University of Brighton fine Art (Painting) submission

When it’s not physical tiredness

It’s been a full, full long weekend. We completed an 8 hour round trip to Wales, where we went to a wedding with Alex’s family and spent the following day with my parents, then raced back to take our puppy to puppy school. This would have been a lot for anyone, but for me it made me what I call ‘autistic tired’. It’s not physical or cognitive tiredness. It’s a different kind of tiredness, which when you know what to look for, you realise comes with with unique symptoms:

• I can’t stop saying ‘I’m tired’. It becomes all I think about – and whatever I think comes out my mouth shortly after. If I can’t stop staying I’m tired and it’s not 2am (when other people might be saying the same thing), I know it’s autistic tiredness

• My brain feels like a dead weight. It’s like having a huge weight pressing down on my brain, against ears and eyes, and stops me from concentrating, making decisions – even talking

• I also feel trapped in my brain. My brain isn’t fully ‘tired’. There’s tiny a part of it desperately trying to fight through the pressing weight, but it can’t – and it starts panicking

• …And it makes me want to cry. Any disruption to a plan, any slight sensory overwhelm caused by my squashed brain, immediately short circuits it and frustrates me to the point of tears

• I use these flags to ensure I go recharge my battery. The above symptoms are like my phone going into battery saver mode. Once I get a ‘notification’ (often when I start saying I’m tired) I’m motivated to engage in self-care, from cancelling social engagements to reading my book

As a late diagnosed autistic, being able to spot and manage autistic tiredness has been quite the challenging struggle – especially discerning it from ‘normal’ tiredness. But the more effort I make to to pay attention to how autistic tiredness cumulatively builds up in me, the quicker I can start looking after myself and stop it sliding into a meltdown.