Autistic Woman: Coping With the Invisible Pain

Last year and earlier this year, I sustained injuries while at home—a place that we all consider the safest and most secure environment in our lives. My home is particularly important to me as an autistic woman. It is where I retreat to find solace and comfort away from the chaos of the outside world. However, the situation took a drastic turn when my husband and I embarked on a home extension project that I had long dreamed of. What was initially promised to us by every contractor who bid on the job as a "simple and small extension" quickly became an overwhelming ordeal.

The allure of a straightforward enhancement to my living and work space was enticing, and I envisioned how this extension would elevate our home, providing additional room for relaxation and enjoyment, along with a functional and efficient work space. However, as the project was about to begin, it quickly became evident that the reality of the situation was far from what I had been promised to us. The builders, who initially seemed competent and reliable, soon started causing a series of delays and complications that escalated beyond control.

As the project slowly progressed, or lack thereof, I found myself navigating a maze of construction debris, with unsafe access points at every turn, unfinished walls and floors, all contributing to an overwhelming sense of chaos that invaded my once peaceful sanctuary. The ongoing, unexplained delays, dishonest excuses, unnecessary disruptions, and frequent vanishing acts by the builders made it extremely difficult to preserve a sense of normalcy in my daily life.

A home is our sanctuary, offering solace and comfort away from the chaos of the outside world, at least until we invite cowboy builders into it.

To make matters worse, the builders eventually abandoned the project altogether, leaving my home in a state of disarray and uncertainty. What was meant to be a minor enhancement had morphed into an outright disruption, turning my haven into a complete nightmare. I was left with unfinished work, exposed wiring, water leaks, and an environment that is unsafe, unsanitary and unwelcoming.

The emotional toll of this experience has been profound. My sanctuary, which once provided me with comfort and security, is now turned upside down, sometimes quite literally with construction materials and tools strewn across the floor and makeshift barriers blocking essential areas. The nightmares I initially thought were only figurative have begun to manifest in reality, as I grapple with the consequences of this botched project. Each day, I am reminded of the chaos that has invaded my home, and the sense of unease lingers heavily in the air.

As I reflect on this tumultuous experience, it becomes clear that the journey of home improvement often presents unexpected challenges. This is why I devoted significant effort in meticulously planning the project. Yet, despite having an original plan, a backup plan, and even a backup for the backup, it was still not enough to steer us clear of this predicament. What began as a hopeful endeavour has transformed into a cautionary tale, highlighting the lack of regulations in the domestic construction industry. No degree of careful contractor selection could prevent the pitfalls they introduce into our safe spaces, nor the disruptions caused by their negligence, dishonesty and greed.

Coping With the Invisible Pain of Injuries

This ordeal is precisely why I haven't been able to write or even talk about my experiences. Since the injuries, I've been muted for a while, feeling as if I've lost my voice in the midst of chaos, and I continue to struggle to process what has happened and what is happening to me. The events that unfolded have left me in a state of confusion and emotional turmoil, with many unanswered questions looping in my mind like a relentless cycle. I find myself wrestling with thoughts that seem to spiral out of control, questioning every detail of what I might have done differently, as I attempt to cope with the invisible pain of my injuries.

Replaying the accidents and my subsequent reactions, questioning if I could’ve reacted quicker, which would have led to different outcomes, perhaps ones with less pain and suffering. I am doing my best to replace the negativity and doubts that plague me with constructive thoughts and positive affirmations, yet it feels like an endless uphill battle. However, for the first time in my life, I am failing to stay positive, and as a consequence, I am gradually losing my precious identity, the very essence of who I am.

My once confident, fearless, and resilient identity is fading rapidly, like a cherished photograph left out in the sun, as I endure pain from various parts of my body that serve as constant reminders of the ordeal.

My once confident, fearless, and resilient identity is fading rapidly, like a cherished photograph left out in the sun, as I endure pain from various parts of my body that serve as constant reminders of the ordeal. Each ache and twinge feels like a weight pulling me down, and I can't help but wonder, am I in shock? Did my brain fall out when I fell to the ground, leaving me in this bewildered state? If it did, it couldn't have traveled far since it's just a soft, mushy substance and wouldn't have bounced away. So why am I struggling to find my precious brain, the one that once thrived with creativity, clarity, and solutions?

Every time I think about the accidents and my current situation, uncontrollable tears stream down my face, cascading like a waterfall of sorrow, and I feel a sensation of heat rushing through my entire body. My heart beats rapidly, pounding against my chest as I struggle to take in each breath, each inhale feeling like a monumental task. This is an experience I've never had before, and I am not liking it one bit; it feels foreign and suffocating.

Is It Sensory Overload, Trauma, or Something Unknown?

I am now easily startled by the slightest things, as if my senses have been heightened to an unbearable degree. The sound of an object falling to the floor sends shockwaves through me, a door banging from the wind blowing through an open window feels like a thunderclap, and the sound of trees scraping against each other outside my home resonates in my mind like an ominous warning. Where has my fearlessness wandered off to? I perceive danger all around me, even though I'm supposed to be in the safety of my home, a sanctuary I once cherished.

I know I need to regulate my senses, but the room temperature is piercing through my skin like a relentless winter storm in Iceland, each gust of bitter air feeling like icy needles pricking at my flesh. The warm summer sun, meanwhile, is blasting into my eyes with an intensity that feels almost unbearable, its rays penetrating through the thin fabric of my eyelids, forcing me to squint in an attempt to shield myself from its brightness. The contrast between the chill in the air and the heat of the sun creates a disorienting clash of sensations that leaves me feeling overwhelmed and unbalanced.

As I sit here, I'm struggling to hold down a meal, the food in my stomach feeling stuck and unsettling, as if it is resisting the very act of digestion. Each mouthful I attempt to swallow seems to trigger an immediate discomfort in my abdomen, creating a persistent sense of nausea. The sensation is intensified by the pervasive smell of concrete, an odour clinging stubbornly to the air, emanating from the jagged, damaged surfaces surrounding me. The sharp, acrid scent of the metal from scattered tools intermingles with the earthy aroma of wood chips and dampness from water damage, remnants of a project looming over me like a dark cloud.

Where has my fearlessness wandered off to? I perceive danger all around me, even though I'm supposed to be in the safety of my home, a sanctuary I once cherished.

My body seems to be rebelling against this overwhelming mix of stimuli, and I'm struggling with a growing wave of anxiety that threatens to consume me whole. Each bite I take feels like a battle, a struggle not just against the food itself but against the very environment that has become a source of stress and turmoil. I can’t help but question when my calm began to slip away, where the peace I once cherished faded into the chaotic and uncertain background noise.

Was it the moments I fell that sent shockwaves through my body and mind, leaving me vulnerable and exposed? Or was it the constant, nagging pain that has become a familiar companion, a reminder of my new limitations and fears? Perhaps it was when I was faced with the overwhelming sight of unfinished and unsafe areas in my home, spaces that demanded my immediate attention yet felt insurmountable in their complexity and danger. Each unfinished task looms like a spectre, whispering reminders of my inability to manage what once seemed so simple.

The contrast of my physical discomfort with the mental strain is overwhelming. I sense the tension in my injured body intensifying, a direct response to the stress filling this environment. The unfinished projects surrounding me are not just tangible reminders of what I have yet to accomplish; they are manifestations of my internal struggle, a reflection of the chaos that has seeped into my life. The very act of eating, which should bring joy, nourishment, and comfort, has transformed into a harsh reminder of everything I am trying to escape, yet cannot.

I can’t help but question when my calm began to slip away, where the peace I once cherished faded into the chaotic and uncertain background noise.

As I continue to chew, I find my mind racing through a myriad of thoughts, each one more frantic than the last, like a whirlwind of ideas and worries that refuse to settle. The sound of tools clanking together echoes in my ears, the irresponsible and intimidating words spoken by the builders linger like a bad smell, a harsh reminder of the work that lies ahead, the tasks that seem to multiply rather than diminish. The weight of the unfinished works presses down on me, amplifying my anxiety and making it difficult to focus on anything other than the turmoil brewing within. I long for a moment of clarity, a brief respite from the chaos, yet it feels just out of reach.

I yearn for a quiet space where I can gather my thoughts, where I can sift through the chaos and find a semblance of peace. I'm caught in a relentless cycle of worry and distraction. The tasks that await me seem to grow larger with each passing moment, their demands pressing against my mind like a tide that threatens to pull me under. I know that clarity is essential for productivity, yet the chaos around me makes it seem like an impossible goal, leaving me to navigate through my thoughts with a sense of urgency and confusion.

The jarring sensations around me is relentless, and I can feel the stress and pressure building in every part of my injured body. This is not just a physical manifestation of my inner turmoil. I try to take deep breaths, to find some semblance of peace within the chaos, but the air feels thick and heavy, making each inhalation a challenge. I long for the calm that once enveloped me, a state of being where I could enjoy the world around me without feeling bombarded by its extremes.

How can I achieve a moment of clarity? A short break from the chaos seems so close, yet elusive. I long for a quiet space to collect my thoughts, where I can sift through the chaos and discover a sense of peace.

The home I lovingly crafted, filled with memories of laughter and joy, has now become tainted with fear, stress, bad memories, and filled with negative energy that seems to cling to the walls like a persistent shadow. How do I exactly describe everything I am enduring? It feels like trying to capture smoke with my bare injured hands; no matter how hard I try, it slips through my fingers, leaving me frustrated and desperate for clarity. The words elude me, and the emotions are overwhelming, creating a storm within that I cannot seem to calm.

As I reflect on this, I realise that my senses are in a constant state of flux, and I must find a way to regain control. I need to create a sanctuary within myself, a place where I can retreat from the sensory overload that threatens to engulf me. Perhaps I can start by focusing on the rhythm of my breath, allowing it to ground me and bring me back to a state of equilibrium. I need to constantly remind myself that I have the power to regulate my responses to these sensations, to find balance amidst the pain and unpredictable storm.

Trying to Manage the Effects of Autistic Mutism

It appears that since experiencing sudden autistic mutism, I can no longer articulate my words as I once did. This profound change in my ability to communicate has left me feeling somewhat isolated and disconnected from the world around me. The ease and fluidity with which I once expressed my thoughts and solutions have now been replaced by a hesitance and uncertainty that I never anticipated. How can I regain my previous eloquence? This question weighs heavily on my mind as I navigate daily interactions that often feel overwhelming.

Initially, I believed it to be a temporary phase, a brief interruption in my communication skills, perhaps a consequence of stress or an emotional disturbance. I held onto the hope that with time, I would naturally return to my former self, effortlessly articulating my thoughts with the same clarity and confidence I once possessed. However, as days turned into weeks and weeks into months, I began to wonder if this struggle with speech had now become a part of who I am. The persistence of this issue has led me to question my identity and how I relate to others, as if I have lost a vital part of myself in the process.

I feel anxious about speaking to others, fearing that I might come across as foolish and unable to form coherent sentences. Each interaction has become a source of apprehension. The fear of stumbling over my words or failing to convey my ideas clearly looms large in my mind, causing me to second-guess myself before even uttering a single syllable. This anxiety creates a vicious cycle; the more I worry about my speech, the more difficult it becomes to express myself, which in turn amplifies my fears and self-doubt.

The ease and fluidity with which I used to express my thoughts and solutions have now been replaced by an unexpected hesitance and uncertainty.

To combat this challenge, I realise that I must embark on a path of self-discovery and healing. This may involve seeking professional guidance from speech therapists who specialise in communication disorders. Engaging in exercises designed to improve my speech and confidence could provide me with the tools I need to reclaim my voice. Additionally, spending time with my most supportive fur baby, family and friends who understand my struggle may help ease the pressure I experience when speaking.

Failing that, I could explore various techniques such as mindfulness and relaxation strategies that can help reduce my anxiety levels before engaging in conversations. At least this could be a good replacement for my daily yoga until I recover. Practicing speaking in low-pressure environments, such as through writing, might also be effective methods to gradually rebuild my confidence.

Ultimately, I must remind myself that regaining my eloquence is a slow-cooked simmering pot of goodies, rather than a quick stir fry. It demands patience, persistence, and self-compassion. By acknowledging my feelings and taking proactive steps toward improvement, I can strive to rediscover the articulate person I once was, transforming this challenge into an opportunity for further growth and resilience.