then it was also a holiday – meaning that my husband would be home, which makes it near impossible for me to move. My issue, I understand. I just really struggle when other people (my husband included) are around to be able to do anything.

Well, I got up, and pushed myself right from the beginning. I didn’t even have breakfast before I started cleaning, for if my son was up, I would have to wait most of the morning even to start the laundry, while waiting for him to have his shower. I cleaned the bathrooms, changed the sheets on the ‘pink’ room bed where he would be staying (my husband uses that room part of every night when he wakes up and doesn’t want to disturb me… speaking of which… but that is another story) I made my bed, and then I went to the kitchen to get my breakfast.

Breakfast is always hard for me because it seems everything I would like to eat makes me feel sick – and I already start every day nauseous. It is much worse when I wait to eat. I don’t do well at all with low blood sugar; a place I get to really fast.


So I walked into the kitchen feeling overwhelmingly hungry, and nauseous, and… not good. I was met with an overpowering smell of sausages cooking. Thirteen years and he still doesn’t get it. I don’t know whether he thinks about it and ignores me, feeling like I am being unreasonable – or that he doesn’t think about it at all. Whatever the cause, I really wish he would understand this, and I was really hoping that when they explained my sensory issues, that he would realize this isn’t about him, and I can’t ignore things like this.

I know that lots of people eat sausages and such for breakfast. For me, however, any strong smell in the morning will cause me to… fall apart. I would say “be sick” because I am, but since I haven’t actually thrown up since I had ¼ tsp of Kraft dinner nearly 20 years ago, it wouldn’t be completely accurate to state it that way – only just because it doesn’t make it past my throat, doesn’t mean it doesn’t cause severe distress, and that is what such things do to me, over and over again.

I had a moment of thought as I walked into the kitchen. Long enough to turn on the range fan, and run out of the room to ‘find something to eat so I don’t completely lose it’ when I ‘lost it.’ I must have sat rocking in that corner for nearly an hour – despite all I had to do that morning before my brother in law showed up. I couldn’t bring myself out of it on my own; I never can.

There are some things that will bring me to that point whenever I smell them (fried mushrooms, Kraft dinner, the cat box when my husband is cleaning it, or the garbage pail where dirty litter is kept when the lid is off) and others that while bad the rest of the day, are overpowering especially in the morning. Sausages are one of those, and I have mentioned that before.

Yet despite the fact that I was (not purposefully, that was where I was able to reach before I completely shut down) in highly visible distress – and it was quite obviously what he was cooking that brought me there – he didn’t try to help. He didn’t try to talk to me. He didn’t do anything at all for nearly an hour. Even then, it wasn’t until I was able to gather the presence of mind to pray that he would bring me something to eat so I could get out of this that he actually did something (“while they were still praying…”) as I was finishing the prayer he came and asked if he could get me something. “I need to eat. I can’t think,” was all I was able to get out. He brought me an orange, and some tea, and I was able to (shakily, and even more worn out for the rest of the day than I was already struggling with) carry on with the day.

I just wish he would “get it.” Though it may seem controlling to ask him not to make such foods in the morning, it isn’t actually about him at all. I just can’t. And the distress is very real, and not at all something I can ignore.


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