Meltdown, Breakdown: An Autism Journey

Chapter 1: "Take a Walk"

I rolled along the stained, grimy, disgusting cafeteria floor, and reached my arms towards the location of the faint sound of bells. I was like a radar; I knew exactly where the ball was going to land and how I needed to stop it.

Smack!

Okay, maybe not.

I yelped, and heard the ball jingle away from its' target: My face. It felt like it had just been scraped with a supersonic cheese grater, probably because that was essentially what happened. That's natural when a heavy, textured ball grazes you at forty miles an hour.

I was playing my favorite sport, named probably the most generic, out there, "What the heck?" name you've ever heard: Goalball. It's a sport for the visually impaired, though everybody puts on blindfolds so anyone who wants to can play.

I ran my hands along the dusty cafeteria floor in front of me, trying to find my position on the court. I felt for the usual rope-under-tape tactile court markings which should have marked the sideline, but didn't find anything. I immediately shot up my hand, slightly waving it, trying to get the referee's attention. Clunk! A slight pain hit my knuckles, and it dawned on me that I had just smacked the top of the goal. Trying again to find my place, it finally registered that I was probably in the goal, and that the ball hadn't even been put into play again. Though I couldn't see, I had a feeling that everyone had been watching me this whole time.

"Official's timeout!" The referee barked gruffly. I jumped, startled. He had to have been no more than 2 feet away from me. He lightly tapped me on the shoulder, which confirmed my suspicions. I was shaking violently, trying to hold my embarrassment in. The ref tapped my shoulder again, trying to bring me back to reality. "Eric? You good, man?"

Almost I felt my mind start to tighten up more and more. It was almost like stomach cramp, but in my head. I grit my teeth. Suddenly, and without warning, I felt an acute finish of the tightening in my forehead, as if I'd just smashed it against a brick wall. The tightness spread. It felt like every muscle in my body was tensing up; like someone had injected me with some weird drug. Almost in slow motion, I felt myself tear my goggles off my face. While my eyes scrambled to find focus in the newfound light, my fists involuntarily went to the "ready" stance towards the referee.

---

The referee backed away, clearly panicked, but kept his voice calm and collected. He'd clearly done this before, but not on this scale, and definitely not with me.

"Eric," He was trembling too. "Take a walk. Please."

I moved closer towards him, and took a shallow breath, ready to strike...

The pole to his left. My clenched-till-it-turned-white fist made contact, pain shooting through my hands, from my knuckles, to my wrist, even all the way into my shoulders. Over and over, I pounded the pole, not wanting to stop, nor caring that my hands felt like I'd taken a sledgehammer to them. The crowd of people that had now formed was shocked and appalled at my public self-harm, yet nobody interfered. Everyone knew what would happen if someone got in the way. I noticed the murmurs in the crowd, they were something to the effect of: Is he always like this? and Can't we do anything? I paused, slightly nodded to the crowd, and resumed my self-destruction. I pulled my arm back, ready for another strike when I heard a familiar voice. I paused. The voice was laced with pain, shock and anguish.

"Eric? Eric! Stop! Please!"

I paused again, and the world around me stopped, as if I'd just pressed pause on a movie. Except that this wasn't a movie. This was real life, and I was the villain in this edition. After pondering this for a moment, I stopped punching the pole. Almost instantly, I covered my face, closed my eyes, and started to weep.