I'd like to think that my essay gives at least some idea even to those who have never experienced a meltdown or sensory overload. I think it's possible to communicate how it feels, if only we can get people to really listen. Since I guess most people probably don't want to have to go read a blog, I'll copy the first part here (it's quite long and I don't want to slam anyone with a wall of text) and if anyone wants to read the rest I'll leave a link at the bottom.
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It could be anywhere, but this time it’s the metro (or subway or underground, whatever you call it). It’s not particularly crowded, but there’s a group of American tourists standing close by, speaking very loudly in that American Tourist voice about how they’re sure everyone they meet at the major landmarks will speak English. At first it’s just annoying. Not taking a hint from the silence in the rest of the train, their voices carry from end to end. You could swear they grow louder and more high-pitched the longer they talk.
The train stops. You’re not directly in the way, but the large woman behind you shoves you aside anyway as she exits. The tourists don’t get off. The train is getting fuller now. At first you glance at the faces of those getting on, but they start to warp. They all look so angry, so hostile. Are they really, or is your perception off again? That man looks like a lizard. A young couple squeezes in next to you and starts giggling and kissing. The girl has a metal nose piercing that keeps catching the light and flashing it into your eyes. Several people are talking now, but the tourists are still clearly audible as they criticize the local cuisine. A light in the corner starts to flicker. Each flash feels like an electric shock.
The young couple is unabashedly making out now. It’s not the sight that’s so troublesome, but the sound. That moist sucking and smacking sound is like needles in your ears. One of the tourists starts to laugh the highest-pitched laugh you’ve ever heard. It’s starting to hurt. Physically hurt your inner ears. How crazy would you look if you just covered your ears?
Probably pretty crazy. Hold on. Just a few more stops.
The flickering — is it getting worse, or is your tolerance just wearing down? Your eyes are pointed at the floor now. Less movement there, less to process. Then someone nearby starts tapping their foot to the music you can hear blaring though their earbuds. You squeeze your eyes shut.
Someone is turning the volume up on the world. Those kissing noises are getting louder, punctuated by the shriek of the American woman’s laughter. Dear god, why don’t they just shut up? Why don’t these kids just get a room somewhere? Why doesn’t the businessman standing next to you holding the overhead hand rail wear deodorant? You suppress the urge to vomit.
Your clothing is getting rougher. They are made of sandpaper now. You swear you’d just rip them all off if it didn’t mean baring your skin and being brushed against by all these strangers.
The tourists’ voices aren’t even forming words anymore. It’s just a constant stream of high-pitched high-volume noises that grates on your ears. Every vowel makes you cringe. You know from experience that people are staring at you now. You’re rocking back and forth, shaking your head, squeezing your eyes shut, jumping at each louder-than-average sound. You probably look like a junkie.
You can no longer make out the announcements of each stop over the screaming cacophony around you so you have to open your eyes for a moment to check your location. Oh christ no, two more stops. Oh god no. You’re not going to make it this time. It hurts. It HURTS. Please let it go quickly. Please let everyone just get off the train at the next stop and leave you in peace.
A seat opens up and you snatch it as quickly as possible. You hold your bag in your lap and squeeze it as tightly as your eyes. You’d hide under the seat if you could, and if it didn’t smell like piss. You try not to breathe. You try not to hear. You try not to think. Most of all, you try not to cry. You try to keep the frantic shaking to a minimum. Hold in those tears. You’re an adult. You don’t cry on the metro. YOU CAN DO THIS.
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The rest can be found here: http://crowdedhead.blog.com/2012/11/01/the-meltdown/