Eyes open
Click…Tab…Open
Lights switch on
Click…Tab…Open
Momentum carries feet to the scratchy needling carpet
Click…Tab…Open
Sirens, an alarm sets off despite my awakened state
Click…Tab…Open
Greasy crumbing dog food touching, clinging to skin
Click…Tab…Open
Scrubbing, moisture,dripping, air drying, to a fiery red, rashy sheen
Click…Tab…Open
Heater kicks on, coughing sequence commence
Click…Tab…Open
Computer crash, 56 tabs I was actively using, closed in an instant
Click…Tab…Open
No coffee in the cabinet, tea doesn’t taste the same with my food
Click…Tab…Open
Questions asked, no time for answers given
Click…Tab…Open
Music just keeps getting louder despite every reduction in volume
Click…Tab…Open
Wrote past lunch, every smell, triggering the swell in my throat
Click…Tab…Open
Fianlly, a sprint to the lavatory alleviates some pressure on me
Click…Tab…Open
The fucking faucet! How can every drop of water be attracted to my clothes and body?!?! Whatever happened to physics, to gravity? Being this wet is a god damn calamity!
Click…Click…Click…clickclickclick
Blue screen of death
K.B. Silver
For those on the outside looking in, an autistic meltdown can look like a temper tantrum or like it is set off by small or trivial matters. In reality, it is a neurological overload. One that has been building up for hours, more likely over the course of an entire day, potentially even longer. The best way I can describe a meltdown, at least from my perspective, is like a computer with too many tabs open.
I have often described my thoughts and memories as tabs and folders on a computer. Before computers became so ubiquitous, it was a wall of drawers and file folders. I can't say exactly when the files were digitized and migrated, just a part of modern life I guess.
I know that personally, when I start thinking about a topic, if I see something of interest, or if someone starts a conversation, those thoughts don’t go away, possibly for days. So conversations, thoughts, pieces of poems, meals, television shows, and places I’ve been all get shoved in together, mixing, fighting, and clamoring to be spoken of or written about, as the case may be.
Not to mention the amplified sensory input, and memories breaking through, until I finally overload, shut down, and restart. This is one reason social interactions are so exhausting. They don’t end when I disengage. Untangling and processing all of the hyper-detailed information lasts for days.
About the Creator
K.B. Silver
K.B. Silver has poems published in magazine Wishbone Words, and lit journals: Sheepshead Review, New Note Poetry, Twisted Vine, Avant Appa[achia, Plants and Poetry, recordings in Stanza Cannon, and pieces in Wingless Dreamer anthologies.
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More stories from K.B. Silver and writers in Poets and other communities.
CH 16~ Gallant in Search of Goddess
The Prenticits’ villa was technically several miles outside the walls of Old Sanctville. Shipbuilders who rose to nobility in Killoran Meganti, the previous ruler’s reign, for their contribution to the Imperial Navy, the Prenticits have shipyards in every major port city to supply lifeboats and longboats. The original yard next to their Villa was a popular spot for Nobles to have custom regatta shells made. Their hands-on legacy was exactly the sort of thing both the Adremas and the Arsenaults found appealing.
By K.B. Silver Exclusive • 24 days ago
Comments (2)
This is great, relatable. Too many tabs is an excellent way to express the feeling.
I can relate to this so much