I am full of sensory sensitivities.
- I prefer overcast days to bright sunshine; the bright sunshine bothers me, is too intense
- I cannot stand for anything to touch my wrists
- Food textures matter for taste
- I hear background noises over foreground noises; I cannot filter out the background noises
- I have to have the T.V. turned up very loud when the children are awake; I can turn it down very quiet and still hear it when the house is silent
- If I am talking to you, I sometimes cannot hear you over everything and everyone else
It often seems like I’m not paying attention—especially when I ask you to repeat yourself. But I really am trying to pay attention. And the fact I’m not typically looking you in the eye adds to that perception. My eyes wander all over the place; I look distracted or like I’m looking at someone else. It takes a lot of energy to look you in the eye, so if you want me to really hear what you’re saying, don’t insist on it.
If you touch me, it takes about 20 seconds for the feeling to finally dissipate. Right now I can still taste the lunch I ate over an hour ago. Images linger and sometimes travel with me. When I walk the dog at night, I often see images of characters I had just seen on T.V. standing in the darkness.
All of this is overwhelming at times. Some days are better than others; other days are much worse. It’s all cyclical. I’m moderately depressed, moderately manic, equally cyclical. My interests ebb and flow. I cycle between scholar and artist.
If someone’s in pain, I’m overwhelmed with empathy; I feel the pain, mental or physical. I feel it deeply, intensely. When my father lost part of his left arm in a mining accident, my own left arm became racked with intense, throbbing pain. It is so much, I typically avoid situations in which I would feel empathy toward others. I have to switch it off, because if it’s on, it’s too much. This intensity of feeling can come about with the right song, the right emotional situation. It’s either on, intensely, or kept well at bay. Well at bay is preferred.
If you tell me you’re going to do something, that we’re going to do something—if you make me a promise of any kind, direct or implied—I will think about it and think about it until you do what you said you would do. You have to do it, or I get very upset. The problem is that changing mental direction may be easy for most people, but for me it’s like turning the QEII completely around. What doesn’t seem like a big deal to you in changing a plan (perhaps you’re too tired, which is perfectly reasonable), is a very big deal for me. I can understand why you want to change plans on one level, but on another the change is unavoidably upsetting to me.