And then Mum does the illogical thing she always does and shouts after him when he can’t possibly hear,
“We don’t want your germs Toby! Thank you very much. Just use a glass!”
And all this shouting and winding me up is cruel and last days are very difficult as it is, especially the last day of term before Christmas.
People unravel and so do I.
I plead with Mum to let me take the day off.
“Muuuum, pleeeasse. I don’t want to go in. Pleeeasse…”
I wince as she BANGS a cereal bowl and spoon on the kitchen table and Anxiety marches in and pulls at me.
She shakes Rice Pops into the bowl… Bella hoovers up the few that escape on to the floor.
“I caaaaan’t go in today. It’s a horrible day.”
“Oh come on M. The last day is a short day and then you have two weeks of freedom. You can’t miss school because you don’t fancy it.” She opens a fresh carton of orange juice and pours it into my glass. The liquid dazzles me. Bella nuzzles into me. “Go away Bella, let M have her breakfast in peace.” And she shoos Bella away, but I like my dog being close. Her gentle presence softens the edges of my life.
“Eat your breakfast.”
“Buuuut nooooo.” And it’s not a case of not fancying it. The timetable will have collapsed today because it is a half day.
Anxiety breathes heavily in my ear and pushes at me.
Time will have collapsed. Bella thankfully returns to my side.
Mum is now stirring her coffee, loudly.
“Can you just stop that?” And I indicate to her stirring.
“It’s just a spoon M! God, you’re not in a good mood are you?”
I watch as she tries to stir quietly.
“Is there a specific problem M?” And then she stops and looks me directly in the eyes. I drop my head. “Is it something to do with Shaznia?”
“Noooooo.” And I push the cereal away.
“Well, what then?”
“It’s the timetable… It’s all different.”
“So the timetable will have changed? Is that the problem? Oh come on M, you have to be more flexible than this.” And she pushes the bowl back to me. “You can’t go to school on an empty stomach.”
But what I am trying to say is time will have no meaning for me today.
Today I have no hold on time.
I will be adrift in the universe as anxiety pummels at me and shakes me and teases and tortures me.
My little squares of “timetable time” won’t work. The time is all broken up and sharp timetable lines are jutting out and piercing space.
I have nothing to apply to time.
A vast, scary unknowingness is opening up ahead of me which I cannot measure or feel, like other people seem to.
Time does not hold me warmly in its arms. No, it drops me from a height and I fall, and fall like Alice in Wonderland down, down the big black hole, but I’m not in Wonderland. I’m in a harshly lit council-run school in Sevenoaks. That stinks of disinfectant and is held together with a series of unfriendly corridors.
The little timetable squares help me traverse the noises and smells and people.
Without them I am truly lost and a school day becomes an eternity, and I want to ask Mum how she would react if eternity lay ahead of her today? How scary would that be??? But instead I push my breakfast away again and say,
“I doooon’t want to go innnn…”
“Come on M. One spoonful please M.”
Bella flops to the kitchen floor and sighs and watches me as I force cereal down my throat.
“You have to be strong, M!” And she grabs one of her magnets from the fridge and reads out,
Women are like teabags. You never know how strong they are till you put them in hot water.
I hate this fridge magnet. I hate it. I hate it above all the other fridge magnets of nonsense stuck on that stupid fridge. It makes no sense and sounds ridiculous. I push my luminous orange juice away. She SLAMS the magnet back on top of Toby’s Most Polite Boy Certificate and grabs another and reads,
Challenges are life’s gym. They make you stronger.
“Oh Muuuuuum!” I shout. “I doooon’t waaaant to go!” I hardly slept the night before worrying about the surprise Mr Bray said was happening. I’m exhausted. “Muuuuumm…please.”
“Honey. You have to go in.”
“Buuut I don’t want toooo.”
“M, stop. Stop it.” And I’m slipping into a MEltDOwN. Mum has moved the furniture round to fit the Christmas tree, in the little space we have. The fairy lights are flashing. Flashing. Flashing. She’s wrapped tinsel round the banisters and the pictures and all I can smell is the tree. We are currently living with a tree inside our house!
“Muuuuummm. You said if I am ill I don’t have to go to school…you saaaaid.”
“You’re not ill M. You’re having a meltdown aren’t you? Oh no, please. Not now. ”
“I doooon’t want to go innnnn…” And I want to scream at her. Has she forgotten about the leaflets and websites about autism and meltdowns? Why did she push me into this? I feel provoked into this. I am trying to fight it but I’ve slipped into the control of The Beast and I am so filled with rage and frustration and fear all I can do is cry out,
“I want to staaay home.”
“Can you not, just for once, please stop this? Can you just do this for me M? Please. I can’t be late for work today.”
“Muuummm. I waaaant to stay here…”
“Please, for me – try! Can’t you try and pull it together? All the things I do for you and I am asking you, this once, to just try and stop this!”
And I try to take deep breaths but Anxiety’s hands are gripping my throat and I am choking, and if I can’t breathe I’ll die, and I gasp for air and tears are rolling, hot, down my cheeks. I shake.
She sits down opposite me. Her tone of voice is different. I can’t work out if it’s sad, frustrated or resentful. Maybe it’s all three, but her voice is quieter and that’s a good thing.
“Take a deep breath.” And I follow the instructions. “In and out…in and out. Remember what Fiona said about breathing. It calms you.”
Anxiety’s
