Writing works in progress:

“A Door Into Autism” is the current literary works in progress by Pamela Kluth, an adult on the Autistic spectrum, who shares her gift of detailed visual memories and her ability to articulate what goes on inside her mind and body.  She narrates specific events and actions that may help explain the behaviors and actions of many on the Spectrum. 

Her book is an educational tool where childhood difficulties and struggles are described in ways that paints a picture that literally sticks to the visual cortex of the reader and places them into her autistic world.  This enlightening memoir, articulates what goes on inside her mind and body with the use of colorful and entertaining childhood stories starting as early as age two, which is a time where many parents are often introduced to a child’s neurological challenges.  Specific events and actions are narrated in ways that help explain the behaviors of others on the Spectrum and provides perspective into the mind of an autistic.  This book ends after addressing the teen years, an often explosive time for those with Autism.  It is her goal that by educating readers with these critical years, that they may walk away with an enlightened perspective and ways that support higher functioning.       

Socially, we are in a time where early childhood intervention and therapy is believed critical to development. Pharmaceuticals are rapidly being mainstreamed into children as a means to cope with their struggles and ease the burdens on family units.  You are invited to read more about the journey of one individual who struggles to make sense in a world filled with people whose neurological wiring is different than her own and where writings are focused on key events and home remedies that were intuitively applied throughout childhood and are now utilized by her household as they seek acculturation and harmony with their own neurologically challenged child.   

For many teachers and parents, diagnostic awareness of her differences was foreign in the Midwest suburbia of the 1960’s, but the often bizarre actions of children like her were not unfamiliar.  An almost “natural” way of acceptance opened up creative and ingenuous ways for her parents to intuitively accept and guide her through many struggles.   Her story delivers perspective and tools modeled from a childhood where medical assistance and therapy is absent.  It is a story that has personal and parental struggles as well as triumphs that will resonate familiar for many who feel like they have failed in connecting with a person who lives in a world different than their own.

Other writings in progress:

“Sprinkles” is a compilation of short articles written by Pamela in response to questions asked by caretakers or persons affected by Autism.    

 “Static” is a must read synopsis of the challenges experienced by those that have Sensory Integration Difficulties.   This is a useful, descriptive reference for anyone wanting to live in, teach in or create an environment designed with stimuli reduction in mind.   

Excerpt from “A Door Into Autism"

This chapter was recently published in the Autumn 2009 Quarterly: “Connections & Reflections” Global Association for Interpersonal Neurobiology Studies, 2009  http://www.mindgains.org

Ten and Organizing Chaos

It was on my tenth birthday that my mother would intuitively give me an incredible gift that would allow me to start making sense of my world.  It happened after I came home angry from my first solo trip to the store, unable to decide what I wanted to buy with my allowance money.  Up until that day, my inability to make a decision was never an issue.  My older brother or sister would come with me and when they were ready to leave, they would just grab something off the shelf for me and say; “Here, you will like this one”.

To me, turning ten seemed to be a magic number- I was told I could now do more things by myself, which included walking to the store without sibling support.  Much to my surprise, I found that being old enough to walk to the store did not automatically make me able to decide what I wanted any better than before.  I just stared at the candy aisle until my head hurt and then left the store frustrated, mad, and empty handed.  

When I got home, my mom followed me to my room and asked me what went wrong.  I said I did not buy anything because I did not know what I wanted, but that I wanted something.  She left and came back with a brilliant fix.  She handed me some envelopes and said I could write down one thing on each envelope which described how I liked to spend my money-like “candy bar”, “gum” or “malt balls”.  She said if I had three envelopes, I could take my allowance money, put some money in each envelope, and place them on a shelf like I do my books.  When it was time to go to the store, I could just grab the next envelope in line and I would not have to think so hard when I was at the store.  

What a concept!  It made total sense to me and it worked so well that I began to expand her idea.  I asked for a lot more envelopes and started organizing everything that seemed to clutter my world.  My craft room under the steps had drawings scattered all about, so I sorted and put the drawings into large orange envelopes-each labeled by topic.   I became obsessed with organizing my world because I found it was easier to think if the space around me had order.  

Organized objects had more depth, more meaning for me.  For instance, I took a pile of collector postage stamps that were casually stuffed into a cookie jar and separated them.  Doing so allowed me to examine each stamp individually and with more focused attention.  I discovered that each stamp suddenly had a story and purpose after being enveloped by category.  It felt so good that I started applying this concept to other things that made me feel discombobulated. 

Late one night I was lying in bed too keyed up to fall asleep because events of the day were spinning chaotically inside my head.   Chanting the mantra my mother taught me when I was younger failed to calm me this time.  I wanted to run into her room to let her know that all I could hear were scattered bits of peoples voices, but I already knew what she would say-her answer for this problem was consistently predictable;  “Those voices and thoughts in your head are only the events of the day that need to be put away.  Tell them to either speak clearly so you can understand them or to go away.” 

So, I focused hard on solving the dilemma myself.  I tried once again to make the repeated chant work (which was the same word, spoken over and over), but my rapid cycling thoughts and the fragmented, unintelligible voices were relentless.  I remember diving under the covers and staying there hoping that I would run low on oxygen-I had learned that this makes living things sleepy, but stopped after remembering what happened to bugs without air holes in jars and feared death if I did not pull the covers back in time.   I bounced my head against the pillow like I often saw my sister do at night before she fell asleep.   I have no idea what generated the experience, perhaps it was the shock I put my brain through that night, but I recall hearing a voice as clear as if it were my own saying the words out loud; “Put the events of the day away into an envelope”.

The thought alone had an immediate calming effect.  I did my best to recall all the things I did earlier in the day and visualized placing them into an envelope.  Afterward, I fell promptly to sleep.  It worked so well that this became a common ritual for nights I could not fall asleep.  I never heard the disjointed voices in my head again.   

My brain naturally recognizes patterns, so it did not take long for me to realize that I seemed to only recall daily events when they were related to situations that were upsetting or confusing to me.  I also discovered that putting the events away into envelopes created memories that were detailed, precise and entertaining.  They were so good in fact; that I enjoyed replaying these memories and began paying closer attention to them.  What I discovered was that by witnessing myself in this fashion, I could identify my non conforming behaviors and plan how to act in ways that might make others feel more comfortable.  However, this attraction to watch and learn created a secondary problem- I had returned to being anxious and losing sleep due to the time spent replaying.  I did not want to chant myself to sleep and give up learning, nor did I want to stay up all night watching. 

My search for a solution to this problem brought me, once again, to my parent’s bedroom.   I shook my mom awake and gave her one of my typically short and vague statements; “Mom, I can’t sleep because I have too many problems in my head”.  Her sleepy advice; “Go back to bed and tell yourself to find answers to the problems while you are sleeping”.  I took her advice seriously and did just that.  I closed my eyes and told myself to figure it out while I slept.  When I awoke, I not only remembered replaying the events of the day in my sleep, but I also remembered the advice I was giving myself while I watched.  Going to bed became as exciting as entering my art room under the steps!  The neighbors and siblings became my new lab rats and my bed was my new microscope. 

When I witnessed myself and others in this fashion, I loved that I did not experience the same feelings as I had when the events actually took place.  I could watch myself in a situation that had freaked me out when it happened, but the review was absent the emotion.  It was me, but not me. Complete personal detachment.  I could watch how other people acted in situations and model my behavior after them if I chose to.  I made mental notes on how I could have acted differently in certain situations and made plans to respond better. This advance planning made me less anxious because I knew of better ways to respond if something confusing or surprising arose a second time.   I also noticed objects or details in my reviews that I did not see when the situation was “live”, like what someone may have been wearing or certain objects in the room.  I am not sure why those things captured my attention during replays, but it was a frequent reminder to me about how many cool things I miss or don’t stop to look at when I am awake. 

The bad part about recall was that I was having a hard time storing away many of the situations that I felt I needed to understand more about.  Placing concrete items like stamps or allowance money into envelopes was easy, but I needed to find a way to access the envelopes that held less substantive materials. Finding the correct word to put on a virtual envelope that held questions that were emotional or abstract was extremely frustrating.    If I did not understand something, how could I name it?  Data started piling up.  My organizational system started to slow me down. 

The answer to my dilemma seems simplistic and silly to me as an adult, but I will share it with you anyway.  I neatly filed these situations into individual envelops with a vague name on the outside of each file such as “still a mystery” or “needs a description”, “needs the right label”.  Giving them any label somehow made me feel better, even if it was very generic.

My challenges are what drive me to engage in activities that often instigate personal reactions, which I can then view scientifically in hopes of unraveling another mystery.  My desire to understand the world combined with a method to look at and process the information has been a major spring board to my higher functioning as an adult.  Age ten was a magical time.  It was the year that I knew I could step out on my own and start organizing the chaos in my world.