Sensory battlefield

Shopping while autistic. How hard can it be?

I'm about to start a new job and I need a few things. A black cardigan, a pair of comfortable black office shoes, black trousers. I'll be wearing a uniform blouse, I’ve seen my future colleagues wearing it but I have no idea what it's made of. I could hardly ask to feel it on interview day. That would be weird. But what if it’s a fabric so repellent to the touch that I won’t be able to stand it?

Well, I’ll have to deal with it. At least I can choose the rest of my outfit.

There are three brands of shoes I can cope with but I can't afford to buy them new, so I'm hoping that there'll be some good quality secondhand stuff in Canterbury. I like Canterbury. It’s where I went to university not so long ago, just a 40 minute bus ride away. It’s a surprisingly lovely day and I’m feeling good, so I decide there’s no better time to go. It's a Tuesday so it shouldn't be too busy. I know where all the charity shops are, and plan a route in my head. It’ll be quick, easy, surgical. In and out, grab what I need and come home. No problem.

The bus journey is quiet. I listen to a podcast and enjoy the view, feeling calm as I watch the beautiful countryside go by.

Arriving at Canterbury bus station I see that it’s a little busier than I’d hoped, but I’ll be fine. I won’t be here long. I cross over, turn a corner, and my heart rate shoots up as I walk into a Christmas market.

I forgot about Christmas. I can’t stand it, and do my best to ignore it until it’s over. If I’d remembered that the markets would be on, I wouldn’t have come. But this is quite a nice Christmas market, it's not too loud or tacky, and I’m not staying in this area anyway. I remember to put in my Loop earplugs and immediately feel calmer.

I pass a Syrian street food stand selling halloumi wraps that look delicious. I'll come back to that. I can treat myself to a small lunch later, but first let’s get the shopping done. I cross over to the quiet back street first. It's got all the best charity shops and hardly any other shoppers.

Nothing in the first one, jackpot in the second one. A black merino wool cardigan, nice and cheap, with a small hole in the armpit that I can easily repair. As a bonus, a pair of thermal lined outdoor walking trousers. Absolute bargains! The shop is quiet, the changing room spacious and clean. I buy both items and even manage a bit of small talk as I pay. 

I look in a few more shops as I make my way into the town centre. It's still pretty quiet, I’m doing OK. I’m starting to need the toilet though, and I’m feeling a little thirsty. I have water with me but I’d better wait. I can use the bathroom in Marks and Spencers, that's my last stop but it shouldn't take too long to get there. I loop back onto the main street, and head towards the busier part of town. 

I'm getting slightly overheated now, starting to sweat, so I unzip my coat. It’s a new coat I’m wearing for the first time this year; slightly padded, very comfortable, but the fabric is slippery. I hadn’t really noticed that before I unzipped it, but now the strap of my cross-body bag is pulling it sideways. There's a full water bottle in the bag. It’s heavy. I never noticed its weight before but now I really feel the pressure of the strap against my neck. My shopping bag keeps sliding off my shoulder. I tug at the coat awkwardly as I walk, trying to straighten it out. It’s annoying. I could drink the water; I'm very thirsty and hot, water would be nice, but I need to pee so I’ll wait.

Everything’s getting a bit blurry. I tried to read a price label in the last shop but couldn’t focus on it. I'm wearing contact lenses today because I can't deal with glasses when I'm out. I’m fine with sunglasses but I don't have my prescription ones with me, just my regular Ray-Bans, and they’re way too dark to wear with blurry contact lenses. My eyes are so dry, and they're starting to ache. I should take the contacts out, but I’ve been touching things and there’s nowhere to wash my hands. I have hand gel, but the thought of putting something sticky on my hands makes me nauseous. Disgusting! Painful eyes seem like the better option.

I suddenly notice I’m feeling a bit light headed. Am I hungry? I ate breakfast at eight and it's now after two, so I’m probably hungry. Now I’ve noticed, it feels urgent. I need to eat soon. I think of the Syrian stall, but I have two more shops before I get there. I have a plan, a route mapped out, and I feel compelled to stick to it very precisely. I’m actually starting to consider abandoning the shopping altogether, but I came all this way and I need to get it done. I can’t give up now.

Just get on with it!

The strap of my bag is driving me insane. The slick texture of this jacket makes me angry now. How did I not notice the unpleasant sound it makes when it rubs against itself? It was just a light swish earlier, now it’s like nails on a chalkboard. I’m so hot! I need to take off my jumper but first I'd have to put these bags on the ground and take the coat off, and what would I do with that as I take the jumper off? Drop it on the dirty pavement? I can't quite visualise the steps that it would take, it feels like some impossible magic trick. Ta DA! (Rapturous applause). No, I’ll just have to cope with it.

Keep going! Almost there!

I really need to pee. I’m getting close to Marks and Spencers. There's one more charity shop I want to try, but there's another Christmas market! This one's louder, brighter, so many people! As I get closer, I can hear at least three conflicting Christmas songs coming from different directions. There's a woman singing under a canopy, using a microphone attached to what looks like a small karaoke machine. The sound is awful. You can hardly hear the backing track, and her vocal is way too loud. It’s harsh, grating. No reverb! She’s not very good. I feel a bit sorry for her, but still, I wish she'd stop. It hurts.

I clench my jaw as I walk past a hut and ‘Wonderful Christmas Time’ comes blasting out with the force of a baseball bat to the head. From a shop on my other side, ‘Last Christmas’ almost as loud. The poor singer is trying to compete with all that. Even with my Loops, it’s unbearable. How do people do this without ear protection? I want to run, I want to cover my ears, I want to sit down on the pavement and cry, but that last shop is part of my plan and I have to do it.

Just one last shop. 

I can do this! 

I'm starving. Dizzy. Sweating. My eyes hurt. I need to pee so badly.

My coat and bags pull at each other, slide around, refuse to sit right. They feel uneven, twisted, wrong.

As I walk past the stalls, the music comes at me like daggers from all directions. Through my sore, blurry eyes the colours all merge into a sparkly mess, a riot of colour and visual noise. I can feel it closing in on me. The smells get stronger, each individual stall and restaurant pumping out conflicting scents. Doughnuts, scented candles, chips, curry, perfume, onions. Some would be pleasant, others less so, but they merge into a cloud that feels like an assault. I’ll never get these smells off me, everything will have to be washed. 

I'm being attacked. Every sense is overloaded and I can’t filter it out. It all hits me at once, impossible to process. 

I find the charity shop, although I don’t even care any more. This is what I came to do and I’m determined to do it, but I can't get to the things I want to see. There are people in the way, just hanging around chatting. I should say ‘excuse me’ but I only remember that later. I can’t find words and just stand there, frozen. There are too many colours in here, nothing makes sense. My eyes can’t focus and they’re throbbing now. My head hurts. The singer’s voice followed me in; it sounds even louder in here, freed from its tenuous link to the backing track. It clashes with the shop’s contribution to this hellish cacophony: ‘I wish it could be Christmas every day’. (What kind of psychopath came up with that?)

How do people stand it? It's excruciating. The same old songs, over and over again. Louder and louder. How is it possible to work in a shop at Christmas without losing your mind? People are standing around, talking, laughing, acting like this tsunami of sensory violence is nothing. Their perfumes are overpowering, clashing, merging. I can feel them on my skin, oily and toxic. I can taste them. Sounds become physical sensations: a child shrieks, the frequency like an ice pick to my brain.

I give up.

I try not to run towards the door. I want to elbow people out of the way but I force myself to walk calmly and finally remember to say ‘excuse me’. I am well trained in the art of performing normal behaviour. I hide in plain sight. Nothing to see here.

As I step outside the assault bodyslams me from all directions.

Pastry vanilla red glitter lights cinnamon green spinning shrieking onions sparkly laughter rotting sweet sharp

Senses all jumbled together, no filter.

I stand there for a moment, disoriented and confused. I could turn right and run for the bus, but there’s still Marks and Spencer on my list. I urgently need the bathroom. It'll only take a minute.

Marks and Spencer is at least quieter, but the bright fluorescent lights burn as I try to focus my eyes. I'm in the shoe section. Shoes are on my list, so I force myself to look around (like a normal person!) and spot what appears to be comfortable black work shoes. I touch one and recoil. It feels revolting: hard, cheap, synthetic. They smell of chemicals.

I head for the toilet on the second floor. In the cramped cubicle I finally manage to take off my slippery coat and remove the offending jumper. It takes forever. I don't want my bags or coat to touch the floor of the toilet cubicle, but the hook on the door is broken. By the time I’ve finished my heart rate is sky high. I’m still overheated but I zip up the coat so it feels less uneven. I take a moment to breathe and go back out into the shop, heading for the food section. I’d planned to buy some of my favourite M&S treats, but it's too busy. Too loud. Too bright, too colourful, too peopley. I abandon the idea, instead hurrying for the back door.

I’m back in the first market, the quieter one—only it isn’t quiet at all. The music is so much louder than I remember. It’s getting darker and all the Christmas lights are on, twinkling, flashing, making it much harder to focus on details. I forgot to get rid of my contacts when I washed my hands and now I’ve touched things again. I can feel the germs on my fingers like glowing radioactive waste.

I remember that I’m hungry. I should have bought a sandwich in M&S. Too late. There’s a Tesco over there, but wait… my halloumi wrap! I was looking forward to that. I look around the corner and see a few people waiting for their food to be cooked, standing in line right next to a market stall blasting ‘Jingle Bells’. That’s not going to work. I’m disappointed, but at this point any food will do. I need to go home.

Tesco, then. It’s so bright, so busy. I stare at the sandwiches and salads but can't make a decision, there are too many things, how do you choose? A sandwich would be easy, but the salads look healthy. 

Just pick something and get out!

I grab a salad and hurry to the checkout. I can eat it on the bus, there’s one in 15 minutes. I pass Next on the way to the bus station. I really should take a quick look since I'm here, they might have something I need. I step into a wall of sound, an impenetrable barrier of Christmas music. How can it be so loud? No. Absolutely no way. There’s nothing in there that would be worth this kind of pain.

I finally make it back to the bus station and see that there’s a bus in five minutes, so I stand in the queue. There are benches, but if I get in the queue now I'll have a decent seat.

The bus doesn't come. 

More and more people join the queue. Chattering, children screaming, noisy engines coming and going. The background hum of a busy town has become a harsh, oppressive roar.

The bus doesn't come.

I'm starving. I can't eat my salad standing in a queue. Why didn’t I get a sandwich? The next bus is in 20 minutes. My eyes throb, my face aches from clenching my jaw. I feel a migraine coming on.

A bus pulls up in the bay next to mine and I watch in horror as a sea of blue uniforms pour out. Schoolkids. Could today get any worse? If the 13:10 had come I’d have got away with it, but now any bus I get on will be crammed with raucous, screeching teenagers.

A woman’s face looms in front of me, mouth moving. What is she saying? Concentrate. I struggle to make out her words, force myself to respond in an acceptable way.

“Yes, this is the queue for the 16. No, the 15:10 didn't come. I know! You just can't rely on them these days can you? Hahaha!”

Is that right, or do I sound like a lunatic?

“Lovely day though, isn't it? At least we don't have to stand here in the rain!"

Say a thing about the weather! Anything!

“Yes, beautiful! Bit chilly though!” Please stop now. 

The bus finally comes and I manage to get a seat at the front, in the corner where I only have people on two sides. I find my headphones, put on my soothing brown noise and finally eat my salad. I'm so hungry I bolt it down and give myself indigestion. I'm exhausted. I’ve been in town less than two hours, and I feel like I’ve been hit by a train.

I close my eyes. 40 minutes. I can do this.

Eventually we arrive at my stop, and 10 minutes later I’m home. I'm desperate for a hot cup of tea, but I need to calm down. I take out my contacts, use my eye drops. Sitting under a heated blanket I start to hum, then make louder ‘ooooo’ sounds and concentrate on the resonance in my mouth, my face, my head. It drowns out the ringing in my ears.

I start to feel calmer, and eventually my heart rate returns to normal. Now I can have that cup of tea, but I'm so exhausted I can’t even get up to make it. This is how my partner finds me when he comes home an hour later. I try to tell him about my day but it’s hard to find words and put them together in the right order. He understands. He brings me tea and makes dinner, then sits quietly and reads while I zone out with a mindless puzzle on my phone.

My day, to most people, would have been perfectly ordinary. Some would even have called it enjoyable. Maybe they’d plan a day like this with friends, checking out the market stalls, shopping as a leisure activity. Meeting for coffee or lunch, feeling ‘Christmassy’. Some might even stay out in the evening, go to a bar for drinks and talk about the day, what fun it’s been, compare bargains. I used to watch these people, listen to them talking, and wonder what was wrong with me—why was this such an ordeal for me? Why couldn’t I enjoy ‘normal’ things? I’d see obviously Autistic people out with their carers, wearing huge ear defenders and being guided gently away from anything that could trigger a meltdown, and I understood perfectly how they felt but couldn’t connect that with myself.

I’m not like them, so what’s wrong with me?

Finally, at 53, I understand. I’m exactly like them. I am Autistic.

I just hide it better.