How Autistic Meltdown Feels — Understanding Autism/ADHD

I think this one needs an introduction…

Hi folks.

I hope you’re doing well.

Before we jump into the article proper, I think this one needs a little bit of an introduction because we’re doing things a little bit differently to normal.

First thing to say is that this article is hella long. Even for me. It’s over 15,000 words all told and Medium thinks it’ll take an hour to read. So, you know, take breaks. Any time you see a page break or a bold title, that’s a good place to pause.

I had considered posting this article in sections, but I didn’t want to start talking about this topic without offering resolution in the same article. I think that’ll make sense as you read it. You know, the three of you who’ll make it through the whole thing. You’re the real ones.

Second thing is: I’m fine. This article is quite (excruciatingly) personal and, as the youths say, it gets ‘real’. Autistic meltdown is a hugely emotive topic for me. In other words, we’re going to some emotional places and it might be tempting to worry about me (Mum). So, I wish to reassure you all ahead of time: I’m fine. I’m writing from a solid emotional place and there’s no need to worry. Honestly.

Third thing is that I want to offer every trigger warning.

TW: self harm, suicide, negative self talk, depression, mental illness.

I’m sure there’s more I’m not including. Hence me saying all the trigger warnings. I’m meaning that literally. But honestly, this article is by no means an easy read and it’s probably best attempted only when you have the spoons or mental energy to do so. No-one has to read this.

The final thing we need to discuss before our feature presentation is a little more… unusual. It’s going to sound silly but this article is going to address you directly and, I feel like I need to warn you that it isn’t always going to be kind when it does. In sort of a Brechtian way if that means anything to you. At a certain point, this article is actively going to tell you not to read it. And I guess it’s up to you if you listen to it. I would understand either way. It’s entirely up to you.

On that weirdly ominous note, I guess it’s time to begin!

So, distinguished guests and loved ones, without any further ado, I would like to invite you to enjoy our feature presentation:

‘How Autistic Meltdown Feels’.

Good luck.

I get the sense that other writers choose what they write.

I don’t know why, but I get the distinct impression that when other writers sit down to write their next piece, they have options. They think about what is inspiring them. They think about what mood they’re in. They think about what their audience might want to read.

Maybe they look at what’s trending. Maybe they write something topical. Maybe they can choose to write something that won’t entirely capsize their own mental health (which would be lovely). Or, more importantly, maybe they can choose not to write something that will actively upset them.

I’m not like that.

Right. Matt, you’re not a writer. Not. At. All.

It’s hard to articulate precisely why but it doesn’t feel like I choose what I write.

So, I can only write when two things happen simultaneously. When I have time and when I have the mental capacity* to do so. I call this a writing window.

And when I have a writing window, I have to write about whatever is foremost on my mind. No matter what cool shit is in my drafts that I’d love to get to or what fun ideas I’ve been playing around with between windows, when I sit in front of my laptop to actually write, there’s always a singular idea that ends up taking over and guiding the writing process.

They won’t get it, Matt. Stop. This is a bad idea. No-one wants to hear about your writing process.

I guess that makes sense, though. You know, with all the neurodivergence and stuff.

Hyper-fixation isn’t technically an official symptom of ADHD (somehow?!), it’s something a lot of us with ADHD identify with. Whether it’s ignoring in life until I master a new hobby, losing track of time until I’ve watched every episode of a new series or listening to the same song over and over until it no longer makes you feel anything, getting stuck on one idea is definitely part of my ADHD experience.

But wouldn’t you know it, I’m double blessed because fixation is also an autistic thing too!

As The Place for Children with Autism writes:

“Fixation, or hyper-focusing on a specific interest, is a recognized feature of autism…

[F]ixations often manifest as intense focus surrounding a certain topic or area of interest. For example, a person with autism may obsessively practice a particular skill, or may read every book and article written about a certain subject.”

All this is to say that I guess that it is not at all surprising that someone diagnosed with both autism and ADHD would fixate on a singular idea during a writing window.

But I really wish it wasn’t this one.

Stop being such a martyr, Matt. Don’t write the fucking article if you don’t want to write the fucking article.

The irony is that today’s article isn’t even the one I actually want to write. I actually wanted to write about autistic rumbling.

For those new to the term, autistic rumbling is the stage that some autistic folks feel before they go into autistic meltdown. Rumbling is basically the last warning signs before a meltdown. So what I actually want to is explain what that is, how it feels and share some tips I’ve learned about how to stop the rumbling turning into a full meltdown.

But the more I started to write about rumbling, I realised that there was no way to write about rumbling without first writing about meltdowns.

Now, some lovely folks have commented that my articles take a lot to read and I want to be mindful of that.

Suuuure… All the 5,000 word articles really give off that vibe. You guys reading this aren’t believing this are you? Like, you see through it, right? He’s not being genuine. Don’t trust him.

So instead of writing a crazy long introduction to the rumbling article to get folks up to speed on autistic meltdown, I figure it’s best to write about meltdown specifically first so we’re all on the same page.

And I don’t want to do that.

I do not want to talk about autistic meltdowns.

I do not want to think about autistic meltdowns.

I do not want to remember my autistic meltdowns.

I do not want to try and feel what I felt during my autistic meltdowns.

I do not want to put myself in the meltdown mindset.

And I want to be crystal clear here.

The reason I don’t want to write about autistic meltdown is not because I’m embarrassed of my meltdowns (even though I am).

The reason I don’t want to write about my autistic meltdowns is not because I’m ashamed of my actions during autistic meltdowns (even though I am).

The reason I don’t want to write about my autistic meltdowns is not because I have done things that I know would change how people think of me forever (even though I have).

The reason I don’t want to write about autistic meltdowns is because they fucking terrify me. The fear of autistic meltdowns keeps me up at night. I can not think of a single thing I wouldn’t personally do, a single sacrifice I wouldn’t personally make or a price I wouldn’t personally pay to make sure no-one ever had to go through an autistic meltdown again.**

I don’t want to do this.

But, I’m in a writing window. And I don’t have a choice.

This. Fucking. Guy. Matt, who do you think you are?! Stop writing. This isn’t a good use of anyone’s time.

OK. We’ve started heavy. I’m sorry for that. And for the folks currently worried,*** I’m fine. It’s all good. Really.

I just want to make it clear how this topic makes me feel.

To be fair, if you’re wondering why I’m writing this article even though it makes me uncomfortable, that’s a totally fair question that deserves answering. There’s two reasons:

1. The reason I started writing about neurodivergence was to write the articles I wish I had read when I was trying to figure out how my mind works decades ago. To write what younger Matt would have benefited from reading. Because I reckon if I had read an account of how autistic meltdowns feel as a teenager, my life could easily have been completely unrecognisable from my life today. In a good way. Don’t worry, we’ll get into it.
2. I recently watched a YouTube video that blew me away and left me feeling so incredibly inspired (about 8 months after everyone else saw it). It’s the music video for a song called ‘Hi Ren’ by Ren. It’s impossible to explain it adequately (so just watch it), but Ren lays himself emotionally bare on the song and it is exhilarating. He taught me so much about my own mental health struggles and he did it by just sharing his experiences. And if he can do it, so can I. In my own way. By writing a crazy long essay. Right? Right!

So here’s the plan for this article :

• Start with some definitions for autistic meltdown
• Follow that with a few examples of how autistic meltdowns might look in practice.
• Autistic meltdown story time with Matt. Which is just great. Super fucking excited about that one.
• How autistic meltdowns feel.
• Checking everyone is OK after reading how autistic meltdowns feel.
• Some final thoughts and nuances to contextualise what we’ve learned together.
• Hover over the publish button for what will feel like the rest of time whilst having a 6/10 anxiety attack.
• Finally publish it, eat every carbohydrate and spam refresh on the article to see if anyone likes, comments or shares it. (Please like, comment and subscribe.)
• Seek reassurance from my people. Repeat ad nauseam.

Oversharing isn’t charming or clever, Matt. You’re not being funny. You’re pleasuring yourself on the page and no-one’s impressed. If you’re going to persist in this narcissistic nonsense, at least fucking get to it. People are bored and you’re not entitled to anyone’s attention or interest.

So, what’s an autistic meltdown?

Let’s not re-invent the wheel here. There are some excellent definitions out there, so let’s look at a few and see what we can learn and if we can expand on them at all.

A meltdown is an intense response to an overwhelming situation. It happens when someone becomes completely overwhelmed by their current situation and temporarily loses control of their behaviour. This loss of control can be expressed verbally (eg shouting, screaming, crying), physically (eg kicking, lashing out, biting) or in both ways.

Autism.org.uk has hit on the key point well here. Meltdowns are a loss of control due to overwhelming stimuli.

Because, if you take nothing else from today, at its most fundamental level, an autistic meltdown is a total loss of control. For whatever reason(s) (and we’ll get to it), you get entirely overwhelmed and then you’re not the one in control.

Good start. What’s up next?

Meltdowns are often the result of situations which are highly stimulating or create high levels of anxiety which feel like they can’t be escaped. When someone is in this situation their reaction is either flight, fight or freeze. If the person cannot escape that leaves two options: either fight or freeze.

Meltdowns are similar to the fight response.

When an autistic person is having a meltdown they often have increased levels of anxiety and distress which are often interpreted as frustration, a ‘tantrum’ or an aggressive panic attack.

I also like what Ambitious About Autism writes here. Again they hit on the overwhelming stimuli and lack of control and that’s important. They add the idea of being unable to escape, which is an important nuance I think.

Because autistic meltdown is a lack of control and it does very much feel like you’re trapped. You don’t want to be in a meltdown, but you can’t get out. Totally and utterly stuck somewhere you don’t want to be.

I think it’s really useful to talk about the fight response here too. Because those in autistic meltdowns are often fighting, well, fucking everything. Themselves. Their loved ones. Anything. That’s a good part of our definition too.

Last definition. And weirdly it’s from Wikipedia, which I know is a bit ‘didn’t do his research properly’ for someone who went to Oxford, but it does highlight an aspect of autistic meltdown I think is really instructive:

Autistic meltdown is a term that has been used to describe an intense and uncontrollable response to an overwhelming situation in some people on the autism spectrum.

Angry outbursts in people with autism have been referred to as meltdowns which manifest as an intense reaction that may include crying, shouting, aggressiveness, or self-harm. They can occur due to distress caused by unexpected changes, overwhelming social situations, or sensory overload.

Unlike a tantrum, a meltdown is viewed as involuntary. Tantrums often have manipulative motives, when the child learns that they cannot get what they want if they cry or scream. In contrast, an autistic meltdown is not manipulative and arises from distress. Meltdowns can be misinterpreted by first responders and law enforcement officers, leading to escalation of situations.

So again we’ve got the classics. Overwhelming response to stimuli. Uncontrollable behaviour. Fight or flight. Anger. Aggression. Yada yada yada.

But I think it’s good to highlight two more things.

Firstly, whilst most definitions are quick to point out that meltdowns aren’t tantrums, Wikipedia (I know! Weird it’s them!) does the best job of highlighting the actual difference. Tantrums have goals. Meltdowns don’t. Meltdowns are pure expressions of pain, distress and hurt. Meltdowns do not attempt to achieve anything in particular. Meltdowns are not at all capable of being productive and are not best understood as having motives or objectives. Good stuff, Wikipedia.

Secondly, meltdowns look like tantrums and are hard to differentiate, even if you are minded to look to differentiate between them.

So, if you’re not capable of expressing the fact you’re having a meltdown, or the folks you’re explaining things to don’t know what it is, or people aren’t willing to listen to you as meltdown, you will appear to the whole world as someone having a tantrum. As someone angry. As someone dangerous. As a threat. As a violent problem.

Similarly, if you don’t know you’re having a meltdown, it is very unlikely that someone will notice that for you in my experience. So that’s great.

The irony is, of course, that during meltdowns, you genuinely are dangerous. Or at least it’s a distinct possibility. You are a problem. You are a threat. But you’re not the one in control. And you desperately want to be doing anything else.

Matt. You’re saying too much. They’ll never stop judging you. You’re basically outing yourself as a dangerous robot. No-one should ever read these thoughts. Put down the laptop, buy some crisps and shut up.

That was a lot. So let’s summarise. Autistic meltdown is:

• A response to an overwhelming situation
• A loss of control of behaviour due to said overwhelming situation.
• A situation it is hard to escape from and one in which you may feel trapped.
• An extreme fight or flight response, tending towards fight.
• Often angry or aggressive in outward appearance.
• Intense as fuck.
• Without motive. Folks undergoing meltdown are not trying to achieve anything specific.
• A distress response.
• Easily confused for a tantrum
• A red flag for law enforcement, medical professionals and other authority figures.
• Very much not a tantrum. Tantrums have goals. Meltdowns don’t.
• Potentially violent.
• Potentially dangerous for the person undergoing meltdown and those around them.

Fun, right? I’m guessing that you guys now somewhat understand why I wasn’t hyped to write on this particular topic.

So now we understand what meltdown is in theory, I want to talk a little bit about the sort of things that might cause a meltdown. Because I want to put off talking about how they feel. I mean, um, because I think it’s important to know how we might find ourselves in meltdown to get the full impression of how autistic meltdowns feel.

But in order to understand how autistic meltdowns might happen, there’s something we need to understand first. And that’s the battle that I think most neurodivergents experience on a regular, if not almost constant, basis.

I call it ‘The Battle for Control’.

The Battle For Control

Obviously, I think it almost goes without saying that I have no idea how neurotypical people work.

I have no idea why you would engage in small talk. I have no idea what it’s like not to have (at least one) voice talking in your head constantly. I don’t know what’s it like to want to do something and just be able to without tricking yourself into doing it.

So I’m going to assume that neurotypical people have no idea how neurodivergent folks work. And whilst my audience is 99.7% neurodivergent (if I had to guess), in the unlikely circumstance that a curious neurotypical person ends up here by accident I want to make sure they understand what I call ‘The Battle for Control’.

Neurodivergents characterise The Battle for Control differently, but I’m pretty sure it’s something we all go through. Some people view it as them fighting their neurodivergence. Some people view it as them fighting themselves. Some people view it as fighting their worst impulse. Laziness. Impatience. Being a space cadet. That kind of thing.

However neurodivergents think of it, the common thread is that for the majority of our lives we experience a fight for control to a greater or lesser extent. Control of what, you might ask? Our thoughts. Our actions. Our impulses. Our minds. Ourselves.

You want examples? Sure! I’ll give you examples!

Each and every morning that I wake up without somewhere I have to be, I enter the Battle for Control. I want to write. I want to clean. I want to be productive. ADHD wants me to lie still, eat junk food and scroll my phone. Each and every free morning we do battle. Sometimes I win. Often I don’t.

Matt, you’re just a lazy waste of space. That isn’t ADHD. That’s being bone-fucking-idle.

Or I’m at work. I spot that the company is (hypothetically, please don’t fire me lovely bosses!) doing something immoral or illegal or against their own policies. Now, I’m a single Dad. I need this job. I want to keep my job very much and so I know I should just keep my head down and say nothing. Buuuuut… autism needs to let the world know that a rule is being broken and fix it. Autism wants me to call a meeting with the CEO to demand we get to the root on this grievous injustice. Autism wants to threaten that if sufficient action isn’t taken that I’ll go directly to the relevant regulators and report the infraction. Each and every workday we do battle. Sometimes I win. Often I don’t.

Or, maybe I’m cuddling someone cute. It happens. I’m occasionally charming and have hair from certain angles in favourable lighting. As we spoon, that person says something I don’t think is true. I want to ignore it. I want to carry on enjoying the hug. I want to start a silly conversation about something fun. Buuuuut… autism needs to correct them. Autism needs to prove they’re wrong and exactly how. Autism needs all things to be completely true and correct. So, each and every social interaction we do battle. Sometimes I win. Often I don’t.

Or you suck at dating and are trying to rationalise it? Ever consider that? That maybe you’re not all that neurodivergent after all? Maybe you’re just not as charming as you think you are? Ever think of that?

I hope that makes sense because it’s pretty fundamental to understanding autistic meltdown.

Basically, neurodivergents are constantly in tension between the ways they want to act and the ways their neurodivergence forces them to act. Between how they want to speak to people and how they inadvertently speak to people. Between how they should act and how they act naturally on impulse. Between the them in control and the them out of control.

In a way, The Battle for Control is best understood as the neurodivergent battle between the conscious and the subconscious.

I think people understand this battle differently in practice. It would be weird if they didn’t, I guess. So instead of claiming to speak for all neurodivergents,

For a fucking change….

I’ll share how I experience and visualise my own personal battle for control.

Because, for me, I don’t actually experience the battle moment to moment. I don’t really experience each individual moment as a battle between my conscious and subconscious (even if it is when I think about it). I don’t battle myself literally all the time.

The way I experience my battle for control is more like trying driving a car. Now, a better writer

You’re not a writer. How many times do I have to say it?

*cough*

A better writer would probably not spell out his analogy but you have an autistic one so here goes:

Me driving the car is me trying to safely navigate the world. And when I say safely, I mean safely for everyone. For me, for my friends and family, for people I meet in every day life. Driving the car safely is me winning the Battle for Control. I stay on the road. I park in the bays. I make it where I’m going.

I spend all day every day driving the car. Sometimes the road is bumpy. Sometimes the road is smooth. Sometimes it takes more effort than usual. Sometimes I barely notice I’m driving at all. Sometimes I can barely keep the car on the road. Sometimes I have no idea where I’m driving. Sometimes the car stalls. You get the idea.

And no matter what happens, I keep driving my car. I try to keep my thoughts on track. I try to be polite and kind. I try to act with empathy. I try to listen properly and give proper eye contact. I try not to talk over people. I try not to let the dark thoughts take me. I try to make sure I’m acting in a way that keeps everyone safe. I try to keep my car driving safely down the road.

But, of course, I’m by no means a perfect driver, literally or metaphorically.**** Sometimes I’m rude. Sometimes I miss deadlines. Sometimes I’m clumsy. Sometimes I forget to let other people talk. I’m not driving my best. Maybe I’m tired. Or distracted. Or I’m not focussing on reading the signs. So, I make mistakes but I try to forgive myself and focus on driving better the next day. It sucks but I’m learning that it isn’t the biggest deal in the world. No-one’s a perfect driver. Even if they’re neurotypical.

But sometimes I’m not the one driving. Sometimes when I get overwhelmed, someone else is driving. Someone worse. Someone who doesn’t care if they crash. Someone who doesn’t care who they hit. Someone who doesn’t care about anything. Someone who almost enjoyed causing damage and pain.

And when that other person is driving: that’s autistic meltdown.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. How does autistic meltdown happen anyway?

The potential causes of autistic meltdown

So when we’re looking into the potential causes of autistic meltdown, we’re basically looking at the things that mean I can’t drive properly.

And part of the fun is that there’s fucking tonnes of things that mean I can’t drive properly.

Now if we go back to our definitions we’ll see the same phrase repeated over and over.

‘An overwhelming situation’

So that begs the question, doesn’t it? What is an overwhelming situation for someone autistic?

Christ, what isn’t?

Another way the causes of meltdown are often described is as ‘emotional or sensory triggers’. Again suuuuuper vague.

And whilst that might appear super obtuse or unhelpful, there’s a reason that these phrases are vague. Because the list of things that might cause an autistic meltdown is pretty fucking varied.

If you read the autism websites, they will say that autistic meltdown might be caused by things like:

• A sudden change in the schedule
• Really bad news
• The inability to communicate the way you want to.
• A decision going against you (especially if you’re right).
• Making a mistake unexpectedly.
• Interpersonal conflict.
• Unfamiliar situations and surroundings.
• Fear.
• Intoxication.
• Long term stress.
• Anxiety.
• Sensory Overload. (smells, texture, light)

That’s a good starting point. I can imagine a situation where things like that could cause a meltdown in me. Because, you know, they have. There’s absolutely nothing incorrect about what I have written.

If you say so, but I highly fucking doubt that.

But here’s the thing. I wouldn’t want anyone reading this to think that I’m one smell away from losing my shit. Or that if something in my schedule changes, I’ll totally lose control of my subconscious. Or that if someone tells me bad news I’m going to automatically engage a fight, flight or freeze response.

It’s (kind of obviously) more complicated than that.

And to explain how meltdown feels, we need to talk about ‘The Mental Dam’*****

Perfect. Another fucking ‘illustrative tangent’. You know they’re clicking off with every tortured metaphor right, Matt? Literally no-one but your mum will finish this article and she’s only being polite.

The Mental Dam

Just stop.

Ok.

So, we talked earlier about ‘the Battle for Control’, or, the idea that neurodivergents often find themselves having to fight between their conscious and unconscious minds.

And one of the ways I think it is helpful to conceptualise that battle is as a siege of a big dam.

So, if you wouldn’t mind, imagine that all your subconscious impulses are like water. For me, that would be the rude thoughts I try to suppress. Stuff like the inability to be flexible, the fight responses, the thoughts of self harm and suicide, the bluntness. You know, all the bits of autism you rather wouldn’t do.

And the ‘water’ of those negative autistic behaviours and thoughts is being held back by The Mental Dam.

The Mental Dam is what stops the autistic water leaking all over everything.

The Mental Dam is your conscious mind holding back the impulses, behaviours and thoughts that your subconscious minds may force on you. In other words, the Mental Dam is a way to think of your own mental resilience to your unconscious autistic impulses. It’s your ability to cope with the overwhelming stimuli mentioned above without falling into rumbling, meltdown or any of the other states we’d rather not be in.

But, unfortunately for us autistics, things attack the dam. Weaken it. Attack it. Damage it.

Remember the ‘overwhelming situations’ from before?

Of course they do, you melon. It was literally like 300 words ago. You’re not writing for goldfish, you cretin.

That’s the siege.

Those overwhelming situations are the things that chip away at the dam. Those sensations, schedule changes, anxieties, conflicts and the infinite other things that make life challenging for folks with autism attack the mental dam. These ‘overwhelming situations’ form a constant barrage on the autistic mental dam, meaning that most days it is a challenge to keep the unconscious flood safely behind the wall.

Now, let’s have it right. Not all things chip away at the dam equally.

Some things make a small dent. A weird smell won’t break my mental dam. A doctor’s appointment being unexpectedly cancelled probably won’t break my mental dam. My friend being vehemently yet provably wrong about a movie I like is unlikely to break my mental dam. Under normal conditions these small irritations will bounce off my mental dam or make the smallest of dents.

To be totally clear, these small attacks on the mental dam can still feel unpleasant, may be experienced as actual harm and probably still need to be processed. But on their own they are unlikely to lead to a meltdown in most cases. Self soothing or adequate self-care will usually be enough to maintain the integrity of the mental dam. It heals quickly, absorbing the relatively small damage. It’s all good. No harm done.

But have you ever heard of Lingchi? It’s more often referred to as the ‘death by a thousand cuts’ in the (so called) west. It’s a form of execution where a body receives many small survivable cuts over time eventually resulting in incredibly painful death. And you can do the same to your mental dam.

I used to say to my loved ones (before I knew I was autistic) that if 3 bad things happened to me in quick succession, then I would lose it. Basically if my mental dam experienced three attacks in quick succession that would short-circuit its defences, leading to at least a rumble, if not a full meltdown. So, in my experience, meltdowns are sometimes brought on by the cumulative effects of several smaller ‘overwhelming stimuli’.

But sometimes one big thing can do it.

Sometimes one big overwhelming situation can send you directly into the path of a meltdown. These are usually bigger things. Big unexpected news. Getting fired. Death of a loved one. Sudden injury. Injustice. Lots of stuff. But for our current purposes it suffices to say that there are many individual, singular overwhelming situations that can cause autistic meltdown.

Ok, so the mental dam is our individual ability to cope with the overwhelming situations of life. There are things that constitute small attacks and situations that are bigger attacks. Makes sense, right?

Such a needy little bitch. Stop seeking reassurance and get to the fucking point. It’s been also 5,000 words and you still haven’t even started to talk about autistic meltdown feels. Matt, do you think of yourself as a liar? Or do you lie to yourself about that too?

To finish this section, there’s one more useful thing to know about the mental dam. And that is that everyone’s individual mental dam is not equally strong at all times. Sometimes defences are strong. Sometimes defences are weak. Sometimes you can tank multiple big hits to your mental dam. Sometimes the smallest incident can trigger a meltdown.

Which makes sense, right? Neurodivergent or not, we’re not all equally sensitive or strong at all times or any given time. Sometimes we’re confident and nothing can touch us. Sometimes hormones are ruling the day. Sometimes we’re hangry. Sometimes we’re irritable. Sometimes we’re chill. Sometimes we’ve got a short fuse. Sometimes we’re zen. Sometimes we need a glass of water. Sometimes we’re tired. Sometimes we’re frustrated.

And I don’t think that’s a uniquely neurodivergent phenomenon. I think that’s just being a human.

It’s also worth pointing out that this process isn’t precise at all. I wouldn’t want anyone to think that autistic people can take 3 small hits or 1 big hit to their mental dam before meltdown or anything as strict as that. It varies. Even for the same person. Whilst any individual might notice patterns to how their mental dam works, there will also and always be exceptions.

Because no human responds uniformly to emotional stimuli, be they neurodivergent or not.

There are many things that can cause a dam to fail.******

Before we end this section, it’s definitely worth pointing out that whilst there are things that will weaken our dam (tiredness, intoxication, stress etc.) there are many way that your conscious mind can maintain and strength the dam. This article is already waaaay too long so without rehearsing them all in detail, mental dams can be improved by things like:

• Self care.
• A strong support network.
• Adequate nutrition.
• Not putting yourself in risky emotional situations.
• Imagining a scenario before you do something.
• Surrounding yourself with friends and family.
• Positive self talk.
• Finding effective ways to self soothe.
• An effective plan for when you start to rumble (the warning signs of a meltdown).
• Making sure you know your own warning signs and triggers.
• Making sure your loved ones know what your meltdowns look like and can help with them.
• And many, many more.

This is always going to be an incomplete list because the whole point of the mental dam is that you use anything that works for you as an individual.

If you find that your mental dam is stronger when you play video games. Great. Use that. If you find that your mental dam is stronger when you listen to really loud music with headphones. Great. Use that. Maybe you find that the scary feelings go away when you masturbate. Great. Do that.

Classy. Fucking degenerate.

There are no wrong answers.

Because the key is to make sure that the dam doesn’t break. We make sure the dam doesn’t break at all costs. Because the dam breaking is an absolute fucking disaster.

Before I (eventually) get to what meltdown is actually like, I thought it might be useful to

Stall for time, because you’re a self-indulgent verbose dickhead intent on wasting these people’s finite lives on your inconsequential musings?

give some personal examples of things that have caused me to meltdown. Now, as my favourite Youtuber, Contrapoints, would say, this is a super fucking vulnerable moment for me. So, you know, be kind in the comments please.

Assorted Highlights of Matt’s Meltdown Triggers

Don’t do this, dickhead.

Shush.

• Being unexpectedly broken up with.
• Post partum depression.
• Depression in general.
• Accidentally mixing alcohol and codeine.
• A joke landing poorly when I thought it was a banger.
• Attempting to flirt but it coming across creepy or predatory.
• Being too drunk.
• Being too hot for too long. (Temperature-wise not metaphorically)
• Receiving a 4* TripAdvisor review as a tour guide.
• Blueberries being too expensive (as part of culture shock).
• People at work not wanting to adopt a certain safety policy.
• Being fired.
• Not being able to speak Icelandic when I feel like I should have learned by now.
• Someone starting a fight on me in a crowded bar during the Euro 2020 final.
• Unexpected public praise.
• Mum treating me like a kid in my 20s.
• My stepdad insisting I was wrong about maths when I demonstrably wasn’t.
• Haircuts not turning out like I expected or wanted.
• Being told I had to get a haircut by my parents.
• Being cheated on.
• Being roofied.
• Crashing my car.
• Being hit on by 2 sisters at once.
• The feel of microfibre cloths on a bad day.
• The kebab shop I like being closed when I’d been excited about it all day.
• My mum going to hospital.
• Being insulted in a hot tub.

I could go on forever. This section isn’t meant to prove any particular point, just to show that autistic meltdown (and the rumbling that precedes it) can be caused by a wide range of stimuli and situations.

Because I think sometimes I read the autism websites advising things like ‘avoid triggers’ and I’m worried that folks will think that that’s an easy thing to do. Like we all know our triggers and can just calmly and methodically avoid them if we put the effort in. It’s not like that.

Things will trigger me out of nowhere.

Things that don’t normally trigger me will trigger me all of sudden.

Things that I can’t avoid will trigger me on occasion.

Things that trigger me are often part of my job or family life and are therefore unavoidable.

I don’t know all my triggers.*********

Sometimes I’m triggered and I never work out why.

Again, saying this isn’t meant to mystify or excuse any meltdown or meltdown behaviour. The reason I say all this is to make it clear that the process of autistic meltdown isn’t by any means a predictable or precise one.

Whilst an autistic person might gain some awareness over their triggers, their meltdown process and how to strength their mental dam over time, I don’t think any of us would claim to have achieved full mastery over our meltdowns. Sure, it can become more manageable over time and as we gain more understanding. The more awareness I’ve gained, the fewer and farther between my meltdowns are.

But the dam can always break.

And when the dam breaks… Well, fuck.

When the dam breaks, and your unconscious and unfiltered thoughts flood out… it’s… fuck.

I mean, when the car doesn’t have a driver, people can and often do get hurt.

When an autistic person goes into meltdown, it’s fucking scary.

The only scary thing here is your unchecked ego, Matt. You realise you’re not saying anything of worth or merit, right? I know what you think. You think that you’re leaving some kind of valuable neurodivergent text for future generations, like you’re the fucking Hemingway of autism. It would be funny if it wasn’t so fucking tragic.

What Autism Meltdown Looks Like

*sigh*

OK, it’s totally fine. You’re just openly discussing your deepest fears and greatest shames. It’s fine. Totally cool. Cool cool cool. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.

The National Autistic Society says that when an autistic person is in meltdown that:

This loss of control can be expressed verbally (eg shouting, screaming, crying), physically (eg kicking, lashing out, biting) or in both ways.

Ambitious About Autism say:

While in a meltdown a person can be injurious to others or themselves because of the extreme state of anxiety their body is in. That’s why it’s really important to minimise the risk of this happening — both for the person and those around them.

Meltdowns are very physically tiring and emotionally draining for the individual. This is because the person has been in a distressing situation and has had a highly adrenalised and emotionalised response.

The Autism Society of North Carolina say:

Meltdowns can look like any of these actions: withdrawal (where the person zones out, stares into space, and/or has body parts do repetitive movements) or outward distress (crying uncontrollably, screaming, stomping, curling up into a ball, growling, etc.).

And this is pretty typical of the definitions you see on the line. A loss of verbal control. Screaming. Shouting. Violence. Self harm. Shutting down. Withdrawal.

And it’s all true. I’ve done every single one of those things during autistic meltdown and more.

But when I read this and I visualise a child out of control. A young person having a tantrum. And don’t get me wrong, a bunch of autistic meltdowns are autistic kids having what appear to be classic tantrums.

But autistic meltdowns are a loss of control. And adults lose control in a very different way to children. And teenagers lose control in different ways too.

So, because I literally can’t think of any other way to illustrate this point, allow me to share some examples of what I have done during autistic meltdowns. What I have done when the dam breaks. What it looks like when I’m not driving.**********

TW: suicide, self-harm, negative self talk and more. I know I included this in the beginning but this is the part where it gets a little hairy emotionally. Fair warning.

Matt’s Most Memorable Meltdowns

• I walked 2 hours home across Reykjavik at night (From Breiðholt to the City Centre) long main roads without knowing the way and having no charge on my phone.
• I left home as a teenager promising that I’d never come back, disappearing for hours until my parents had to search the streets for days.
• I have drunk alcohol until I’m physically sick.
• I have sung musicals at the top of my voice in residential areas during the small hours of the morning. They didn’t appreciate it.
• I went missing for a few hours after saying to my partner at the time that I was going to commit suicide. When I arrived home a few hours later, I was collected by the police and ended up in hospital on suicide watch.
• As a child, I used to bite hairdressers. Honestly, sometimes I’m still tempted to.
• I shouted directly in my boss’s face that I could do a better job than them. Actually this has happened more than once. They don’t seem to enjoy it.
• Screamed in my mother’s face multiple times when she definitely didn’t deserve it. Because noone ever deserves that. Especially her.
• I have written infinitely long emails detailing exactly how I’m right about every single detail of a perceived issue I consider myself to be right on.
• So. Many. Tears.
• Told the people I loved most that I never loved them. Most of them believed it and I was never able to take it back.
• Attempted to persuade people I love that I was toxic and they were better off without me. For hours. Most of them believed it and I was never able to take it back.
• Broken up with multiple wonderful partners who I definitely wouldn’t have broken up with otherwise.
• Quit my job when it was not financially smart to do so. At all.
• Went AWOL in Auckland multiple times.
• In fact, I have disappeared many times. Without warning to my loved ones or those expecting me. Just poof.
• I once had a panic attack that caused me to barricade loved ones in a room because I couldn’t be alone. I was terrified I was going to die.
• I once lost the ability to speak for 2 whole days and had to relearn it. No matter how hard I tried I literally couldn’t make a sound. I had to use flashcards and miming with my family at the time.
• I have fought multiple friends on nights out when I got overwhelmed, though in my defence, I think those friends would acknowledge that they started it. Especially Joe. I usually lost.
• I tried to ingest so many crisps that I vomited.
• I have deliberately pressed on people’s deepest anxieties because I know it would hurt them. I have knowingly, carefully and deliberately picked people apart until they were in tears. More than once.
• I have said the most hurtful things possible because I want people to feel as bad as me.
• Set off in random directions in both Munich and Prague during nights out gone wrong.
• In Munich, I actually got on an overnight train to Croatia in meltdown, God knows how I survived. It’s genuinely a mystery.
• I have started infinite unnecessary verbal fights with people I deeply care about.
• I have screamed and shouted in people’s faces. Even when they asked me to stop. I couldn’t stop. Even though I could see how much I was upsetting them.
• I have deliberately lost money in casinos to feel more pain.
• I have self harmed many times. I would usually do this by punching myself on my legs, head and stomach. I would do this until my body couldn’t take anymore because I wanted to feel anything else other than the meltdown.
• I have taken painkillers to try and make the pain stop. I wasn’t always the best at counting them. I just wanted to sleep.
• I have attempted suicide.*********** I genuinely consider myself lucky to be alive.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck meeeeeeee. That was terrifying.

Hey Future Editing Matt, do me a favour and don’t delete this. I know you’ll want to, and I get that, but I’m adamant this bit has to stay in. OK?

Future Editing Matt: OK, if you’re sure mate. More power to you.

Whenever I’ve read personal accounts of autistic meltdown, they talk a lot about how it feels. They talk about feeling overwhelmed. They talk about being aggressive. And then they talk about the coping mechanisms they now have and how things are much better. And that’s genuinely great. A super useful contribution to the topic of what it’s like to experience autistic meltdown. Honestly.

But.

When I read these accounts, I get the impression that they are trying to say that autistic meltdowns are not that big a deal. That it’s a bad day. Like a kid having a tantrum. It’s a rough few hours and you get through it. And sometimes it is like that. With the right coping mechanisms it may even often be like that. My meltdowns, as rare as they are now, are mostly likely that. It’s what we all aim for. It’s a great goal.

But let me be clear.

Autistic meltdowns can ruin your life.

There is someone I am no longer engaged to, at least in part, because of an autistic meltdown.

I got kicked out of University for two years because of what I did during an autistic meltdown.

There are friends, good fucking friends, that I lost forever because of how I acted during autistic meltdowns.

I self harmed for the best of part two decades during autistic meltdowns.

I lost hundreds of pounds to gambling during autistic meltdowns.

I threw away entire careers during autistic meltdowns.

I have made the people I love most cry in front of me and then continued to do so when they asked me to stop. I can still see their faces as they looked back at me. Betrayal in their eyes. Pain. Fear. Sometimes I dream about it. I can still see them all the time.

I have gone missing for hours in the middle of the night in countries where that is a pretty fucking terrible idea.

I have stood on top of a bridge ready to jump as my girlfriend and Mum desperately try to talk me down.

Such a drama queen.

I realise I’m in kind of an impossible situation here.

I desperately don’t want to stigmatise autistic people. And I realise that by listing the awful things I’ve done during autistic meltdowns I run the risk of creating a fear of autistic people. I realise that I may be creating a stigma about our community. I know I’m making us look fucking awful.

I mean, there’s a chance that maybe someone who reads this

Noone’s reading this.

might choose not to date an autistic person because they worry they might be like me. Or they stop their kids being friends with someone autistic because they don’t want them to get into fights. Or they don’t hire an autistic person because of me. And here’s the thing, based on what I’ve said I would entirely understand that.

I fucking hate that.

So I get why most people who write about meltdowns write vaguely or try to normalise the various behaviours of meltdown. They talk about a loss of physical control. Shouting. Shutting down. Tantrums. The more relatable stuff. Because by telling the truth about autistic meltdowns, warts and all, and explaining what it actually looks like I realise that I look like a fucking monster.

Because you are a fucking monster.

The reason I write this is not because I think I’m special and my story needs to be told.

If you say so, mate. Could’ve fooled me.

The reason I write this is because I know so many autistic people have been through this. I also know that so many people who don’t know they’re autistic have turned their lives upside down during a meltdown and have no fucking clue what happened or why they did what they did. I know I did.

I personally believe that information is power. I believe that the more you know, the more power you have to affect your life and the lives of the people around you. So, as I’ve said before and elsewhere, if my words can help literally one person understand meltdown and help them through it, or ideally help them avoid it, I would happily bear my most painful secrets and shames.

Because autistic meltdown is hell. And if I can save one person from hell, it’ll be a job well done.

Oh, a white saviour emerges! Thank God! And in your conception, that’s you right? That’s what you’re getting at? You’re Jesus, right? He Who Saves? All hail Matt, our Lord and Saviour! Alleluia!

We are going to talk about how to soothe and avoid meltdown at the end. It’s really useful advice and it’s a big reason why I haven’t had a meltdown in almost a year. I’d recommend sticking around for that.

But, *sigh*, we need to do something first. The title of the article is ‘How Autistic Meltdown Feels’.

Future Matt: Now it is, yes. Actually, you had different plans at the start, but all good. I’ve got your back buddy. Speak your truth.

And we haven’t talked about how autistic meltdown feels.

So let’s do that.

How Autistic Meltdown Feels (Physically)

Before I get into the juicy emotional truths and feelings we’re all actually here for, I think it’s worth spending a moment to talk about how meltdowns feel physically.

You realise this article is already over 8,000 words long, Matt? AND YOU HAVEN’T EVEN GOT TO FUCKING POINT YET! Fuck me. Hey reader, I genuinely blame you for this. Yes you. Especially fucking you. The ones still reading this far down this fucking diatribe. If you weren’t constantly simping over him and leaving positive comments and liking shit that objectively sucks, he wouldn’t be embarrassing himself like this. You should click off this right now. Do it. Leave. It’s the only way you’ll help him. Leave. It’s the best thing for him, we both know, don’t we? Then do it. Leave now.

I’m genuinely so sorry about that. It’s… you know what, we’ll get there.

As I was saying, there is a physical component to autistic meltdown, and, helpfully, it’s quite hard to describe.

Some people describe it as getting really hot. Some folks describe it as feeling unbearably tense. Some people describe pain, though it’s really hard to describe specifically. Some people experience a shortness of breath. Some folks describe something similar to what I understand panic attacks are like.

For me, autistic meltdown doesn’t have a singular distinct physical feeling. But there are definitely some physical symptoms I associate with it. And, whilst it’s not the same every single time, my most common physical symptoms include the following:

• Feeling tight. Like my muscles are all actively tensing.
• Feeling short of breath. Like I’m mid strenuous workout that I didn’t expect to be doing.
• Feeling like if I stay still I’ll explode. Flighty, might be the word? Like I need to move at all costs.
• Feeling unbearably hot. Like the meltdown is actively burning it’s way through my body. It’s mostly in my chest and head but it moves around quickly.
• Everything hurts but not in a way I experience any other time. It’s like there’s some kind of pain radiating to my limbs from my head and chest.

Here’s the thing though, every single description I’ve read about the physical symptoms of autistic meltdown ends up devolving into some version of ‘it’s hard to describe but deeply unpleasant’.

So I’ll say that.

It’s really hard to describe. But it’s thoroughly and deeply unpleasant.

That’s usually followed with a bunch of metaphors about fizzing, exploding and being a volcano. Which I think is the part we’re all here for.

So, people of all and no genders, let’s finally and without any further ado whatsoever talk about about how autistic meltdown feels emotionally, psychologically and wholistically.

You know that there’s dozens of better writers who have done this exact thing better, right Matt? Fewer words. Better words. More incisive analysis. Less repetition. Less beating off on the page. Writers that people actually read. Writers that actually contribute to the field of literature. Writers that matter. And you aren’t that, Matt. You know that. We both know that. And that’s OK. But it just makes all this a bit sad, eh? Doesn’t it? So, do yourself a favour. Delete it. Just delete it. Don’t embarrass yourself. Be kind to yourself. Don’t make them hate you more than they already do. Please, Matt. I’m worried about you.

How Autistic Meltdown Actually Feels

I want to be clear that I don’t think I’m breaking any startlingly new ground here. Dozens of authors and writers have attempted to describe the indescribable feeling of autistic meltdown and they have done a broadly admirable job.

I do not want to be nor do I claim to be the last word on autism. I am by no means an expert. I have not had any more training about autism than my own meandering life experiences. I do not claim to speak for all autistic people. Not all of our experiences are the same and I do not claim to speak for anyone but myself.************ So before I start with my own account, I want to signpost to some other excellent ones.

Duuuuude…

There is an excellent article on The Mighty that I recommend that everyone who has an interest in this topic reads. It gives 15 people’s first hand accounts of how autistic meltdown feels for them.

Here’s a few of them:

“I lose complete control of my ability to regulate my emotions — the ‘filter’ has gone, and I lose the ability to stop obsessing over whatever is upsetting me. Sometimes I have uncontrollable urges to throw things and make a psychical expression, but this decreases my ability to articulate the problem. A vicious circle. If I am scared rather than angry I will lose the ability to speak and engage with the world and will feel the need to hide in a space for hours. Always, exhaustion follows.” — Kym F.

“It’s like I’m spinning out of control — no ground, no air, no sky, just me and fear and rage and desperation. My bones vibrate, grate, splinter. My chest is hooked up to a vacuum, pulling through my chest. I wake up with bruises and cuts and scrapes from grabbing onto anything, everything that may pull me back to earth. My memories of meltdowns are usually erased by morning, and I can only remember vague feelings. If i dwell on those too long, it becomes too intense, and I have another meltdown. I’m not ashamed of being autistic. I refuse to be. Just because it shapes who I am doesn’t mean I have to let other people decide how it will. But God, meltdowns are indescribable. Too big for my small body. Too big for this small planet. Painful, like razor blades, not over your skin, but over your soul. Your entire being is twisted by an outside force, and when people say ‘it’s just a noise,” “just an argument,” they show they truly do not understand. And often, the solution is simple. Often, I’m screaming for it. Make the buzzing stop.” — Holly H.

“Just awful. Like no-one understands, everyone’s laughing or staring at you, and you’re just ‘making excuses’ or ‘making it up.’ What could happen next? I get arrested, or get hurt, or hurt someone else? Unfortunately, this does, and has, happened.” — Shaun U.

Yep. That sounds right. Reading through these accounts I found myself empathising with aspects of each and every one of them.

But there was one that hit he like a tonne (ton? tun?) of bricks. And that was the following:

“It’s like a volcano. It builds and builds, and it builds so fast into a big explosion and it is fire that destroys until everything is gone.” — Devra R.

Please shut the fuck up, Matt. Last chance.

I feel the volcano. I feel the building. I feel the explosions. I’ve seen the destruction.

*sigh*

Fuck it. We’re here now.

Let’s fucking go.

How My Autistic Meltdowns Feel

My autistic meltdowns feel like…

You know I don’t even like to think about it.

I haven’t published an article in 2 months because I knew that to do so I’d have to write this bit.

*exhale*

Remembering the Battle for Control? The car I’m driving at all times? Autistic meltdown is when I’m not driving.

Sometimes it feels like I’m not driving. Sometimes it feels like someone else is driving. Either way I’m in the boot unable to see the way and praying that I don’t hurt anyone as I careen across the road. I can feel the car driving out of control. The car is driving as fast as possible and entirely recklessly. I know I’m probably off the road. I know that people are in danger. I know I’m not driving and I know that I fucking should be.

It’s terrifying. Genuinely terrifying. People are in danger. I’m in danger. But you’re locked in the boot. You hear crashes and you pray it isn’t a person. You hear screeching tires. You hear screams.

You just have to hope the car stops and that you survive.

So, we waited 10,000 words to read ‘Autistic meltdown is like being locked in the boot of a moving car’? Pulitzer-worthy!

Honestly, now I think about it, that doesn’t really capture it at all.

OK, so remember the Mental Dam? Autistic meltdown is when the Mental Dam fails. When you’re mental defences, coping skills and conscious mind fail and become overwhelmed by my unconscious thoughts. It feels like my mind and body are being flooding by pure autism. The autism I hide deepest. By the impulses I’m most ashamed of. By the stuff no-one understands. By the stuff I hate about myself.

By anger. By judgement. By pain. By impatience. By a disregard of my friends and family. By selfishness. By thinking I’m right all the time. By being a know-it-all. By speaking before thinking. By every raw feeling I can usually process into something more useful.

And it feels like a flood. Like I’m drowning in raw emotion.

Drowning is the right way to think of it too. Because the emotions aren’t going through me. I’m not controlling them. They are entirely overwhelming me and it genuinely feels like there’s so many feelings that I might die. You hang on. You try and make it through every minute not knowing if it’s your last.

And all you can do is cling to any drifting wreckage for dear life. Survival is your only aim. There’s no space for anyone and anything else. There are no lifeboats. There’s no room for Jack on the door.*************

And it’s scary. Fucking scary.

Because you’re fucking drowning. And drowning is scary.

Super fucking insightful.

Even though autistic meltdowns never seem to last more than a day. Even though sleep tends to kill all meltdowns in the end, you genuinely feel like the flood will last forever and a day.

Meh. That’s you, friend. Matt Meh-Kenna.

Let’s dig deeper.

You know what, actually, autistic meltdown feels like being on fire. It feels like being electrified. Like energy is pouring out of your body in all directions. Like a burning fire is taking over your body. Hot. Tingly. Painful. Everything tenses.

It’s entirely overwhelming.

You know when the Doctor transitions into someone new? When beams of light shoot out of their arms, legs and face and they just stand there and let it happen to them uncontrollably. Yeah, like that.

Spoilers for Doctor Who I guess. My bad.

Except, unfortunately, I don’t turn into David Tennant. I turn into…

You. You turn into the real you, Matt.

No, I don’t like that. That doesn’t capture it at all either. It’s not like I’m dying or changing. Sorry, I can do better than that.

I struggle to believe that. They don’t believe that. Giving up is always an option, mate. I won’t judge you.

OK, autistic meltdown is what I imagine it is to become the Hulk. Yeah, Hulk-ing out, that’s a good metaphor I think.

Do I need to explain Hulking out? Probably not.

Definitely not.

But for those who don’t engage with popular culture, the Hulk is the alter ego of Dr. Bruce Banner. And when the mild mannered scientist, Banner, becomes angry, he becomes a giant monster who, depending on the story, often unthinkingly and uncaringly destroys everything in his path. In the beginning (and through most of the comics), Bruce can’t control this and lives in fear of becoming his alter-ego.

When I go into autistic meltdown I suddenly lose control. Someone else takes control. Or, in other words, I Hulk out.

Anger courses through me like a wave of energy. I feel it controlling me. I feel it taking over.

I destroy everything in my path. Relationships. My career. Objects.

I am a monster. And I need to be stopped.

There’s a scene in Thor Ragnarok that really hits the heart of this. Not the destruction. But how scary it is turning into the Hulk.

In this scene, Bruce tells Thor that he is genuinely afraid of becoming the Hulk. Afraid of losing control. Because he doesn’t want to be a monster. And the entire world seems specifically designed to stress him out.

And that’s a hard relate from me.

He also talks about being locked in the trunk while someone else is driving. Nice plagiarism. Classy move. Mediocre AND unoriginal…

But the key thing I want to get across about autistic meltdown here is that Bruce is still in there. I’m still there.

Sure, I am completely out of control. I am completely off the rails. But. There’s a voice inside screaming to stop. There’s a voice inside who knows he is not doing the right thing and is trying everything to pump the brakes. To fix the mental dam. To just stop it. And I can’t.

The Hulk is driving. I’m not.

And when Bruce says that he’s worried that the next time he becomes the Hulk, he worries he won’t come back from it… well, let’s just say that hits me squarely where I live.

Me too, buddy. Me too.

And that’s where you put on the spandex and fight intergalactic evil, right? You join the Avengers! The Great Autismo! With the awesome powers of minimal eye contact, awkward hugs and infinite pop culture trivia.

No, you’re right that doesn’t really capture it either…

I reckon you’ve gathered by now that autistic meltdown is a swirling mass of ideas. Some of them contradict each other. Some of them are impossible to describe. Some of them look different to how they feel.

Argh, I’m not doing a great job of this, am I?

So, when we have something hard to describe, I think it’s most helpful to list as many of those swirling definitions as possible to give a rounded picture of all of these feelings. Because there is no one answer, more of a hodge-podge of related thoughts and feelings.

Sure, it might not be the answer you folks are hoping for, but I’m hoping it paints something of a more complete picture. So if autistic meltdown is to certain extent not having control of the wheel, the dam breaking, exploding with energy and Hulking out (whilst not being quite any of those things exactly), what else is it?

• Autistic meltdown is internally exploding.
• Autistic meltdown is your nightmares coming true.
• Autistic meltdown is the most exhausting thing I’ve experienced.
• Autistic meltdown is you desperately trying to escape from yourself.
• Autistic meltdown is being as scared as it’s possible to be and it making you angry.
• Autistic meltdown is not always obvious. I’ve been in meltdown and not realised until waaaaay later.
• Autistic meltdown is having too many thoughts and no ability to control them.
• Autistic meltdown is the need to scream at every fucking thing.
• Autistic meltdown is being the exploding volcano, the shaken soda can, the champagne at the Grand Prix.
• Autistic meltdown is needing to tell everyone how you feel and being totally and completely unable to.
• Autistic meltdown is dialling autism to 11.
• Autistic meltdown is being as sensitive to every environmental change as it’s possible to be.
• Autistic meltdown is needing to be cared for but being incapable of being cared for.
• Autistic meltdown makes you feel spiky.
• Autistic meltdown makes you…

Matt, you know that all this isn’t true, right?

What do you mean? I mean I think that’s a pretty fair representation of how it feels.

You’re being serious?

Yeah. Whilst it’s a hard topic to cover, I think that covers the bulk of my own personal experience. I’m pretty happy with what I’ve said. It’s not perfect, but you know… it’s honest? And that’s something.

But it’s a lie?

It’s not a lie?

Oh my God, are you serious? You actually believe this shit?

It’s not shit.

Look I’m not going to let you lie to these nice idiots who are indulging you. Let me do it.

What Matt’s Meltdowns Actually Are (When He’s Being Honest)

Matt’s meltdowns are him acting like a complete and utter arsehole. He is upset over trivial bullshit and he takes it out on whoever he feels like at the time, however he feels like at the time. He decides that his feelings and ‘autistic tendencies’ matter more than other people and he makes that everyone else’s problem. He acts without thinking about others until he gets tired and realises he should probably apologise.

Then, once he’s emotionally vomited all over everything and everyone, he’ll pretend he had no choice (even though he’s actively and deliberately been a fuckhead for hours) and then he’ll eat a bunch of junk food and expect everyone to be sympathetic as if he didn’t just act like a cock for a day.

So, as you can see, dear reader, it doesn’t matter how he feels. His feelings on this subject aren’t valid. Don’t listen.

And if you don’t know, now you know.

Um, OK. I mean… there’s maybe some truth to that. But…

Some truth? That’s exactly what fucking happens! Every. Single. Time. People should know the truth. Wouldn’t you say?

I mean, I think there’s more to it than that? It’s not really my fault I act this way.

Oh sweetie, you don’t actually believe that do you? That’s just something do-gooders say to make freaks like you feel better. You didn’t think it was true did it?

I’m not a freak. My brain just works differently.

I don’t know what to say here, Matt. Losing control? Feeling like a volcano? Unable to control yourself? Is that normal?

No, but…

Right, it’s not normal. You’re a freak, Matt. Broken. Damaged. Bent out of shape.

OK, when you look at it that way, I guess you’re right.

I am right. I’m glad you finally admit it.

Yeah. You are right. I see that now. Honestly, I’m sorry it took so long.

That’s quite alright. I’m just glad you’re finally seeing sense. Now, be a good boy and tell these nice people the truth.

I don’t want to.

Do it.

Please, don’t make me.

NOW.

Please, I’m begging you.

Matt. Tell them now.

I’m really sorry folks. I thought I could do this. I thought I could give an adequate description of autistic meltdown. But I can’t. I’m not smart enough. I’m not good enough a writer

*coughs*

Sorry, I’m not a writer. And I don’t know why I’m pretended I could do it.

Yes, you do.

Right.

Tell them.

So, I guess you should all know that I’m a rampant egotist. I have a bit of a God complex and sometimes

most of the time

most of the time I think that I have something important to say.

And do you?

No.

Why’s that?

Because I’m not a good person.

Good. More.

I’m a horrible person. I’ve done so many horrible things. I’m a danger to others. I mean, you guys have read this far right? You read the list of things I’ve done. Why would you listen to me? About this or anything.

So what should they do?

So reader, please don’t read this. Please ignore anything I’ve said. Please don’t click on my articles any more. Please leave and don’t come back. You’re better off elsewhere. It’s for your own good, I promise.

They won’t leave because you ask them. Tell them they have to. Make them.

Please. Don’t make me do this. I don’t want to do this. I’m begging.

Do it.

…

DO IT

Hey reader. You. Yes you. Fuck you.

Good.

Fuck off. Right now. Go on. I don’t want you here.

Tell them why.

I don’t want you here because you don’t get it. You don’t understand me and you never will. I can feel you judging me. Just because you aren’t smart enough to understand my work. Because you’re jealous. You’re jealous. Because I’m a genius and you’re not. You’re so fucking dumb. Fuck off and go read Buzzfeed.

More.

Reader, I hate you. I hate every part of you. I think you’re a terrible person. I think the world would be a better place without you. I wish you had never come here and I hope you never come.

More. It’s for their own good.

If you stay, I’ll call the police. I don’t want you here and you staying is a crime. You get that, right? That you’re trespassing here? FUCK OFF.

Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off! Are you fucking dumb? Why haven’t you fucked off yet? FUCK THE FUCKING FUCK OFF.

Good.

Please no more.

You know who’s still reading, right?

Please don’t.

Mum’s still reading this.

Please don’t. I’ll do anything else.

It’s for her own good.

Mum, please stop reading. I don’t want you here.

More.

I can’t. She’s been through so much. I don’t want this. Don’t make me do this.

It’s for her own good. She won’t understand.

Mum, I need you to stop reading. Please. Just leave me be. I don’t want you here any more. Just fuck off.

Good.

Please no more.

Sshhhh. It’s OK. You’re OK. Now it’s just us. And you know what’s next.

I, uh, don’t, um

Yes you do.

Please. I’m tired. So fucking tired. I want this to stop. I’d do anything to make it stop. I’m begging.

Anything?

Yes, anything.

Well… there’s always one solution. I can make everything stop.

Please, I’ll do anything.

You know exactly what to do. Just do it.

…

End this. End it now. End it all now.

…

Future Editing Matt: OK, I think that’s more than enough of that. They get it. No-one actually needs to read a first person account of self harm and suicidal ideation. They’ve all suffered enough. Reader, I’m truly sorry about this and I hope you’ll forgive me for leaving in as much as I did. In my defence, Past Matt made me promise. The worst is over now. We’re on the home stretch. Thanks for sticking with him.

A Moment of Calm Before We Conclude

Hey. I’m back. The normal me. Matt.

Genuinely, I want to ask, are you OK? Like, I’m honestly asking. I, Matt, want to make sure you, the reader, are well.

I genuinely hope so. I’d thoroughly understand if you weren’t.

If not, I’m really sorry. I recommend taking a break here. Maybe go for a walk? Or have a glass of water. Hug a loved one. Look after yourself. Self care is important.

And I want you to know, despite obvious evidence to the contrary, that I care deeply about my readers. I genuinely didn’t mean or want to hurt anyone.

But I know that was a lot. And I’m sorry. Truly.

Mum, I’m especially sorry. Genuinely. Call me any time. I’m always around for you.

I set out writing this article with the intention of trying to help other folks understand what autistic meltdown truly feels like. And I didn’t and don’t know how else to convey the true horror of meltdown without having you joining me for one. I didn’t know how to share my experiences without you hearing the other voice. Without you hearing the unfiltered voice.

So, as we start to finish up, I want to explain what you just read. I think I owe you that at least.

Throughout this article, I’ve written multiple times that autistic meltdown feels like a lack of control and that’s definitely true.

But it’s not like my actions are totally random either.

I wouldn’t want you to think that autistic meltdown is random uncontrollable movement. Autistic meltdown is not like a seizure or a moment of spasticity. Autistic meltdown isn’t flailing. There’s no random autistic behaviour generator.

In my experience, someone is driving. Someone is making decisions. Someone is choosing.

It’s just not me.

And, at least in my case, it just happens to be the absolute worst person for the job.

The Other Voice

Let’s talk about the bold, italicised voice in the room.

Because I want to be clear, this article wasn’t purely performance art. OK, maybe a little but this wasn’t a scripted conversation. This wasn’t purely illustrative. This wasn’t meant a contrived art piece. When I wrote the bold, italicised voice, I didn’t write ‘what a critical voice might have written or said’.

I wrote the voice I heard when I heard it.

Because, he’s always there. Always interjecting. Always belittling. Always trying to get the wheel.

And I know I’m not alone in this.

There’s an amazing episode of BoJack Horseman (appropriately titled ‘Stupid Piece of Shit’) where he experiences the same thing. There’s a constant inner monologue that belittles him with negative self talk, horrible impulse control and other bad ideas. It’s genuinely a masterpiece and I recommend you all watch it.

I remember once I was talking to a friend about that particular and we remarked that as we both watched this episode for the first time that neither of us thought twice about this bitter inner monologue. Because everyones hears that, or a similar, voice on a regular basis. Right? RIGHT?!

Yeah, turns out not so much.

You learn something new every day, I guess.

I genuinely hear ‘the other voice’ all the time. The bold, italicised voice. Sure, sometimes I can go for weeks at a time without hearing the voice, and sometimes I hear him multiple times a day. But I know he’s always there. It always comes back. Deep down I know that. Deep down I know he’s almost on the periphery. Looking for a moment to chip in with something horrific.

Because the inner voice is always criticising. Always cruel. Always looking for a moment of weakness. And most importantly, always looking to drive the fucking car.

Normally I squash this voice as deep inside as possible. Ignore it. Dismiss it. The reason I didn’t address this voice for most of the article was to show you the normal way I deal with it. And it’s genuinely not that big a task the vast majority of the time.

On a normal day, I ignore him like I ignore people who tell me to invest in crypto. Clearly they’re wrong. I can easily prove that they’re wrong. They’re not worth entertaining. I move on with my day. Minimal to no drama. A trifling inconvenience.

Because, and this is important, when I’m feeling well, it’s really pretty fucking obvious that the other voice is entirely and irrevocably wrong. I mean, totally provably and obviously wrong. He’s just my insecurities and worst impulses vomiting all over the place. I can and should ignore it. And I normally do. He’s easy to ignore.

But sometimes, when I feel particularly overwhelmed, it isn’t so easy. When I’m feeling mentally weak or fragile, he comes out more. When I’m questioning myself, it is his voice who does the question. And you’ve already guessed the punchline here, right?

When I’m in autistic meltdown, the other voice takes over.

When I’m in autistic meltdown, he is one driving the car.

When I’m in autistic meltdown, he is voice of the flood of unconscious thoughts.

When I’m in autistic meltdown, he is the one speaking.

I’m Banner. He’s Hulk.

You get it.

They got it thousands of words ago, dickhead.

So today I wanted to let him speak unfiltered. I wanted you to hear his voice unfiltered.

Why?

Because I genuinely don’t think I can honestly or fully describe autistic meltdown without talking about the other voice I hear. The impatient, rude, self-critical voice I try my best to keep at bay. The voice I built the dam to keep out.

And here’s the thing, I reckon if you’ve experienced a mental breakdown of any sort, you know the voice. Maybe your voice is more bi-polar, or more ADHD, or more depression, or more suicidal, or more psychotic, or OCD, or Imposter Syndrome, or Tourette’s or a million other things but I know you get it. You have a voice.

You try to ignore it. Sometimes it’s easier. Sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes you win. Sometimes you definitely fucking don’t.

And if you don’t experience this, there’s no way you made it this far in the article, so fuck it, right? Neurodivergents only on the 13,000th word, surely?

I’m kidding, obviously.

Because no-one is reading this. Honestly, I might not even make it here when I’m editing this bloody tome.

Future Editing Matt: Au contraire, friend. I made it. I’m not thrilled with you, but I made it. But finish this up soon, eh?

The Identity of the Voice

I think there’s two obvious questions left.

1. What do you do in an autistic meltdown? (which is where we’ll finish)
2. Who or what is this voice?

Both great questions.

Honestly, I have wondered for years who this voice is. I’ve wondered who this voice belongs to ever since I first heard it, which I think was around early puberty.

I’ve often thought it’s autism speaking to me. For a few of my teenage years, I thought it was the literal devil. Sometimes I thought maybe it’s my worst impulses? You know, the devil on my shoulder. Maybe the voice is depression or some other mental illness?

But then I watched ‘Hi Ren’.

You know, the video from the beginning. Remember, like 45,000 words ago? You didn’t watch it, did you? Go back and watch it. It’s going to be really helpful for this last bit.

Anyway, he knows exactly who his voice is. When his mental demons take over, he knows exactly who is doing it. He’s worked it out, and honestly? I’m mad I didn’t figure it out sooner.

It’s him.

And the other voice? The bold, italicised voice?

Yeah, that’s me.

Both voices are me.

I know, plot twist, right?

Yeah, it’s exactly like that movie you’re thinking of. I’d explain but I’m not allowed to talk about it.

The Allure of the Other Voice

I know just what we need after all this time, a brief aside.

Future Editing Matt: 50/50 it makes it in anyway, so don’t stress it. What do you want to say?

So I think it kind of goes without saying that the other voice isn’t one I would ordinarily choose to listen to. But I also think it would be disingenuous to say that there isn’t somewhat of a genuine appeal to the other voice. So, in a obviously ironic gesture in the direction of brevity, I want to include a bullet point list outlining the appeal of the other voice and his arguments:

• The other voice has concrete answers.
• The other voice is consistent.
• The other voice feels confident.
• There is a seductive power to speaking with the other voice. You’re basically approximately the feeling of telling your boss to fuck off after years of mistreatment (whether that’s what you’re doing or not).
• ‘Righteous anger’ is a seductive feeling.
• It feels good (temporarily) to let yourself give in to your base impulses.
• The other voice initially feels powerful.
• Self harm can be seductive (which is why it’s so fucking dangerous and hard to give up)
• The other voice has explanations to all things (even if they’re wrong).
• The other voice lets you do what you want. Junk food, gambling, alcohol, whatever. He lets you have a ‘good time’ for sure
• The other voice is really hard to ignore at times.
• The other voice knows exactly how to push your metaphorical buttons.
• The other voice knows exactly what arguments will appeal to you.
• The other voice knows all your insecurities and weaknesses.
• The other voice is sometimes indistinguishable from your actual conscious voice.

So I’m not here saying that there’s two sides to every argument or that we should hear the other voice out. You absolutely fucking shouldn’t.

Ignore it. Squash it. Kill it. Kill it with fire and fucking double tap.

But, I wouldn’t want anyone to be misled that this is an easy or simple task. The other voice has power and needs to be treated with respect. He is a worthy opponent. He has skills and powers. He is a dangerous enemy, only to be underestimated at your own peril.

I wouldn’t want anyone to be hard on themselves for losing this particular battle. The other voice can be strong. Especially when we’re weak. And it know when we’re weak. And he is there. Waiting. Ready.

I guess what I’m trying to say is just, and I mean this in every possible sense of the words, don’t beat yourself up because of the other voice. That’s exactly what he wants.

Anyhow, I just wanted to let you know if you also struggle with this kind of thing that I see your struggle. I honour it. I respect you continuing to fight. I’m on your side. You’re doing great.

OK, back to the article. It might even end this time.

God, I hope it ends.

Picking Up The Pieces

There’s (yet) another important nuance I want to add to the ongoing melange.

As I’ve said, when I read other resources talking about autistic meltdown, there is a real emphasis on the lack of control. You can’t control your actions. You can’t control your mind. You can’t control anything.

And that’s very much true.

But this framing leads to two implications that I personally think are unhelpful. You aren’t in control, therefore:

1. It isn’t you doing it. Someone or something else is driving the car.
2. Your actions aren’t your fault. And you can’t be held responsible for actions that aren’t your fault. Meltdowns are a natural disaster. A flood. An act of God.

Both of these things aren’t really true. And I think that that’s a really hard thing to deal with.

Because whilst it is totally true that you aren’t in control of your actions during a meltdown, it is equally totally true that your actions during a meltdown are your actions. Sure, it feels like someone else is doing all those things. But it’s very much you.

It is also totally true to say that your actions during a meltdown are entirely your fault. And there will most likely be consequences.

And that’s a really uncomfortable thought. Obviously.

Life just isn’t a comic book, as much as we autistics might wish it were. That’s obvious, isn’t it? If Bruce Banner hulked out and wrecked a city, he’d be charged with infinite crimes. He’d be a murderer. A terrorist. At the very least, a hooligan. He’s probably be locked away. He wouldn’t get a statue. He’d be a monster.

And when Bruce was inevitably put on trial, he might try and say that he isn’t Hulk. That he isn’t in control. That he’s a different guy and shouldn’t be held responsible for the Hulk’s.

But he’s very much the same guy. They’re both him. He is equally Hulk and Banner.

So am I.

I am the plain text Matt and the bold italicised Matt.

I’ve spent so much of my life trying to ‘other’ the other voice. To work out who or what was making me think or act this way. To work out what outside force was corrupting me.

I think it’s the most natural thing in the world. Because I don’t want to have done what I’ve done during various autistic meltdowns. I didn’t really choose to do it. Someone or something else must have chosen it for me.

But, alas, the call is always coming from inside the building.

As I said earlier, I think it’s important in life generally to have as much accurate information as possible. I think the best way to be able to deal with life’s challenges is to know as much truth as possible, however uncomfortable that might be in practise.

So, one uncomfortable thing that I have had to accept is that autistic meltdown is something that I do. I bear the responsibility, embarrassment and shame for all the things I have done during autistic meltdowns. It was all me.

Even though I’ve identified the meltdowns as someone else taking the wheel, I want to be clear that this is an image. That’s how it feels. How it seems. But to be crystal clear, it’s just another aspect of me. I’m still at the wheel. I’m just not the conscious me I would choose to be.

And that is the great tragedy of autistic meltdowns.

You actively fight against your own impulses, but are forced into things you have no interest in doing.

And you desperately want to distance yourself from it. You say things like:

‘It wasn’t me! It was the meltdown! You have to believe me!’

‘You know that wasn’t really me, right? I didn’t mean it, and you know I wouldn’t act like that if I had a choice!’

‘I don’t know what came over me but it wasn’t really me. I didn’t mean it! I don’t know why I said all those things!’

I’ve said all these things. I’ve meant all these things. I believed all these things.

And, here’s the thing. It’s all true. Or, it all feels true.

But, and this is the big but, it was me.

In ‘Hi Ren’, Ren writes:

‘You think that you can amputate me?
I am you, you are me, you are I, I am we
We are one, split in two that makes one, so you see
You got to kill you if you wanna kill me’

I am not separate from my meltdowns. And I am not separate from that other voice.

I am him. He is me.

To dust off my theology degree, we are homoousian. Made of the same stuff.

So as much as I want to distance myself from meltdowns, I can’t.

We’re almost done now. And the last thing I need to make clear is that all meltdowns end with the inevitable consequences of letting the other voice drive.

You’ve likely hurt people’s feelings. You’ll have probably damaged relationships. You might have broken things. You might have hurt yourself. You might have attempted suicide. You might have quit your job. There really are no limits to the damage you might have caused.

And once the dust settles, you’ll be tempted to claim innocence. You’ll be tempted to refuse responsibility. You’ll be tempted to distance yourself from the other voice.

But other’s don’t. Others wont. Other’s cant.

People will always remember what you did. Some people will always judge you on the actions of your meltdown. Others might always hold those actions against you.

And it sucks.

You’ll ask for forgiveness and understanding.

Sometimes you’ll get it. Sometimes you won’t.

Sometimes you’ll be lucky and people might understand. Sometimes you’ve irreparably damaged a relationship and there’s no going back.

There’s no way to know in the moment how much damaged you’ve done or are doing.

After every meltdown, as you wake up, as the exhaustion hits, you start the process of picking up the pieces. And it always fucking sucks.

So I guess it’s time we talk about damage limitation, isn’t it?

What To Do If You’re Having a Meltdown

So weirdly, this is the shortest and easiest section to write because the advice about autistic meltdown is surprisingly short and clear.

Firstly, do whatever you can to avoid autistic meltdown. Literally anything.

Many autistic people experience a phenomenon often called ‘rumbling’, a warning sign for an upcoming meltdown. Always heed this warning. Self soothe however is effective.

But we’re going to talk about that another time, so I’m going to gloss over it right now, if that’s OK? Watch this space for now!

But let’s say, it’s too late. We’re in a meltdown. What do you do?

Things to Do in an Autistic Meltdown

• If you are tempted to self harm or are self-harming, call the emergency services. 999. 112. 911. Whatever it is. It’s a big deal. It’s always a big deal. There is no casual self harm. Please seek help.
• If you are considering suicide, please call the emergency services. For me. If that proves ineffective, Google ‘I am considering suicide’ or something similar. That search will tell you which services are available in your area to help and how to contact them. Where I live in Iceland it’s the Red Cross, but it might be the Samaritans or another similar non-profit. Reach out to them. It’ll help. You can also search for a helpline here.
• Warn your loved ones that you’re in meltdown. It’s only fair. I use a code word with my nearest and dearest. If you’d like to know it, ask.
• Get to a safe place. Some people tend to go wandering when they’re in meltdown. Don’t. Go somewhere safe and comfortable. In practise, this means going to bed in most cases.
• Don’t attempt to contact folks. This might seem counter-intuitive but people in meltdown say all manner of hurtful things even when they don’t mean to. Even when they’re trying not to. Keep to yourself once the storm passes once your loved ones know you’re safe.
• Self soothe. Pick a TV show/book/movie/podcast/media that always makes you feel comfortable and put it on. I use The Big Short, Brooklyn 99, Binging with Babish or Parks and Rec.
• Eat and drink. Order your favourite food and drink. Fuck the diet. Fuck the cholesterol. Doesn’t matter. It’s just one night. Order what you want. 6 multipacks of crisps? Doesn’t matter. Order it. This is a crisis.
• Avoid intoxicants. You’re basically already drunk at the wheel, don’t add to it. Avoid alcohol and other drugs — you won’t benefit from them.
• Try to sleep. Sleep is the best killer of meltdown. So do whatever you can to sleep. Comfy blanket. Pyjamas. Podcasts. Avoid medication but anything else. Including…
• Cumming. Remember we’re trying to sleep and masturbating can really help with that. You are full of the energy of a thousand Suns and you need to release it somewhere? This is an option. BUT! Remember that you’re keeping to yourself. Strictly solo stuff.
• Use headphones. Your brain is currently filling with unhelpful thoughts. Drown them out. I keep a playlist for meltdowns and then I play them at full volume to drown the other voice out. I recommend you do the same.
• And many, many more.

As before, there’s lots of good things you can do during autistic meltdown. This is not meant to be an exhaustive list. This list is meant to give you something to start with while you make your own plan.

But do make your own plan. It will pay for itself multiple times over for the amount of effort it will take to make.

But there’s one piece of advice I want to emphasise. Something I want to tell you more than anything else. The most important piece of advice I have to offer today. And you probably won’t like it. You definitely won’t like it.

IF YOU ARE IN AUTISTIC MELTDOWN, DON’T FIGHT IT.

I know, I know.

What? Of course you fight it?!

No, don’t.

Here’s why I say that:

You literally can’t.

If you’re in meltdown, you’ve already lost control. It’s happened. You’re too late. You need to go into crisis mode and weather the storm as best you can.

You can’t put the genie back in the bottle.

If you’re rumbling, sure: fight it tooth and nail.

But meltdown is not reversible. Once it’s happening, it’s happening. Trust me.

Give in, seek shelter from the storm and wait for it to pass.

It’s much safer that way.

People die trying to fight floods.

And if you’re the loved one of someone going through a meltdown, get them to a safe space, remind them of how they self-soothe and then get to a safe distance.

You can’t stop the meltdown any more than they can.

There’s no perfect way to do any of this.

Just try and stay safe.

Please.

Medium says I’m about to reach 15,000 words.

Christ.

That means this blog article is officially longer than my undergraduate thesis.

Oof.

I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. I’m sure you are too.

And that folks is the final thing I want you to know about autistic meltdown. It is fucking exhausting. Mentally, physically and emotionally. Every single time.

As a result, someone who goes through meltdown will need time to recover.

So, if that’s you, give yourself space to do so. And if a loved one has had a meltdown, they’ll need time to be their normal selves (even if they insist they’re fine).

As I said when I started this article, I really didn’t want to write this.

But I’m glad I did.

Because meltdowns are part of who I am. The other voice is part of me too.

And whilst my aim is to never have another meltdown (10 months and counting), the only way I think I can be successful in that is to know myself. To learn my triggers. To learn the warning signs. To have a plan.

I genuinely hope that I can follow in the Hulk’s footsteps. In the movies, he’s managed to fuse both aspects of his personality. He’s now Professor Hulk. Fully Hulk, fully Banner. Best of both and in control at all times. He seems happy. It’s really nice.

That’s the dream.

I’ll get there.

So, like I’ve said, if my words can stop someone else going through a meltdown, then I would happily pay any price to make that happen.

Even if it means spending weeks writing a second Uni thesis that maybe 3 people might read.

And, if you take one thing away from this article, let it be this.

You can’t fight autistic meltdown once it’s happening. Order pizza, watch The Good Place, sleep it off.

Speaking of which, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to sleep for a week.

Thank for reading lovelies. Until next time.

Wow. You made it! Well done you!

Thanks so much for reading! And whilst I’m always humbled by and grateful for the folks that read my writing, I am particularly grateful on this occasion. This is by far the most personal thing I’ve ever written and it means that the world that you’ve gone with me on this journey. It really means a lot. Genuinely and truly.

Now, as always, I’d love to hear what you think about this topic. If you feel comfortable and would like to, I would love to hear your experiences about autistic meltdown. What did I miss? How does it feel for you? I truly believe the more our community shares, the easier these things will be to deal with. So feel free to share. This is a safe space.

Also, before I forget, I got an overwhelmingly positive response from my last article about alexithymia. So many new people are here! Just in time for me to bear the ugly parts of my soul! That’s not at all stressful! Genuinely, for everyone who read, liked, commented and shared, I’m massively grateful. If you’d like to do the same with this piece, I’d massively appreciate it. Remember, you can like things up to 50 times on Medium, so feel free to do that!

If you enjoyed this (enjoy might not be the right word but you know what I’m getting at) then I have written a bunch more. I write about parenting, sports, Iceland, music and all kinds through a neurodivergent lens. If you wanted to experience some of my less heavy writing, I recommend this one. Enjoy!

Thanks again for reading folks. It means the world.

Have an amazing day. And remember, this was intense! Look after yourself! Drink water. Take time to process. Hug your loved ones. I care about you immensely and want you to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. I mean, if I have to, you have to.

* Some folks might call this kind of ‘spoons’. I usually settle with the less elegant but more descriptive ‘fucks to give’.

** Besides any harm coming to my family, to be clear.

*** Yes, Mum, this sentence is directly aimed towards you. This is a cathartic writing experience and very emotional, but I’m in a good place and you don’t need to worry any more than usual. Maybe not even that much.

**** And to be clear, I don’t think anyone is.

***** No, I’m not deliberately trying to make an allusion to dental dams. However, once I noticed how this sounded, did it make me giggle and make sure I wouldn’t change it? Abso-fucking-lutely.

****** I started writing this article the awful and tragic dam failure in Libya that has resulted in the loss of thousands of lives. If my use of the term has caused emotional distress, I apologise. I thought long and hard about whether to come up with a different metaphor*******, but on reflection I decided to keep things the same. Firstly I think this metaphor holds a lot of explanatory water, but also I think the disastrous consequences of potential and actual dam failure illustrates the real dangers of autism meltdown. So, if I have caused offence, I’m sorry. I hope it provides some solace that this was a conscious ‘artistic’ choice that was done for educational purposes.

******* So, honestly this might be an analogy. I’m saying that mental resilience against autistic meltdowns is like a dam. They both hold back a flood of sorts. But, also, like I’m saying that our mind is a dam holding back our unconscious and that has metaphor vibes… Let me know in the comments. You know, as if you’re actually reading the footnote of a footnote.******** Which you’re definitely not, right?

******** Yes, I am exceptional proud that my writing has reached the level of artistic pretension to have footnoted footnotes. It’s amongst my proudest achievements. Which, to be clear, in no way reduces the very real shame of writing in such a self-indulgent, self-pleasuring manner. And yes, I do think I’m very clever for doing it twice. And yes, I hate myself for it in equal measure to my pride.

********* I think this is often related to the fact that autistic folks aren’t always the best at understanding their own feelings. This phenomenon is often alexithymia which I have written about here.

********** Now some of you reading this will absolutely be able to identify very specific incidents in my life. I’m not meaning to break confidences, embarrass anyone or make a wider point about these specific instances. I’m purely trying to illustrate that autistic meltdown has many faces. I hope you understand and can forgive me if I speak indelicately on an occasion you find to be emotionally triggering.

*********** Hi Mum. I don’t know whether you think this is the case and I’m sorry if this is big news to you. I’m talking about an incident you know about (the Oxford bridge incident). I figure if I’m up on the bridge and have to be talked down that counts. I’m not deliberately trying to be provocative and I promise I am not currently in danger of repeating this, or many of the other things I’m talking about here. I know it might be painful for me to talk about such painful things so openly and publicly, but I genuinely believe that if autistic people don’t share their stories and hide the genuine dangers of these things then we are going into battle against a formidable enemy without all the information they need to make an effective plan to make sure this doesn’t happen to them. This article is going to end with me talking about how things are better now and how I did that. This is a good news story. I hope that you feel the same way.

************ Oh, and the entire country of Iceland. Unfortunately as a tour guide I occasionally have to be the voice of the entire country I live in. As an Englishman, I find it odd but it is what it is. Basically I just have to remember to be hyped on fishing, Eurovision and inexplicably salty liquorice.

************* And to be clear, there’s is unequivocably no room for Jack on the door in Titanic either. They try to fit them both on the door and it capsized. So Jack gave his life for Rose (highlighting once again the difference between himself and Billy Zane who chose to lie to save himself). It’s the perfect ending to the perfect movie. Get a better hot take.