The World Is Such a Loud Place And It Seldom Stops Talking

Photo © dan_giles | Flickr / Creative Commons
[image: A red lit-up mute button featuring a crossed-out microphone symbol.]

Sara Earhart
seekingsara174.com

Hearing is the sense that gives me the most trouble to the point that I often wish I had a mute button for the world around me. Sometimes I even wonder what it would be like to have a cochlear implant that I could detach when sound was just too overpowering. The world is such a loud place and it seldom stops talking.

Some days are better than others. Sometimes my brain does a better job at filtering sounds toward the back of my mind, but most days the sound comes at me all at once in a jumble of confusing, overwhelming chaos. Each sound jockeys for position at the front of my mind as each insists I pay close attention to its deafening shouts. It’s an exhausting experience to be constantly inundated with such a loud, insistent world without the ability to filter any of it out.

Even now while I write this post in a relatively quiet room, sound is everywhere. The high-pitched chirping of a bird outside the window is joined by the electric whine of the TV (which is off), the shower running upstairs, a family member walking on the floor above me, a goose in the front yard honking incessantly, the walls and windows settling, the wind swooshing through the trees out back, an electric toothbrush pulsing, a door opening and closing, the hum of the ice maker, the neighbor’s car door slamming…All loud. All insistent.

I am very easily startled, overwhelmed, or distracted by sounds. I’m likely to jump at a sudden loud noise, and it can often be very painful. A lot of sounds are physically painful to me: fireworks (which I also feel as a punch in the chest), alarms, sirens, anything shrill, etc. Some are less painful but more overwhelming; those make me feel like I’m drowning: crowds, loud music, revving engines, etc.

These are some of the most extreme sounds for me: fireworks, fire alarms, sirens of any kind, pitch-bending (sliding between notes), dentist drills, wood saws or drills, squealing bike brakes, shrill voices, whistles, people whistling, motorcycles revving, airplanes overhead, loud voices/shouting, loud and unexpected sounds in general, high-pitched noises, tapping or clicking, people talking behind me, crowds, out of key music, hairdryers, vacuum cleaners…

While I doubt that these things are pleasant for most people, they can be absolutely excruciating to me.

It’s important to note that auditory sensory overload isn’t always related to sounds I don’t like. When I’m overstimulated, I can’t handle any sound. Not my favorite song or an otherwise pleasant white noise or even the sound of a loved one’s voice. At that point, any sound is toxic until I recover.

Here are some examples of my intense auditory sensitivities to give you a better idea of my experiences:

LOOPING

Sometimes a noise or sound gets stuck in my head. I call this “looping” and it can be maddening. Think about something like nails on a chalkboard. (Even typing that makes me physically uncomfortable. But that cringing sensation that a lot of people experience is how many sounds feel to me!) Imagine that sound getting trapped in your head and sort of echoing again and again and again–long after the actual sound has passed. This happens to me fairly frequently and it’s extremely painful and distressing.

ELECTRONICS

I did an experiment with a friend once while studying abroad. After months of being annoyed by the high-pitched whine of the old TV in the corner of the dorm kitchen, I finally grumbled, “It’s so LOUD!!” My friend looked at the sumo match on the TV, back to me, and then back to the cheering crowd on the screen. “Loud? Ok, I’ll turn it down.”

I shook my head. “Not the program. That shrill sound that comes from the TV.” He cocked his head and muted the TV–listening intently. To my surprise, he said he couldn’t hear it. I was completely shocked.

“You can’t hear that? Seriously? It’s all I can hear…” We decided to do an experiment. I turned my back on the TV. He kept the volume muted and silently turned the TV on and off and I told him whether it was on or not based on the whining sound. I left the kitchen and started to walk down the hallway, calling back to him “ON! OFF!!… ON! OFF! No, STILL ON! Ha, tricky!” as I passed room after room.

I made it all the way down to the end of the hallway where I could still hear the faint sound of the shrill TV. When I got back into the room my friend was shaking his head. “Is that why you always turn it off when no one’s watching it? I thought you just really hated sumo or something.”

FIRE ALARMS

One year while teaching in Japan, my desk was located directly beside the fire alarm. I didn’t realize this because it looked different from the ones I’m used to seeing. (In some ways I’m glad I didn’t know because if I had, I may not have been able to relax.) One day, we had an unexpected fire drill and the alarm blared directly at me. It was actual physical agony. I can still remember the physical pain throughout my body and the extreme nausea: I almost threw up. I was on edge for the rest of the day—jumpy and fidgety until I could go home and sit in a dark, quiet room with both earplugs and headphones.

When I was a kid and there were safety drills at school, I would be a complete wreck waiting for the alarm, during, and for the rest of the day. It would make me anxious and physically ill for the entire day. I remember trying to be “tough” like all the other kids who could walk down the hallways laughing and joking, but I always had to shove my fingers in my ears and grit my teeth as I raced out of the building.

COPING

• Ear plugs: I wear earplugs while I sleep and I have done for at least a decade. I can’t fall asleep without them; I can’t even begin to relax and let down my guard without them. I’ve started to bring earplugs everywhere I go and wear them in restaurants especially.
• Noise-canceling headphones: When I first got my headphones, I wore them every chance I got but found that I panicked when I had to take them off for work. I think they actually made me more sensitive to sound and that was a horrifying discovery. Now I only wear them when I really, really need to avoid a sound that earplugs just won’t help with.
• Stimming (Blocking or recovering from bad sensory input with good/neutral stimuli): Humming or singing softly to myself is one of the most effective tools to help me deal with auditory overstimulation and sensory overload. This works by blocking out other sounds and giving me some control over what I’m hearing. Unfortunately, it’s something that society has made me feel uncomfortable doing in public, but sometimes I can’t help but do it to survive. I’m getting better at doing it in situations where I need to.
• Silence: I bathe in silence whenever possible. Silence is a breath of life.

Read More

Why I Do Not Hate Autism

Shona Davison. Source: Author
[image: Photo of a white woman with straight shoulder-length
dark brown hair. She is looking to her left, and smiling.]

Shona Davison
shonadavison.co.uk

I do not hate autism. Sadly, many people do, including some autistic people. Recently I saw a post in a Facebook support group for autistic people. The original poster said that they hated autism and gave a list of reasons why. Many others agreed in the comments. There was almost relief that someone had said it. Autistic people sometimes feel like they are not allowed to say such things. In the comments many autistic people explained why they hate autism. The reasons were mostly to do with how difficult their lives are. I didn’t comment as I recognise when people need to vent, and arguing would not have been supportive. However, I found the thread extremely upsetting. I hate to see people suffer and this thread was evidence that many autistic people do indeed suffer.

One of the things that bothered me about the thread was I do not think their hatred was directed in the right place. Their comments suggested that they hated that their lives are so difficult. Are their lives difficult because of autism?

Life is difficult for me as an autistic woman. I’ve spent most of my life being criticised or rejected because of perceived social failings. It is difficult trying to keep up with conversations because my brain processes information more slowly, and people don't realize I need a few extra seconds to reply. It's difficult being in sensory overload because fluorescent lights exist (they wouldn't if autistics were the majority). I put in extra effort compared to most for every outing, every social interaction, everything I do, yet I still do not meet the appropriate ‘standard’ as defined by non autistic people. I get more tired and stressed from this extra effort, so I need more downtime. But if I take more downtime I am perceived as lazy. Yet if I don’t have downtime, I have anxiety attacks or meltdowns and I’m considered not to be "resilient." All of this means my life is difficult—more difficult that it would be if I were not autistic.

Many autistic people have really difficult lives through no fault of their own.

I therefore understand why some autistic people want a cure. But my view is that those people are putting the blame for their problems in the wrong place. If we blame autism, which is an integral part of us, the consequence is that we try to change ourselves for a better life.

I do not believe it is possible to be a happy autistic person whilst trying to behave like a non-autistic person. It is futile. Even if we are successful at ‘fitting in’ for many years, there is usually a price to pay in the long run. We will always stand out as different to some extent and for some of us the effort involved in acting ‘normal’ will kill us.

In my view, the blame for most of the challenges we face should be placed in our environments.

I’m autistic, I’m always going to be autistic. Whether or not I am happy depends on external factors such as the people around me, my physical environment, the type and amount of work I do. I believe that accepting this is key to wellbeing.

I have had more success improving my life once I stopped focusing on changing myself, and instead started to look at my surroundings. As my knowledge about my own brain and my own needs has increased, I have been able to educate my family and friends. I say ‘no’ to work or social events more often, so that I get the downtime I need. Our house has dimmer switches, headphones, weighted blankets, a mini trampoline, and so many stim toys. Changing our environments is not necessarily a simple task, but for lots of us autistics it is far easier than long-term masking. Research shows it is also less dangerous to our mental health. I believe it is more likely to result in happiness too, but how to be a happy autistic person is not a priority in autism research, so that is just my personal view based on my experience.

For those of us who are able and willing to go that step further there is a lot of work to be done changing wider society. Professionals need educating; laws, policies and diagnostic manuals need changing; public spaces need to be more sensory friendly.  But one step at a time—changing our immediate environment needs to come first.

I have seen some autistic people argue that blaming society for our difficulties is shirking personal responsibility and that we should be aiming to ‘improve’ ourselves. This stance says a lot about their conceptualisation of autism: If one sees autistic people as deficient or lacking in some way compared to non-autistic people then it is understandable that one would believe that acting more like a non-autistic person is "self-improvement."

I do not see autism that way at all. All humans learn and develop over their lifetime, and that is a positive thing. Why should autistic people be any different? It should be obvious that autism acceptance is compatible with personal development. I saw a really lovely phrase on Twitter once: "We do not grow out of autism, we grow into it."

I do not just accept I am autistic, I embrace it.  Autism is intertwined into every part of me and influences everything I do and feel.  I would not be me if I were not autistic, I’d be an entirely different person.

Do autistic people suffer? Sadly yes, lots of us do. Do we suffer from autism? No, I do not think so. That is why I do not hate autism.

Read More