An Autist & a Motorcyclist
A short story on the struggles from noise pollution as an adult autistic woman.
I am autistic. I was diagnosed this year as a 39 year old and I am currently recovering from domestic violence, then my former husband’s tragic death (almost two years ago exactly), and over a year of constant mold exposures. To say the least, I am like an open ended nerve ending that is inflamed to the core.
The other day after picking my daughter up from her summer camp at our town’s Community Center, we were peacefully hanging out at the playscape. Out of nowhere comes this single motorcycle BLASTING music through his taped on stereo.
Now, I am all for freedom of speech, action, wants, etc. especially since I used to ride a Vespa and still have my motorcyclist endorsement. I have even been hit by a car, squashing my scooter and fortunately not me, but left me with chronic pain and a strained spine. It was probably the reason my husband died from a blood clot since he got in a bad accident in his teenage years altering his gait and entire skeletal structure.
Still, even with these empathies toward those on two wheels, as a highly sensitive person, the sounds of Harleys and these big motor bikes is HELL for me. When it comes to the incredible disturbance of my state of mind due to HIGH VOLUME rock ‘n roll, I literally lose my sh*t.
AAAAAAAAARRRRGGGHHHHH!
Now, this motorcyclist does not move on through the neighborhood so his music does not dissipate into the distance, like usual occurences where I wait out the noise. NO! He decides to circle around the community center a few times, and then park his motorcycle across the street with the engine running and music continuing to blast.
It’s instantaneous how my nerve endings trigger a fight, flight or freeze mode (or fawn if you will). I cannot just shake this off. After years of passivity with a body frozen in emotions and trauma, I cannot just sit and wait it out. I take action and decide to voice myself.
I shout at the top of my lungs to this motorcyclist across the street to turn his music down. I had my ear plugs in and could not function. This noise pollution was taking over every cell of my being.
Of course he does not hear my yelling above his music. I tremor as I get closer to him to tell him to shut the music off. He purposely ignores me.
It reminds me when I was screaming for the police to come help me when my husband was trying to take my daughter from me.
Shaking to my bones now, I confront him, face to face. Shouting so much it hurts my lungs and head. He turns the music up. He then says he cannot hear me sarcastically and begins laughing.
I get in his face and scream “TURN DOWN THE MUSIC, I AM AUTISTIC AND SO IS MY DAUGHTER”. I want to push him away, like I had to with my husband.
He starts calling me crazy with other profanities. Is this assault in a different form? It feels like it to me.
I am raging Kali at this point. I am also screaming and swearing at this guy. I have strong mirror neurons, so I copy what’s in front of me especially at high emotional times like this.
It reminds me of all the arguments and fights I would have with my former abusive husband. Always having to submit to him since he could shout louder and say meaner things to me. He also would get physical if I tried to leave.
As this intense experience is happening and flashbacks of being choked and wrestled to the ground, this motorcycle MFer finally gets on his bike and leaves as he sees the cops rolling in.
I break down and start bawling. Panic attack almost settling in. I tell the police officer what just happened, he gives me no comfort. I am left to my tears and complete exhaustion taking over. I shamefully walk to my car as I feel all those violent emotions I kept inside boiling up to the surface with this aggravated and aggressive experience.
Why do people not understand noise pollution and sensitivity? Why do motorcycles have to be so f’ing loud and aggressive? Is there some sort of ego issue here? Do motorcycle men (and women) need to prove their worth through loud heavy moving things? Why do people on motorcycles think they can do whatever they want with no impact on others?
Why is this culture so aggressive? Why has my sensitivity been shamed my whole life?
Ultimate conclusion: I hate motorcycles. They are the bane to my existence. I wish I could burn every one of them and then dance near the flames in complete silence.