Last night, Brent and I took advantage of an opportunity to have dinner out to get our calendars linked. We decided to try a new restaurant that we haven't been to before. It was large and industrial inside, exposed brick and pipes. Cold. It was bitterly cold inside. Gigantic televisions broadcasting sports in every direction. And people. Everywhere. Barely a square-foot throughout the entire place, at least where we were sitting, that didn't have people.
We ordered our drinks and meals. I got out my laptop and input dates into our calendars. We focused on that and I was able to tune out the rest of the stimuli. But when our food came, I had my laptop away. I was able to eat, somewhat. The salad I ordered was OVERLY spicy, like on fire, spicy. And, like a domino effect, the sensory input started flooding its way into my brain. I ate the best I could.
But, the sound got louder, like someone was simply turning the volume dial every few minutes. The giant TVs invaded my visual system. I covertly covered my ears at first. Trying to block it out. My foot started tapping. I wanted to evaporate into thin air.
Faintly, I could hear Brent talking to me. He was asking me to go out to the car. He said something about my eyes...I shook my head no. I was not ready to wave the white flag of surrender, that I was unable to do that particular moment. That particular place. On that very night. I wanted to conquer it and be in control at that moment.
Eventually, I think it was something like the third time that I heard Brent tell me to "go outside and wait in the truck" while he paid the bill, I submitted. He had already taken the truck keys out of his pocket and put them on the table. I picked them up, grabbed my bags and left.
I know that the oodles of staff that were at the host area did not say anything to me. I was appreciative so that I didn't have to respond. I could just get outside, where my sensory system could calm down. Where I could catch my breath and yet feel on high alert as a man walked oddly close to my "bubble" and followed me into the large parking lot that was behind the restaurant. I spread Brent's keys as a makeshift weapon between my fingers and got to the truck. Unlocked. Got in and relocked the doors. And, I grabbed Jackson's blanket from the back seat to warm myself up.
A few minutes later, Brent was with me. He was in the truck and asking if I was okay. If I wanted to do something else. I asked if we could just go home. We sat together in a moment of quiet before he started the truck. Once in our house, he gave me a big hug. I apologized. He told me I didn't have to.
But, my neurology, my differences. THEY had affected our evening together. It's as though I have become a hermit in certain instances because it's way safer to live inside the confines of my own home than to put myself in harms way.
And, isn't it interesting that whenever we go out to meals with Jackson that we try to sit in the least crowded area of the restaurant, where it is the least assaulting on the auditory system and the brain. Often going before the dinner crowd hits, we joke that we are akin to the Early Birder's these days. We make these simple changes each and every time and I never once feel saddened at the changes that we have made to help Jackson to be authentically himself and to not have situations where the insurgence of stimuli cause moments of him eloping and/or needing to stim in dangerous ways so that he could just "be" there.
So why am I so hard on myself?
Why am I so resistant to feel the need to apologize for the way I have been made?
I guess I'm just not there...
yet.
