Down Syndrome and Autism

If you are a socially awkward introvert like me, you too have experienced the trauma of the party where you only knew one person.

Think of that one year at your spouse's work's Christmas party, the year when two hundred people were milling about with stem glasses of wine and teensy paper plates with mini-quiches and meatballs. Your spouse left you for a second to discuss the January budget with the accountant who only comes in on Thursdays. But he did not introduce you to anyone, so you had nobody to talk to. Sure, the people around you were all nice, and you knew none of them were out to harm you. But standing there with your back against the window, clutching your wine glass for dear life, you knew you did not belong. You knew nobody cared whether you were there or not. It was another one of those events that were to be endured till your spouse would return and magically make you feel part of something again. Everyone else was laughing, comfortably walking about, brushing elbows, feeling welcome wherever they choose to stop to join a conversation.

Second scenario -- same party, someone walks up to talk to you. It's Joe's boss. He tries to be friendly, but you know nothing about him, except that he ruthlessly and without explanation fired Joe's cubicle mate Miranda last fall. You want to be kind, engaging, smiling, and positive -- for Joe's sake. Words fail you. 

Take these scenaria with their accompanying anxieties, and imagine that this was your day every day. That almost every encounter you had with another human would feature risks, rejections, misunderstandings, disappointed expectations. After a season, you quit trying. You prefer staying home with your favorite movie, Harry Potter 3, where every time you turn it on, there is Dobby slamming his head into Harry Potter's dresser drawer, and there is Harry, saving the day for Hog Warts. 

That may, to some extend be what life often feels like for a person with Down syndrome and autism. So much of the world makes little sense to start with. When you finally make sense of something, the world keeps changing, and it is that change, and the Downs-autistic person's inability to predict or stop the change that causes him either to check out, or to melt down.

When roughly 25%  or more of  any given day spins out of my control, my mood begins to be affected.  I'm talking mundane things like toilet overflows, a late fee shows up on my mortgage payment because the Bank web site did not work, my sitter for work suddenly fell through,  I was 30 minutes late to Ben's appointment because of traffic on I 270, etc. If that were every day, all the time, eventually, I would give up or melt down too.

Less questions, less talk, more quiet, more acceptance, no pressures ... would be nice for any of us when we are overwhelmed in a social setting.