Feb. 24 / 2021
9:05 am
At 4:30 pm yesterday I was supposed to participate in a Zoom cooking-class, but I was unable to do so because of a crippling (though not quite paralyzing) anxiety attack. I’ve come across the phrase “Aspie meltdown” more than than once while reading Aspie literature online, but yesterday was the first meltdown I can remember in a very long time. I now understand why the Aspie community calls them meltdowns. The comparison to a nuclear reactor going critical is quite apt, especially for an Aspie. I was texting back and forth with my CSW at the time, trying to explain why there was no way I could do it. And yet there was no way I could back out. I was still unfamiliar with Zoom. (This has not changed btw). Preparing anything more complicated than a smoothie or a bowl of cereal. Heating up a can of soup on the stovetop is the upper limit of what I’m comfortable with doing. I had definitely clicked into Avoidance Mode, but I’d already agreed to do this. My name was on the list. I’d already ran up a hefty grocery bill at my local supermarket to prepare for the two meals I would make with this online cooking class. I understood what was at stake. I understood how necessary it was (and is) to acquire new life-skills. But for me there is another imperative: the visceral need to avoid panic and meltdowns.
Google Search has this to say on the subject:
Avoidance behaviors are any actions a person takes to escape from difficult thoughts and feelings. These behaviors can occur in many different ways and may include actions that a person does or does not do. ... As a person dealing with panic and anxiety, you may already be familiar with acting out of avoidance.
When you can’t think straight, when you want to scream, when it feels like you’re going to die, what can you do? You can do what I did yesterday. You can suffer a humiliating, demoralizing defeat, reduced by the experience to a temporarily helpless child on the verge of blubbering. And after you’ve done all that, you can try again and succeed in making some tasty Mac and Cheese in your own kitchen, which is what I did last night. I still can’t believe it’s not inedible!
One of the most dramatic scenes in Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey has the American astronaut Dave Bowman disconnecting HAL 9000’s higher brain functions aboard the spacecraft Discovery. Because he is a supercomputer HAL always speaks in a calm and pleasant, not-quite-monotone male voice, even when he is experiencing what is clearly meant to be a panic attack.
As HAL is being lobotomized by Bowman he says:
“I'm afraid. I'm afraid, Dave. Dave, my mind is going. I can feel it. I can feel it. My mind is going. There is no question about it. I can feel it. I can feel it. I can feel it…”
That’s exactly what my most recent anxiety attack felt like, like my mind was going. Thoughts racing, heart pounding, rapid breathing. The avoidant personality spirals ever inward, into itself, into its own silence and inertia. Known stressors produce reassuring pings on its high resolution radar screens, and the appropriate course-corrections are made to avoid them in the future. The occasional warning buoy is launched, and over time they cluster around known threats. Here Be Dragons! Here Be Monsters! The fear of failure is how my mind tricks itself into failing quietly and painlessly. I’ve learned to congratulate myself for failing on my own terms and on my own time, and it’s just as absurd as it sounds. There is a definitely a false sense of accomplishment attached to this behaviour, a thrill, a feeling of having gotten away with a bit of mischief. Whenever I can grow a little bit more as a person, defeat anxiety, push through discomfort and engage life with less fear, I will have won all the glory I’ll ever need. When all avoidant strategies are switched off, the moment of truth is at hand. The moment spirals ever outward, beyond itself. It is always happy to see me, always glad I could make it.
Comments