My meltdown began with music coming from a computer. I was well within earshot of it. Even if my life depended on it, I couldn't explain why the sound of someone singing triggered a magnitude of agony. I don't know if there are words to describe this meltdown; if so, I don't know them.

I left the area to an adjoining room but I could still hear the sound. I didn't know what was being sung on the video. I don't know why the singer's voice and music triggered an eruption in my soul but it did. I could not tell someone to turn the volume down or turn it off. That would not have been socially acceptable. I could not do that any more than I could stop the meltdown.

I was alone so I curled up, held my hands over my ears, bounced my leg up and down, and silently sobbed. Minutes later, what seemed longer than that, I went elsewhere to pace the floor. When I was certain the music was off, I could start breathing again as if I had been sinking and was able to come back up for air.

The meltdown left me utterly exhausted! I sat down and rocked for comfort. Before my diagnosis of asperger's a few months ago, I wouldn't have known it was called a meltdown. Just me acting crazy. I wouldn't have known my leg bobbing, rocking, and pacing were called "stimming" and how such is essential during and after meltdowns. Such repetitive behavior is the insulation from a meltdown's cold and cruel wind that sometimes blows in from seemingly out of nowhere.