18 Channels - my ADHD colored life...

Defining our own borders...

2012-01-23T07:38:00.000-08:00

"The number one rule of having ADHD", I announced to the girl, "is never leave anything for 'later'".

She in the 4th grade now and next year will be her first year of increased expectations regarding homework, organization, remembering to cart a computer back and forth between school and home and -

Hold on a second I'm starting to feel like a mommy-blogger, let me just reassert some jackassery for my own sanity: Motherfucker! Cocksucker! Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck!

Heh.

Alright, so she's going to be in the 5th grade. And to illustrate the degree of challenge this may present for her, allow me to illustrate an hilarious episode from our family life, which occurred just last night. Sonny had been talking for weeks about needing to get the kids on a regular chores schedule, and I was all for it. Last night, the chore list was made and the work began. Everyone got an age appropriate task or two. Youngest boy, the kindergartener, gets to feed the lizard (since he's the one who asked for a lizard) and clean up his dirty laundry. Second grader actually loves to clean the bathroom so his daily task is wiping down the bathroom sinks and counters each night...and of course cleaning up his own dirty laundry (they're big on laundry hitting the floor, so while this seems like it should be a given, I'm sure you parent-readers know what I'm saying when I say...it's not). Almost 5th grader is cleaning the dishes (and yes...cleaning up her laundry off the floor!).

She's washed dishes with Sonny before so he's showed her the process and he even reviewed the process with her before she was set loose with them. She gets to work on the dishes, apparently finishes them in a reasonable amount of time, comes out to watch some TV. I go into the kitchen to get a glass of water and...there are the dishes. She had washed them and placed them in the other side of the sink for rinsing, but never rinsed them. The soap was mostly dried on now. Oopsie.

I called Sonny out to see them, because I kept giggling and since he had started the task with her I thought it would be nice for him to finish out the instruction. He called her out to the kitchen and asked her to look carefully and tell him what was amiss in the sink. "OHHHHHHHHHHHHH" she said. Ha...

She rinsed them off and all is now well.

But I'm just picturing how much fun next school year is going to be. A rule was made this year that she would not go to horseback riding lessons anymore if she could not remember her own riding gear...it's worked surprisingly well - though predictably, she often gets out to the car before realizing she doesn't have them and then runs back in for the bag.

And that's how the declaration came about...generally Sonny will remind her to gather her things the night before. After a few minutes, if she hasn't motived...I give her a kind reminder...and when her response to that was "I will" I said "The number one rule of having ADHD is never leave anything for later". And then...I allowed her to fail. And she did (we all do sometimes, of course).

My goal is to create a reasonable amount of reminders...deliver them kindly and clearly...and then yes...allow her to fail if that's what it takes.

She needs the structure, but sometimes people also need consequences, in order to create their own structure, and define their own boundaries between them and the world.

Meds Are Not Inherently Bad. They're just not.

2012-01-12T08:18:00.000-08:00

Below is a re-post of a comment that I actually left on Mark Heath's "Another Fine Mess" blog. I'm reposting it as a solo piece here because...I feel like it really sums up the feelings that swirl in my head when I hear people say that medications are bad. That "big pharma" is trying to kill us all. This is my pavement-level response:

I’m a huge fan of my anti-depressant that I actually take for anxiety and to prevent a migraine disorder. Yes, I think it’s important for questioning to remain a part of any scientific process so I don’t think that people who question the effectiveness of antidepressants are jerks.

It’s just that whether the effect is placebo or medical, it saved my life. In addition to being a person who is almost constantly assaulted by a “white noise” kind of anxiety in my body (which is not a problem for people around me but is a horrible, nagging and constant discomfort within my body) – I spent several weeks last year disabled by a migraine disorder that rendered me cognitively unable to function in any normal sense and unable to ambulate with any reliability thanks to crushing vertigo. I also intermittently experience depression of the variety that begins to distort ones thinking…not psychosis…but the kind that paints every perception and experience in a manner that teeters on self-destructive and begins to eat away at relationships with those around me.

I also come from a family of very diagnosably anxious and depressed people, many of whom would also qualify with no question as having ADHD as well. A family where addiction to alcohol as a self-medication has eaten through generations of family relationships, corroded futures…you get the picture.
I only belabor this point because it’s just so easy to try to seek a blanket to soothe us, either through medication or through skepticism. It’s easy to choose black or white, when grey is less appealing, when the answer might really be “sometimes”. But for me, grey is the reality. When you are faced with disability, or with the spectre of suicide and addiction in your family line, if you have any functional desire to survive, you will seek options.

For me, one of the best options so far has been medication. I don’t know why it works, why it seems to cause me no side-effects…but the benefits in this case greatly outweigh all else. I can’t think of any good reason that I should choose to remain constantly agitated by an intrusive anxiety, or unable to even get off of my couch due to disability…I can’t imagine why I would choose to allow depression or anxiety to make my life decisions for me, to allow them to clone me into a statistic of addiction or suicide…when I can choose to live. When I can choose to be happy. When I can choose to take a medication (the fourth one that I tried, and accidentally, because it was for the migraine issue, not the anxiety or depression, that I tried it) that for whatever reason has given me control over those factors.

THAT SAID…because the issue is a grey one…this may not be the appropriate approach for everyone. I just worry that people who may benefit from medication are sometimes leery of them because of a “meds are bad” stance. Meds are bad sometimes, like when they’re giving you freaky side effects. Sometimes they’re freaking great. Mine are freaking great.

Valde Melancholicus

2011-12-26T19:57:00.000-08:00

I was watching a TV show about Oliver Cromwell (yes that Oliver Cromwell...is there another one?). Spiritually lusty, murderous, ambitious and wait...what's this? Depression sufferer?

Seems they called it "valde melancholicus" back then. This bears interesting implications:

Big pharma didn't invent depression as a means to make more money. Oh, I know...protest all you will, but it's just not true.
Depression has been around probably as long as humans have been. Yes, I know, I'm filling in a lot of holes with my imagination here, but I'm feeling bold.
It must have really sucked to be "treated" for depression back then. Because...they probably didn't have a lot of "treatments" that actually worked. And it probably involved things like leeches, bats-wings, and arsenic. Yes, the imagination again...but...I'm guessing I'm not far off (as I spark a new obsession with researching ancient and antique remedies for mental health maladies...)...

And so Oliver...or Cromwell if you prefer...would pester his doctor at all inconvenient hours of the night when the spirit moved him (often it was in the midst of a spiritual crisis of some kind) for some remedy that I'm dying to know the details of (Google ain't cuttin' it here...yet...).

Oliver Cromwell...THAT Oliver Cromwell. Geek trivia.

(To add a little accuracy, articulacy and more geek trivia: apparently Cromwell's depression was religion induced and interestingly, some Protestants during certain time periods seem to have been more susceptible to depression and subsequent suicide...depression...a human companion of many origins...)

MERRY LIZARD!!!

2011-12-24T20:33:00.000-08:00

This was going to be a tandem post, but Sonny won't write with me...we each have a french martini in hand and he says that he's "too drunken". This, as he's scurrying about the house, cleaning for Christmas guests.

So I'll tell you a little Christmas story. I'm drunken, but I think it adds to the spark of the narrative. We decided that our 5-year-old should have a lizard. He's obsessed with lizards. Snakes. Turtles. Amphibians and reptiles. He loves them all, and it seems to be a long-term relationship, so we decided that a lizard would be just the thing.

Before you freak out: we know that animals are not toys, we understand that a 5-year-old should not be left unattended with a living creature in his care. So we contacted our state Fish and Game office and asked for advice on a good beginner reptile/amphibian pet...and we know that in reality, we the parents will be caring for the pet.

The timing could not be better. We just moved to the new house, so there's more room, our family is in a better frame of mind, and all of the mammal creatures are well cared for. This includes 3 children, 2 dogs and 2 cats. In the apartment, meeting everyone's needs was more challenging for a variety of reasons...here, the kids have more space, and the animals have more freedom, and I am able to set things up so that it is much easier to make sure everyone has what they need. The kitties have lovely windows to sit in, the dogs have a routine of going out and in and out again in the morning with what we call "first meal" and then again in the evening with "second meal"...it's delightful. And the cat-box has a home that everyone can agree upon, and gets cleaned 1-2 times/day.

And so...we have a new lizard addition to the family. He's a leopard gecko, a good starter-lizard. And...and here's my point...HE IS FUCKING AWESOME. OR SHE. WE DON'T KNOW YET! BUT WE ARE WAAAAAAY TOO EXCITED ABOUT HIM/SHE/HER/IT!!!!!

So excited that if we have unlimited income and lots of time on our hands my husband and I would be bringing more lizards and snakes and stuff home RIGHT NOW! BECAUSE WE ARE SO EXCITED!!!!!

Both Sonny and I are shifting manually right now...one lizard at a time ADHD people, one lizard at a time (and all the cool live food and accessories and stuff....)!!!!!

Ritalin as sedative...

2011-12-14T12:21:00.000-08:00

...there's no joke buried in that title. I'm sitting here at my desk struggling to stay awake. About ten minutes ago I took my afternoon methylphenidate...and I cannot keep my eyes open.

On a day when I have gotten enough sleep, this would not be happening. But I haven't been getting enough sleep this week. Stimulants make my body relax, which normally helps me to focus because my attention isn't jagging around all over the joint with extra energy. But if I'm overly tired AND I take a stimulant, let the yawns begin. This would be great if I was anywhere near a bed.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

I looked like a drowned ADHD rat

2011-12-07T08:04:00.001-08:00

The morning started with me unable to drag myself out of bed. Before I continue I just want to clarify that this is NOT a complaints post, but it will be a post about how the little things can really create a comic failure.

I was unable to drag myself out of bed. Even after I took my Concerta when the alarm went off. My body and mind were both exhausted...and the step-daughter was having the same problem.

What followed was a morning filled with mundane failures that resulted in me getting to work about 45 minutes late.

Animals running around refusing to be corralled...dropping things over and over and over...tripping...losing things...after just finding them...then the kids' mom showed up...then the water heater installer showed up...then I lost my keys again...then I dropped my lunch bag and everything fell out of it...then I run outside with my bags and realize it's raining...and I don't have an umbrella...then I'm wearing a wool suit that smells funny when it gets wet...then I'm walking three blocks in the rain to work with four bags of stuff because my stuff isn't organized this week and then I wonder why I bothered to even dry my hair this morning...then I dropped my lunch bag again getting out of the elevator...

And so it continues...I guess it's just that kind of day.

Solution-oriented thinking

2011-12-07T08:01:00.001-08:00

Yesterday, I talked to our facilities manager at work about simply bringing my home laptop into work and working from different spots in the building to get away from the nasty lighting situation and distracting office...so we agreed that would be a good plan and now I have my laptop with me and will probably kick that off at some point today (because in this northern hemi that I live in, it is 11AM and not incredibly bright outside).

This morning, the coworker who needs the light the most brought two lamps in and requested that two more be brought to our office.

Apparently even though we can't all agree on lighting, we CAN all agree to try to be proactive about addressing the situation. Sweet!

But I cannot tell a lie: I am mortified. I'm embarrassed. I don't like asking people to revolve around me and I don't even know what to say. My anxiety level is hovering right about mid-chest level.

2011-12-01T08:13:00.001-08:00

I do, I love it. I really love it. And usually I really like the shows that other people think are "ugh" or "disgusting" or "such trash". When I'm at home, multi-tasking my way through an evening, I've got to have that TV soundtrack.

So like, ANYWAY...the cable guy won't be out to hook us up at the new house until the 10th.

I miss Keeping Up With The Kardashians.

I miss Forensic Files.

I miss what I like to call "True Crime Saturday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" where all the cable stations seem to play stories of murder and mayhem.

I miss Say Yes To The Dress.

I miss Ghost Hunters. YEAH, Ghost Hunters, don't start with me.

You may notice that there are no "fiction" shows on here. I just don't have any right now that I care about. I like mayhem, celebrities, murder, ridiculousness, trashy dating shows (except for the Bachelor...those people are nasty). I DO have a slight preference for non-fiction, which is the same for my reading preferences. I made myself read Anna Karenina a few months ago just to prove that I could actually get through a whole book like I did when I was a kid (when I would hyperfocus on reading until I would pee myself) but though it had its highlights I kind of hated myself afterward - what a crappy ending. Yeah, that's right Tolstoy, you heard me, it's a CRAPPY ENDING.

One notable exception to this is that I CANNOT HANDLE the sound of CHILDREN'S TV SHOWS. Usually, if the kids are watching their shows, I just politely excuse myself to my room. When I'm stuck in the room with sounds I don't like my stress level goes cuckoo real fast. I pride myself on my ability to politely excuse myself in these moments, but one day I lost my cookies for a minute as "Victorious" came on and I shouted "GAH, I CANNOT HANDLE THIS SHOW, BLECH I HAVE TO LEAVE THE ROOM". Probably not a great choice, as we would say to the kids. In fact, a crappy one.

But SPONGEBOB...can we talk about SPONGEBOB. I think that Spongebob Squarepants is the best show on television. Brilliantly funny, irreverent (how could anything relating to the band Ween NOT be irreverently hilarious).

Dear cable guy, please hurry. I have a whole house to unpack, I've run out of my prescriptions (for the moment) and I CANNOT HANDLE THE SILENCE.

Invisible "disability"

2011-11-30T07:38:00.001-08:00

I already posted once today but since I'm spending my energy on coping right now anyway, I may as well give myself some language therapy and get this out on e-paper.

Have I blogged before about my shared office and the overhead fluorescent lighting therein? Probably. Well it's back to that then. Right now, there is a tour bus outside of my window idling (grimdgrindgrind) and my coworker who needs the lights on has just arrived and it feels like someone is screaming in my face or like my office a huge, horrible white noise machine...and tears are just barely contained in my eyeballs.

I can't work like this, I really can't. I have gone through the building trying to find a better workspace for myself but there's aren't really other options...ah yes, I DID write about this before, about how I was going to be a real warrior and advocate for myself and ask for a new workspace. Well knowing there's not other location options really dampened my chutzpah.

I am terrified of making people think that I'm high maintenance. I hate being someone who asks for special exceptions, which is why I generally don't. I tolerate until I can get away, far, far away. But I can't get away from this.

When people cannot see your disability it can be harder for them to really understand what your issue is. I'm really angry at my very nice coworker right now but am fully aware that it makes no sense. I'm the one that hasn't been proactive and hasn't spoken up. She's the one that was proactive and spoke up that she couldn't work with the light off. It's a matter of sensory torture but I also don't like the idea of wearing a neon "disability" sign on my chest. That's a totally layered and loaded issue but I think it's mostly a human nature issue: most of us, at our core, do not truly like to be "different", especially in ways that we can't choose.

I have no idea what I am going to do.

The scrambling of routine in the name of better things.

2011-11-30T05:39:00.001-08:00

One day, a few months ago, Sonny and I sat down to look for a new apartment, or a house, to rent. The apartment that we were living in was just too small for the five of us to sardine through another winter in. Those of you who have at least three children know what I'm talking about. The combustible energy in a house increases exponentially with the addition of each new human being to the household. Five total inhabitants is where the rails start to feel a little wobbly. The situation was not helped by the fact that for whatever reason, the children only wanted to ever be in ONE room of the apartment, generally whatever room we were in, usually the livingroom, and that livingroom was not large.

Note that I used the word "was". We trawled online for a new place and discovered quickly that a new apartment, of the size that we needed, would increase our rent by about $700/mo and would actually be far more than a mortgage on a house would be. And so...we bought a house.

Most of the houses in our price range were too small and I don't say this lightly, completely disgusting. And we were only willing to entertain possibilities within a limited geographic range, to allow me to bike easily to my most frequent destinations, to eliminate unnecessary driving from my husband's life, and to stand by our conviction that a thriving and inhabited greater downtown area is necessary for a healthy city.

We found one. Just one. And in the end, it all worked out. It's a beautiful 1850 New Englander in mostly terrific condition that was owned by just one family until we bought it. It's in one of the nicest neighborhoods in town. It's two blocks from my parents house, and two blocks from the kids' favorite park.

For the past couple of weeks we have been cleaning, painting and moving, and every time Sonny and I really thought we were at our wits' ends in terms of stress levels and exhaustion a new surprise would spontaneously generate:

1) Some of the friends who said they could help us move, bailed (it is an inevitability of moving, of course...and to be fair, a few others REALLY stepped up).

2) Because of the date that the closing fell on, I am also trying to pull off a major event at the end of it all.

3) The intern that was supposed to be doing the legwork for that event went MIA with personal issues.

4) The house held many secrets. Some of them delightful. A carving left in a door jamb by a little boy who used to live in the house (he lived there in the 1920's...cool old stuff). Some of them tear-inducing. Like the clogged water main backwashing bodily substances out of the downstairs toilet when we would flush the upstairs toilet. Some wallpaper removal, wallpaper covering, wallpaper repairing and plaster patching that should never have taken as long as it did. Oh...and the asbestos contractor...who nearly blew the whole house sale through his, and I swear I am not just playing armchair psychologist here, insanely frustrating obviously untreated ADHD BEHAVIOR that involved him fluctuating between fucking our paperwork and micromanaging things in a really inappropriate way...and then his crew taking out too much ductwork...which then dominoed into the furnace contractor having to create new ductwork...which involved more expense (and me having to beg them to let us set up a payment plan)...oh...and the water heater venting...that exposed a rickety chimney...which incited additional costs of mitigation.

5) And of course...the lice. Last night at dinner, our daughter complained of an itchy head. Checked her hair...sure enough...a THIRD FUCKING ROUND OF LICE in this still young school year. And dealing with lice is the BEST, especially when you don't have a clothing dryer hooked up to help you (ahem, we don't even own a dryer...we use clothing racks).

We are still not unpacked, still working toward executing the event and getting it over with (tinsel and LED snowflakes galore!), my husband is tragically alone at the house delousing as I type here at my desk, and we have no idea how much the plumbing repair is going to cost (they said somewhere between $300 and $2000, that must be paid on the spot, and which we do not possess)...but I still feel we made the right decision.

I managed to get so absorbed in the telling of the story though, that I almost completely forgot the point.

The POINT...is that because all of our stuff is in boxes, we are even more disoriented than usual in our routines of daily living and THAT...THAT is probably the most difficult factor! It took me waaaay too long to make dinner last night because I, er, couldn't find anything. I have been wearing the same work-inappropriate low-rider jeans to work for three days because even if I've unpacked my work pants I don't know where they went.

Because we are parents and care-takers of animals too, Sonny and I are responsible for maintaining a routine not just for ourselves, but for transitioning and maintaining routines for three children and four animals. Trying to cook dinner, as I said, was quite something in a new kitchen. We all share a bathroom now for the purposes of morning routines and that means newly programming the little boys to clean up after themselves after brushing their teeth (they had more leeway in the apartment where they had their own bathroom...because it took longer for us to notice the mess...we're actually GLAD that the most convenient bathroom in the new house gives us a chance to more closely supervise their hygiene and cleanliness habits). The dogs were moved in before anyone, so they could start to claim a little ownership of their yard and get used to things, and see where their humans were going. The kids rolled in somewhere in the middle...and everyone knows (or SHOULD KNOW) that you always move cats last. You really have to move cats last so that everything they need is in place when they arrive, and people are done opening and closing doors for moving purposes, thus reducing the potential for accidental kitty escapes. Then they were sequestered for two days in our bedroom with their catbox, food and water. And then, when they were really cozy...the rest of the house. These cats have moved before...many, many times...but I always observe the same cat-moving protocol.

While it sounds like we put a lot of logic and thought and care into this whole process...and we DID and we DO...this is a huge ball of wax for our ADHD brains to process.

I also ran out of Concerta last week and can't refill it 'til Friday...stellar.

This too, all of it, shall pass. We made the right decision. We're moving forward. But moments have been overwhelming...and I think that the only reason we have been able to push through without losing it, is that Sonny and I are both people who have a high tolerance for other people's imperfections. Translation: though we are both exhausted, tired, and overwhelmed, we are not eating each other's faces off, for the most part. These are the times in life where you have to really maintain awareness of your quirks and work to not let those quirks run roughshod over your household. It's not easy work, but it's critical to at least try. Critical to at least make the attempt, critical to be able to admit your imperfections, and take a moment to expose your own intentions so that people can recognize your best efforts even if they didn't produce a perfect result. Critical to cry if you need to for 10 minutes (okay in my case it was 3 hours...but it was absolutely necessary). Critical to remember that your partner, in the dicier moments, is usually a really nice person but at the moment they're having a hard time and that that is ok.

Also critical to rememeber to take your ADHD meds when you have them.

And remember that the children and animals will temporarily behave as though they are housing internal firecrackers not to piss you off, but because they too, are beleaguered by transition.

Make sure to eat when you need to so you don't just turn into a big dick.

Or go for a 30 minute jog in your work clothes in the middle of the day because you just can't take another minute of any of it. I felt way better the other day after I tried that one.

Transition calls upon any of us to rise above our best. ADHD adds additional set of criteria to this process that cannot be ignored...haha, that LITERALLY cannot be ignored. Accepting that it is part of the process, and all that entails...completely mandatory for survival.

Practical matters

2011-11-18T07:20:00.001-08:00

I am working on scheduling a meeting for 14 people who are impossible to gather in one room at the same time and on the same day.

They're all very busy people. And for whatever reason, it's a group where emails to "the group" elicit no response. This means having to make multiple individual contacts to get the job done. Oh, I will do what I must...but I have to make sure I keep my ADHD brain organized while I'm doing it.

I get out a piece of lined paper. I write the purpose of the list I'm about to make at the top of the list. I list the people I need to contact. I make little columns for the possible meeting dates so I can put little Y's and N's under them.

Then I send a round of individuals emails to each committee member. I make a small black check mark next to each name as I email them.

When I have to send the second round of emails (to confirm additional information or to try again with the folks that didn't respond the first time) I use a RED pen to make little check marks.

I'm about to make a third round of contacts. For that, I will use the BLUE pen to make little check marks.

To make it clear which check mark was first/what order they were made in, I put the check marks in the same order each time.

I like electronic spreadsheets for storing information that will be used later, or for organizing information for people to understand in a certain multi-dimensional way, but for immediate to-do items that I have to stay organized on, I like a simple pad of lined paper and lists...and check marks...and colors.

If people look at the list, they remark that I look very organized. They are correct, but it's funny too...because they don't realize they're looking at a coping strategy.

Coping strategies are powerful tools. They can help you keep up and get done what needs doing...but they can sometimes make you look even MORE capable than someone without ADHD might. That's something to think about in your "ADHD is lame" moments.

Key hunt

2011-11-14T06:09:00.001-08:00

I seem to have lost my keys to my office. I seem to have lost them while looking for my glasses. I now have the glasses on my face, but the keys are nowhere. A reminder of the thin line between order and disorder.

I have two sets of keys, one for home, one for work. I was doing a great job of keeping track of them. (Translation: I was only having a couple of moments of panic/day, thinking I'd lost them and scrambling to find them, because I can't remember things like "where I put my keys this morning". THEN we got the new set of keys for the new house.

Chaos I tell you, nothing but chaos since that day.

For about a week I juggled the three sets of keys. It was taking up way too much of my conscious thought, so I finally decided to organize my keys and get myself back to two key rings. I plunked myself down at my desk, and took apart the "home" ring, winnowing the collection (having realized that many of the keys were no longer necessary) and adding the new house keys. The end result was a streamlined and easy-to-use set of keys that lets me into both of my homes. Perfect.

Perfect until 3pm that day, when my stepson's mother called to ask if I was able to get into my house to grab his yoga mat for him. No problem! I ran to my car, drove home, and discovered I had no key on my "home" ring for my apartment. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!

I jumped back into the car, ran back up the stairs of the victorian house that I work in, breathlessly grabbed the apartment key off of the office windowsill (where I'd apparently left it, along with the no-longer-needed keys), hustled back into the car, back to my house...the kids and their mom were there at this point, waiting for me in the driveway. I stick the key in the lock...WRONG FUCKING KEY. AGAIN.

I apologize profusely. I go back to work, feeling like a big dummy.

I did finally determine which key, from the windowsill collection, would open the door.

And then I lost my glasses. Which involved having to come to the office to see if they were here (they weren't) and sometime between when I checked the office for the glasses, and this very moment, the work keys went missing. They're not in my bags...they're not in any of my coats...they're not sitting out in the open at my house...they're not here in my office...they are now truly missing.

THIS is when you know that a) you have ADHD and b) you are beyond your capacity to operate even remotely efficiently. When apples start to fall off of the wagon, one by one, normally that's when I realize that just like my keyring, I need to take some items off of my to-do list. The current challenge to that, of course, is that we are in the middle of necessary home improvement so that we can get ourselves moved into the new house by the end of the month. And there's nothing I can do about it.

Argh.

I'm super excited about the move of course, and the house, I'm just not super excited to realize that I can't take anything off my plate right now, which probably means that I'll be spending a great deal of time dealing with ridiculous shit like lost keys, missing glasses, and losing my own ass.

every day is like sunday

2011-11-13T20:12:00.001-08:00

Sunday. The day when many (I'd dare to to say most) American families attend to matters of routine that prepare them for the week ahead. In our house, this process is often fraught with a sense of urgency:

a) because we are damned busy most of the time

b) because when the kids aren't here we have to get as much done as we can before they come back and we won't be able to operate as efficiently

c) if the kids ARE here we have to figure out how to get everything done while of course attending to the things kids need, you know eating, homework, behavior modification (...did you just THROW the cat?!)

d) if we don't get a least half of "To-Do Mountain" pounded out before the week officially begins we are screwed...laundry (piles taller than my husband), cleaning AND sanitizing (why is that doorknob sticky?), animal care (who crapped in the laundry room?!), that sort of thing.

And now, with the PURCHASE OF A NEW HOME officially under our belts, we have added, cleaning a second household, shellacking, priming, painting, spackling, plastering, sanding packing and unpacking to our repertoire.

Having completed today's demented obstacle course to the finish line I find myself musing. Here are some of those musings:

1) Why is that I cannot remember to feed the cats at the same time every day, but I CAN remember to remind the girl that it's time for her to feed the cats.

2) Why did my 5-year-old stepson yell "LOOK! It's a MINI PERSON!" after spotting his first "little person" this afternoon? We discussed proper nomenclature for future use.

3) Why do all home improvement tasks take exactly 4 times longer than anticipated and why don't we learn to just factor this into the tasks in advance?

4) Why did the adult with ADHD cross the road? Duh, to...

5) Why do people bother to substitute the phrase "See You Next Tuesday" for that word....you know, THAT word...that word that so many people seem to be offended by that they have to come up with dumb phrases to replace it, and the replacement phrase is so gaudy that it creates more hubbub than the word itself...I'd rather just say cunt and get it over with <-----there, I said it.

6) More people should use words like "f'realsies".

7) Why am I so reassured by lists? I love a good bulleted, numbered list. And I hate outlines.

8) It's not that Sunday is more work-filled than any other day, it's just that certain tasks require attention on that day. Each day of the week is a hamster wheel unto itself.

So let's hear it for unnatural conclusions. Let's hear it for Sunday.

folders inside of folders inside of folders

2011-11-03T06:27:00.000-07:00

I have a Masters degree in Library and Information Science so I'm (or perhaps because I'm) the kind of person who likes to think about how things are organized.

In my workplace I am daily faced with organization systems that, at least for me, do not work at all. I have control over my immediate work space, but I do not have control over how everything is organized in community use areas...like on the shared drive on our server.

Folders inside of folders inside of folders...which in a cold, logical way, makes perfect sense. Categories of sub-categories of sub-categories. Logic. Cold hard logic. The problem is that many people's brains don't work logically. They work in the way that makes most sense in relation to a) the information that they need the most b) what they need it for c) the frequency with which they use it.

When the information is there for everyone to access, it makes sense to adopt a system that is "logical", but that does not make it useful to all users, perhaps only to more of them...or none of them, I'm not sure at the moment.

Yesterday I needed a piece of information that was unfortunately buried under about four layers of other information. Because I did not know and had now way of knowing how to unlock those layers (because I NEVER use them and had no need to have memorized them) I had to ask a coworker about it. I will not reproduce that coworkers response, but I will translate its subtext for you: "Are you fucking kidding me? What's WRONG with you, are you lazy? I can't even believe that I have to answer this morally corrupt question for you so I'm just not going to answer it, I'm going to glare at you and hope you go away and magically become able to find this information on your own"

It sure felt great. And...it made no difference in my ability to find the information that I needed, because the information was stored behind layers of other information that my job does not require me to know. My job, like my degree, is one of ultimate generalism. I don't need to memorize great quantities of information (though it's helpful) but I DO need to know where to find information when I need it. When the system of organization makes information destinations clear only to certain classes of employee, you have a problem.

To the credit of the organization that I work for, there has been some attempt at standardizing the language that we use to describe certain things...so that I can guess my way along at times...but then the specialty language kicks in and suddenly I'm required not just to be able to find anything, but to be able to find it in multiple languages, literally.

On top of that little organization issue and its inherent challenges...I cannot function in a system of folders inside of folders inside of folders. I suspect it's the "ADHD means out of sight out of mind" issue. Because my e-filing system was created before I arrived here, and is sometimes used by other people, I can't move it around because that will take it even further out of synch with the rest of our allegedly organized e-filing system, which would create for someone else the same problem that I have with other people's files.

I have a hard time finding things when I need them. I have to think carefully about where the next tidbit I'm looking for might be. I can find you every thing you need to know in every scientific journal I can get my hands on, but half the time I can't find my own lists in my own folders...

But wait: When I worked in law offices it was very simple because all information pertaining to a particular case was simply filed under that file name and then categorized as needed within that file...folders inside of folders...but they were tangible folders, not e-folders.

That's it...there must be a conspiracy by environmentalists to make my ADHD brain explode by convincing America to move to digital storage formats.

THEY ARE TRYING TO KILL ME.

And they're distracting us with talk of global warming!!! GIVE ME BACK MY PAPER FILES YOU GREEN NAZIS!

Depending on the storage format, your ability to "browse" information like we used to browse the shelves of libraries can be seriously hampered. The ability to browse requires either really intense and clever electronic indexing/tagging/etc or someone spending a lot of time scanning things into a computer. We (and by we I mean electronic data storage age humans) are spending all of our time trying to recreate the best features of tangible browsing in the name of saving space and paper.

I don't think I like it.

Yes that's right...I spend most of my time on a computer and social networking and blahblahblah...but sometimes I just want to flip a page instead of mentally backengineering a freaking database to figure out what "language" works best for unlocking electronic secrets that it contains.

Quit making my brain explode, America! Give me books (and trashy celebrity magazines) or give me death!

I just have to trust that she has a place and a purpose.

2011-11-02T11:41:00.000-07:00

Some days we work for a breakthrough to appear and some days the breakthrough rises like a sunset upon us that though we should have anticipated, we fretted over the arrival of. Suddenly the feelings in your gut and the images fleeting through your mind all coalesce as the right image lands among them. That image: the goddess Artemis. She is at one with the woods. She has a place and a purpose. She is powerful, but precise, conscientiously targeting her objectives without collateral damage, through archery. She protects animals and children, she greets the newly born.

The image of her, outlined in gold, a similarly luminescent deer at her side, smiling and readying an arrow for a magical purpose has moved a lump of energy through me that really, really needed to move.

And when I had a particularly upsetting moment this morning, she was there to rally and carry me back to a helpful kind of energy, though the sadness remained.

I'd asked a question that needed to be asked...and the receiver distinctly conveyed that I should not be asking it. The assumption was clear that I must only be asking it because of some moral defect...which in proportion to the matter at hand was completely inappropriate. I asked because I needed to, but my intelligence was not trusted, it was insulted.

Why. Why.

I don't even have the emotional fortitude to muster the typing of an actual question mark.

But I DO have the strength to summon the image that appeared in my mind just prior...of a golden goddess with magical arrows.

like popcorn, but the bag's too small

2011-10-24T13:12:00.000-07:00

Alternately titled "the urge to flee". Entirely separate from any specific issue relating to my professional or personal life, I am housing a burning urge in my mind to flee. See my earlier post "a drowning nomad" for the more depressed variation on this theme.

On top of the fact that I'm programmed by my life history to be accustomed to a periodic change of scenery, I am pretty sure it's ADHD telling me beautiful things about the greenness of the grass on the other side of the fence - casting visions on the screens behind my eyes.

It's telling me that getting a plane ticket to Las Vegas to visit my sister, work in a diner, and let the desert dessicate my youthful complexion is a stellar idea. It's telling me that I'm most certainly going to have to move to NYC to reignite the playwrighting career that I abandoned on the West Coast six years ago. It's telling me that there must be something luxuriously dark, oily, intriguing and seductive just below the surface of day-to-day if I just look a little harder and tap into the poetry seeping from my guts. It's telling me that the truth might be lurking in the geographic monuments of my homeland and I might have to take a pickaxe to hardened granules in order to reveal it. It's telling me that the bottoms of wells collect secrets that must be found in order to be told.

On the surface I am "managing impulsivity" as I always have...with mostly invisible discomfort, with refocusing my mind repeatedly throughout the day, and of course these days, with medication.

But my heart and soul are writing anarchistic graffiti on the transparent walls of my inner skin. They're talking too loudly and they couldn't care less. The whispers twist me away from the task at hand as I struggle to shut them out for as long as it takes (and that probably means forever).

"reasonable accommodations"

2011-10-18T06:19:00.000-07:00

I am considering asking for some "accommodations" at work and I can't tell you how weird/embarrassed/awkward that makes me feel.

I'm a person who insists upon and enjoys a very DIY life, who takes pride in not needing help (to a fault). I have a habit of trying to be very low-maintenance...I don't like to be "that person" who needs pansy shit like painkillers or forklifts. I will push through the pain and I will lift the world onto my shoulders with my own two hands (lifting with my legs, not with my back thank you) if it kills me. In other words I'm a Navy Seal in a tiny woman's body...and I hate to admit when I can't do something for myself and if I can't do it for myself then it's almost not worth doing. Someone should warn my stepchildren NOW that I'm going to be a massive pain in their asses when I'm 85 and they try to take my drivers license away.

At my office, I share an office with two other people. Herein lies the problem, truly. One office mate needs the overhead fluorescent light on at all times. Additionally, there are phones ringing, people coming in and out, meetings at people's desks, and conference calls happening throughout the day. And...there's a little emergency manufacturing that goes on in the office.

Aside from the emergency manufacturing, there's not really anything unreasonable happening here, it's just the things people do in the natural course of a business day. I am not annoyed with my office mate that needs the light on, I mean she needs to be able to see, right? People make phone calls, that's not strange.

None of it is strange but all of it is creating a stressful workspace for me. If I had to pick a "worst" I would say the overhead fluorescent light, which has always been something I can't tolerate. I actually can't tolerate overhead light of any kind for very long. A while ago, I actually went upstairs and got my office mate a desk light (which sounds like a dick thing to do but I assure you in context it made sense...she had noticed that she's the only one that turns the light on and felt badly that she was bothering us so I had asked her if she thought a desk light would be helpful, because I don't expect everybody else to love working in the dark). But she hardly ever used it and the fluorescents would end up on anyway. So I ended up with it back on my desk because at least then I can create some contrast between the overhead light and my desk so my soul doesn't deteriorate quite so quickly.

I've been here nearly a year and I have tried to make the office work for me. We tried problem-solving the light issue...I brought headphones so that I can listen to music instead of other people...but truly it's often inadequate to drown out the sounds. I also can't drown out the sights.

I'm thinking of asking if I can simply move my work space. I don't know where to though, because there's not a lot of space here. I don't even care if they stick me in a closet, I just need it dark and quiet.

I'm thinking about how to ask...and thinking that this is a swell thing to talk over with my therapist this week. I also need to think over how to react effectively if I meet with a little resistance...as in not crying in humiliation, since I hate asking for help and it embarrasses me to think about asking.

A demonstration of great mental effort

2011-10-17T07:54:00.001-07:00

It was a simple phone call and a reasonable request. I had a meeting scheduled for 11am this morning at a local coffee shop. The person I was supposed to meet called to say that she needed to reschedule, that the transmission on her car had gone out and tomorrow would be better. Public transportation isn't an option here. Not a problem...totally reasonable. We rescheduled for 1pm tomorrow.

I immediately pulled my calendar out of my bag, crossed off today's appointment, and wrote it in again for tomorrow at the correct time. That's only the first layer, however. Because for me, just remembering to open my calendar takes a certain amount of mental effort. Schedule changes can be extremely anxiety provoking. Anything out of the norm on my calendar carries a high risk of being forgotten. I know this well, and as such, I rely on vigilance. Medication can keep me more even and energized, less anxious and overwhelmed so that I'm more likely to open that calendar, but it doesn't make me lift the cover and look inside.

I set this original appointment on Thursday of last week and I spent the entire weekend working to remind myself to make sure I both checked my calendar and didn't miss my 11am meeting. I'm grateful for the ability to remind myself to remind myself but it sure is a lot of work. And it's pressing a little red internal panic button over and over until the obligation is completed because that's the only way to remember.

Even if I was using an electronic calendar I worry that I would shut out or miss the sound of an alarm or reminder.

This is not ungrounded worry, it's a habit of worry acquired over years of forgetting, of having simple meetings feel like they are swirling around my body on bits of paper that swirl like feathers in a wind. It's the kind of worry that can make you narrow your world...generally my enthusiasm for novelty outweighs my fear of forgetting. And when I'm depressed I have sheer will to force myself over the next hedge. If living means showing up for things and meeting your obligations to others, then I clearly have an unsuppressable will to live, such that I will wade through with worry up to my ankles or knees or waist and just keep moving forward. I don't always enjoy it. But solitary confinement seems less appealing.

This time, the worry is extended into tomorrow. I don't enjoy that feeling, but it's an important meeting. Important to me anyway. I'll reach into the air over and over to grab that particular bit of paper and read it to myself, then release my grip on it and let it fly away as I need my hand to grab another bit and read the reminder etched upon it.

I thought was prepared for this punch to the stomach

2011-10-12T07:07:00.000-07:00

Step-parenting is like running through a beautiful field of flowers and sunshine and then finding out somewhere along the way that it's filled with landmines...and you have to keep running and parenting anyway even as your legs are getting blown off in this beautiful place, and you have no idea where the next mine is coming from, or what part of you might get blown away.

This morning, it was my heart. I'm a tough girl. But this morning I write with tears in my eyes.

When children fight over TV in our house, the TV is simply shut off because as we tell the kids, TV is never more important than people. They fought about the TV (usually the big kids don't want to watch what the little kid wants to watch and they're mean about it). Sonny shut it off.

Later, I walk through the livingroom and the little one complains that he is bored. I suggest that he has the power to choose an activity other than sitting on the couch doing nothing. He replies "when do I get to go back to mommy's house".

Insert land mine explosion here.

Insert photo of stepmother with a leg blown off, placid expression, parenting mode intact.

I reply "why, does she let you watch all the TV you want at her house?".

Slightly older brother, who was also there, yells and I mean YELLS, with a snarl, and some rage: NO! Because he is clearly pissed that they have been called on some b.s. Probably also mad because he's 7 and might think I'm somehow talking smack about his mother. And you don't talk smack about people's mammas.

I reply "oh...well then I'll have to check the calendar".

There was no more complaining about boredom...they found activities. And two minutes later they were looking for hugs again.

But I was certainly wounded. Not forever...just for today...and in a way it's a relief. As a step-parent, you always know that these moments will come, I just hadn't had to deal with them yet. I guess that's the trick though...keep your parenting wits about you until you can get to a bathroom to cry where they can't see you.

A parenting baggage potpourri...

2011-10-11T11:45:00.000-07:00

I like reading blogs about parenting ADHD kids...but it also gives me a weird sensation...like I am being talked about, but not talked to. I'm not mentioning any blogs in particular because I know this is my baggage and it's really just a general discussion of my own shit, not something intended to reflect on anyone else's writing. I absolutely understand that these sensations have NOTHING to do with the intent of the writers...and I will continue to read them from time to time because the posts and information are interesting.

I find it interesting that very few of the writers of these types of blogs talk about being a person WITH ADHD (or ________) but are always talking about how it manifests in their children. We all know that ADHD for example is highly heritable. It's just chance that I have ADHD and so does my husband and so does at least one stepchild. But I feel like my step-parenting experience is totally connected to my experience as an adult with ADHD. I have to navigate my own ADHD issues ALL THE TIME just to be able to parent as beneficially as possible for everyone involved. I'm sure not all of the writers have the same issues that their children do...so that may be part of it. Some of it may result from the fact that many of the commenters, as parents tend to do, focus on their children primarily. For me there will always be two layers. There will always be "in order for me to be able to be present for my family in the morning in any way, I have a few personal matters to attend to" issues like taking my meds on time the night before, taking meds in the morning, getting enough sleep, and just plain dragging myself out of bed (which for me...are challenges at times). I have to expertly navigate my own frustrations and reactions when children are either acting like children...or perhaps when they're behaving the way a child with ADHD might when absorbed in chaos creation or gratuitous arguing. I have to not only navigate my own stuff, but I have to go that next step and model for them better choices and outcomes. I can't parent without thinking about my own ADHD.

I also have moments of "yeah, I totally have that issue myself" when people post asking if "you" have such and such issue with your child. "Does your child struggle with fitting in socially?" Yes she does...and so do I. "Does your child struggle with picking at their skin?" Yes, and I try to hide it from my step-daughter because we're always telling her not to do the same thing. It's not that it's all about me...but...well keep reading...

Here's my next layer of baggage: step-parenting baggage. I'm not sure that I think of myself as a "real" parent yet, even though I'm parenting children in my home on a regular basis. Will I ever? I read these other blogs and I feel qualified to comment as myself because I am comfortable and confident in discussing my own experience. I only became a parent a year and a half ago...and I worry that I'm good enough. I worry that I'm doing everything I need to...I worry that I'm not supporting my husband enough. I wish there were more hours in the day to devote to everything that we all need. I've had to learn very quickly to parent three children. Because we're a blended family, I've had to adjust to the fact that not everyone involved wants me there. And because I care...that hurts my feelings and sometimes it does make me feel like I'm not "real". At the very least it reminds me that I'm "new". So...I don't always feel confident in speaking "as a parent", though there's no reason I shouldn't. I come upon parenting forums and suddenly feel like an outsider.

I also notice that many of these questions they pose are very grounded in the moment, often a moment of frustration or panic, a very real feeling for parents in general and especially parents of kids with various types of special needs...and if there's one thing I can layer over that as an adult with ADHD it's this: many of these issues you're having in the moment aren't going to go away. Some of them WILL go away. Some of them will improve. Some will continue to be a thorn in their child's side as they become adults and they will need the tools to move forward, not just tools to deal with the moment. In some situations those tools are the same...in other situations they are not. Especially when a parent gets so caught in the moment that they look for the quick fix...instead of the long-term strategy. Again though...I know this isn't people trying to be unhelpful...in fact it's great that these forums exist...I just wonder if at times, my own ADHD actually makes it easier for me to NOT panic about certain kinds of things. Little one takes "too long" to get ready for bed? Start him 15 minutes earlier so he doesn't have to rush. Medication change for the older one? Why not, try it, see what happens, if it works, it works, if it doesn't we try something else. If I'm wigged about something parenting related, it's not usually related to a child's special need...it's usually because of MY ADHD or it's simply due to the fact that I'm new at parenting, and parenting is a fucking hard job. The kids will grow. Try your best.

The nexus where parent and child meet, for me, is just one part of a much larger picture. I can't isolate the moments and I can't detach my own ADHD from the discussion when it's so in the mix.

There's a lot to love in these other blogs...but maybe I need more time drilling through some of my own issues before really participating in those online communities overly much. Clearly my heart has some settling out to do...

2011-10-11T09:02:00.000-07:00

As we all know, staying on task can be challenging when you are an adult with ADHD.

But I'll tell you what - it's not the single step tasks that present a problem, it's the multi-step tasks. Specifically the multi-step tasks that I have no interest in completing in the first place. My brain's first reaction to them is a flash in my mind of a GIANT HORRIBLE MOUNTAIN OF TASK. And the second it pops into my head, my brain is immediately looking for a distraction. Unfortunately distractions are very easy to find.

At work, or when I'm at home and trying to get important things done, fortunately I often have many work/important things to do that are smaller and more palatable chunks of "must do". So I can procrastinate and still get work done! Perfect scenario!

Clearly this is only a temporary reprieve tho. I get to a point, eventually, where I must attack the mountain. And I do. Yeah...I do. I break it into smaller chunks...or the urgency of needing to finish it puts it on the top of the pile in a way that is compelling.

I just wish I spent more time with tasks that actually interest me on my plate.

Ho. Hum.

I may never be quite the same.

2011-10-08T16:16:00.000-07:00

I realized last night that I have spent the past year and a half hoping that my brain would totally recover from the Great Migraine Disaster of 2010. Last night I also realized...and not unhappily...that it won't. I don't understand why, but even though I have made GREAT progress toward recovery, it's amazing how much my mother and I have had in common with that experience...and not long before my migraine disaster of course, she had a minor head injury and we had a lot of similar fallout, cognitively speaking. Recovering from a head injury is not a quick process, generally. I didn't technically have a "head injury" but my brain or my thinking processes seem to have been permanently affected in some way. Maybe I DID have some kind of injury to some part of my brain...medical science hasn't fully defined the migraine experience after all. It's a hazy territory...fitting I suppose.

Last night I realized my brain may never be the same. I might not ever 100% recover, in fact in a moment, I was willing to accept that it simply won't. It's going to take me a while to really fully and deeply accept that...but somehow just allowing myself to have that realization had a slightly relieving effect...because in the face of that kind of epiphany, you are free to move forward, whatever forward may mean, and for a long time now I have needed to move forward.

On May 11th, the May before last, I was a 34-year-old woman looking forward to completing a graduate degree within the month. I had found my handsome Mr. Rollins, begun to acclimate to the idea of parenting three children, coordinated a move, and was in the process of planning a grand circus of a wedding for 300 guests. In the weeks previous, just a few times, for a few seconds, I'd had the odd sensation that the scene in front of me moved...but it wasn't a big deal. On May 12th, as I sat at my desk, I nearly passed out, I became viciously disoriented to the space and furnishings around me. I felt a spring in my head squeezing and resisting. I called for my boss, I crawled to the floor. I thought I was dying. I made him take me to the hospital because I thought I was having a stroke. Doctors told me I was crazy and sent me home. It happened again...and then it was happening 20-30 times a day. I was crushed by fatigue, and each time the squeezing would begin in my head, thoughts were slapped out of my head, my thinking process died in its tracks, words evaporated and I would stare, unable to communicate. I was conscious, but I was trapped in my head. Friends would visit or call and an hour later I had no recollection of the visit or call.

The neurologists at MGH treated me with dignity, took me seriously, understood I was having a true neurological crisis, and with a little investigating, and a little luck, while they never gave me an official diagnosis, they did find a medication that brought most of me back to myself.

I worry that I will always be dependent on medication.

I worry that it might happen again - and occasionally, it does. A upped dose brings me back.

I see now, that if I don't have a conversation with myself about it, I will be trapped in hoping, instead of actively living.

I am probably 95% "back to normal" but what does that mean? I'm see now that this definition of "normal" is no longer useful to me. No longer a fair comparison.

Am I less than I was? For this past year and a half, I think I thought so. Bits of me still believe it I think. But now I see I just need to move forward. Because whether I am or am not is not the issue...whether I am alive and moving on is.

It's so easy to focus on those pieces that aren't working, when those pieces are a part of your mind...a part of what you have always perceived to define you as you. But maybe something totally new can fill in the picture...

It just seems like so much more...

2011-10-06T16:11:00.000-07:00

I dropped my husband off at work for the parent-teacher open house and drove home. On my way home, my mind raced to compile a list of all the magical tasks I would complete and relaxing I would do.

At last, with the car to myself, I would first go home and run through a field of daisies with my ADHDog. Skampering into the sunset together to get the wiggles out, we would maybe grab something tasty and then climb into the auto and make a trip to the bank. After that of course, we would clearly have time to stop at my parents' house, before coming home so I can type up a bunch of information for the packet I need to submit to our loan officer for our mortgage application process...

And then...then I realized that I had exactly one hour before I had to drive back to the parent-teacher open house, talk to the teachers for a few minutes, and then pick up my husband at his classroom.

So instead I walked the dog for 15 minutes, moseyed about Facebook for about 5 minutes and now I'm going to go get ready to go back to the school.

But it made SO MUCH SENSE in my brain. Recalibrating my brain was really painful...I had to go over it in my head a few times to make sure that my thinking wasn't making sense, lol.

It's in the genes...

2011-10-04T06:17:00.000-07:00

I have a family member who is having some interesting health/mental health issues at the moment. I won't reveal their relationship to me because I don't really want to delve into their personal business online by name without their permission. But I'm totally delving into it anyway, anonymously, because it's interesting. Here's a few facts:

1) This is a fairly close blood relative.

2) This person could EASILY be diagnosed with ADHD (which could probably be said of 75% of my family on either side...just saying...) with significant hyperactive traits, both mental and physical.

3) This person has been suffering from a serious depression for YEARS (again, several candidates in the family probably qualify for that diagnosis) though has probably has smaller bouts with depression in earlier times.

Said relative finally...FINALLY just agreed to try an antidepresant (Zoloft). It has been a couple of months now I would say and it REALLY seems to be working...REALLYREALLY. REALLYREALLYREALLY. REALLYREALLYREALLYREALLYREALLYREALLYREALLYREALLYREALLYREALLYYYYY!

Said relative is now running around town doing all of the things they couldn't do while depressed (there were some other health issues too, the treatment of which has increased their mobility). The question (that a mental health provider is going to have to figure out is of course) is...is the fact that it's working THAT WELL a good thing?!

Well...I don't know. But as a bystander I can tell you that they are suddenly yammering hyperactively, energy bouncing off the walls, appeared in our yard the other day to "fix stuff" at our house (which was actually great, preferable I would say to being stuck in a recliner with depression), and those who share a household with them are finding it hard to sleep because the energy and activity in the house at night is just too much. Other people outside of the family are also finding it a little overwhelming for various reasons.

This, I would say, is a perfect example of "is it ADHD, is it bipolar disorder, or...is it both?".

As I said to another family member "is it possible that they were like this before and this person has been depressed for so long that we forgot they were always this hyperactive?". Or "is it possible that their anti-depressant is triggering bipolar mania and we were just so used to their behavior before the depression that it didn't strike us as odd"? I'm not expert...but knowing what I know about the person and about psych issues in general it's impossible not to speculate.

In the meantime, it IS great to see them up and about, even if the energy is a little WILD. WIIIIIIILD! Though I cannot lie: I love the stuff at my house getting fixed!!!!

Sleep, glorious sleep!

2011-10-03T09:18:00.000-07:00

Last night I got my third night of perfectly decent sleep since realizing I was taking my meds at the wrong time.

It was delicious.

I can't tell you how much better I feel. At the risk of sounding sarcastic (which I NEVER AM) I am delighted to report that though I still feel cranky, reactive, impatient, sarcastic (...never...) and would like my office mates to stop talking and shut off the light, it is SO MUCH EASIER to feel all of these things on a good night's sleep!!! Lack of sleep adds an edge of helpless to the whole thing...so three cheers and let's hope that progress continues.

In the meantime...I making progress on all of the little details of life that are trying to kill me. I'm lining up contractors...my father came over to FIX MY CAR...I enacted a flea eradication regimen in our house that involved de-fleaing all four pets (again...it's been a bad flea season in New England), bathing two of them (picture a cat being washed in a big sink and then sprayed with the sink's veggie sprayer attachment...I can't believe he let me do that...he ripped the caulking out from around the rim of the sink but I came away unshredded), washing a crap ton of laundry just to be thorough, and spraying and vacuuming most of the house. Last week I conquered the disaster of our basement, cleaning up kitty surprises (jerks), airing it out, and organizing things so that we don't lose our minds when we move, and that effort is continuing. Et cetera, et cetera.

One of the things that was really bothering me about my lack of sleep was the fact that I couldn't remember my dreams. What a freaking metaphor, seriously. I have always (and I do mean always) had a very spiritual relationship with my dreams, and I believe that our dreams give us information that can be important when we're awake. I used to journal them every night. Some were hilarious...some serious...some heartbreaking...always they were always interesting. What some people don't realize is that when you journal them, they become easier to remember. Some of them I would write down when half awake and not even remember...but I would wake up and see my journal open to a page and get treated to a surprise, scratched in almost illegible sleep-writing.

With sleep, the dreams are back. I've really spent the last year and a half adding joyful new things to my life but in the process, totally losing connection to some really critical pieces of myself.

And I didn't have the energy to pull myself back together.

Maybe now I will. Just getting my dreams back feels like a great start. Something to think about while I'm decluttering my basement and working from the ground up to find myself again.

...sometimes a smart person can be REALLY DUMB.

2011-10-02T16:52:00.000-07:00

For months and months and months now I've been having a terrible time getting to sleep, and now that I have three step-children living with me I really need to be on my game...

When I first started taking nortriptyline, it made me sleepy. This was PERFECT. I would take it at night and voila, in bed by like 11 instead of like 3. Over time it's evened out so that I can get to sleep by like 1...but that's way too late for my current lifestyle. And I've been exhausted...and when I'm exhausted it makes me have cool problems like VERTIGO.

Yeah...well who's a fucking genius? I AM! I AM SUCH A FUCKING GENIUS!

Strangely, I think it's a poor choice to take your psych meds with alcohol...and I don't really metabolize things in a super duper way so I try to space things out, drink lots of water...so I had fallen into a pattern of having a beer around dinner time...and then taking the nortriptyline RIGHT before bed. And for months I haven't been able to get enough sleep.

Are you thinking what I just figured out?

Last week I stopped drinking the nightly alcohol because I felt it was becoming too much of a habit and it clearly wasn't helping me sleep...and I had finally gotten to a point of being so fatigued that I thought the vertigo was going to catch up with me...so for three nights, I took an ativan at bedtime and got a good night's sleep. Then, two nights ago, I skipped the ativan and took my nortriptyline at about 8:00. By 10-ish I was totally ready for bed. Last night, I took it at about 8:30...totally ready for bed by 10-ish again.

Um...for months I have been complaining that it was taking me like, two hours to be ready to sleep. You know, when I was taking my meds RIGHT at bed time.

APPARENTLY it takes about TWO HOURS for the NORTRIPTYLINE to hit me.

I'm going to try it again tonight to see how it goes.

I feel like an idiot.

Endurance.

2011-10-01T16:40:00.000-07:00

I keep revisiting the most basic advice of my therapist: think about what is bothering you. Think about what you can change. Make those changes.

Some of them of course, I can't make right away. After acknowledging and mourning that reality, I'm feeling more productive. My mind is actively churning. I feel a glimmer of nameless hope. A glimmer, but that's enough to keep my mind busy.

I also spent an entire evening alone last night...and have spent all of this afternoon and evening so far alone as well. And it feels: GOOD.

As I think of things that, when the time is right, I can change, I begin to feel free. I lighten a bit. I feel my endurance increase. My clarity on my own needs increases, slightly...I need more time either alone, or with the healthier people in my world. I need privacy. I need some quiet. I need to reaffirm permission to give myself what I need. Well alllllrighty then!

I have been spending the majority of my time in direct contact with some extremely noxious energy, and I have allowed that noxious energy to invade my emotional landscape, and spur me to doubt myself.

Still thinking on that one...and thinking about how I'm not really stuck...but I do need to hang on a little longer, and I'm allowed to dream while I do it.

2011-09-30T06:58:00.000-07:00

...okay fine, I'm depressed.

With depression, come my attempts to add levity to the situation. I know I wrote once that depression jokes aren't funny, but sometimes depression induced thinking or situations are.

Exhibit A: Yesterday at my therapist's office I spent several minutes trying to determine what grade of depression I was experiencing. I realized that I was just miserable, but not suicidal, and that I just don't know if it's situational, or if my body chemistry is just out of whack...or both. So I told my therapist that it wasn't so much that I don't see the point of living, but that I don't see the point of life. That's often a good indicator for me of whether or not I'm depressed and to what degree. I always have a little voice in the back of my head that finds life in general odd and sometimes a little pointless, but when I'm not depressed, it's a small voice, and it's generally outweighed by the fact that I don't actually care what the point IS. I am engaged in the adventure enough to just let the question slide.

When I'm depressed, the voice becomes larger and everything looks stark. If it happens in the fall or winter, when everything is dead or dying in my landscape, the point is only driven home harder and it feeds my morose thinking like a bellows. The voice starts saying things like "Jesus Christ. Why the fuck do people even bother to reproduce...we're just creating more people who will grow up and realize that life is pointless and they'll be miserable.". Or Peggy Lee invades my mental soundtrack...asking the question "Is That All There Is?":

Is that all there is?

If that's all there is my friends, then let's keep dancing.

Let's break out the booze and have a ball, if that's all there is.

If you know the song, you know that she's not actually suggesting that the dancing or the booze will improve the situation. But you also know, that the song is hilarious. Because depressed thinking is so absurd sometimes, that it's funny shit. At the end, she muses on the possibility that people might wonder why she doesn't just end it all and she says:

Oh no...I'm not ready for that final disappointment.

Classic.

Clearly, sometimes when you're depressed you still have a sense of humor. Exhibit B: My sister telling a story yesterday about a dominatrix in her class at pastry school, who a) is not a very pleasant person and is sexually invasive even in ordinary daily situations but who also b) looks like Peggy from King of the Hill if Peggy was a man. With eyebrows fully plucked out and drawn back on in...magenta. My sister has taken to calling her: Peggy Steve. Everytime I read the name "Peggy Steve" I just about die laughing (including as I'm trying to type this). It's not because I like to make fun of sexually ambiguous people, but a cumulative effect of the whole story, and my sister's dry Peggy Lee-ish delivery.

So what have we learned here...

1) I'm genuinely depressed but

2) People named Peggy apparently have the ability to throw me into hysterics, even when I'm depressed.

3) I really hope I'm not depressed like this for much longer because I'm really tired of thinking so hard about the meaning of life.

Ima go listen to more Peggy Lee while I attempt to seem "normal" and "socially appropriate".

Micro-urban renewal

2011-09-28T21:17:00.000-07:00

I am absolutely on the verge of some really amazing things but I'll be damned if I have the patience to wait out the psycho crap in the meantime that I have to wait out.

Ever feel like your patience is stretched thinner than a...okay I can't come up with any comparisons there that aren't potentially offensive on at least two levels so let's just say my patience is stretched much further than I thought it capable of, and yet I know I have to hold on just a little longer for my own best interests and for my family's best interests.

Ever been there?

An argument in favor of daily pill reminders...

2011-09-24T18:02:00.000-07:00

...oy.

So my lack of sleep and stress level got the better of me as of yesterday. At the end of the work day, I walked directly home, and I took a whole ativan tablet. I never do that, but I needed nothing more than to sleep. The rest of the evening is a nice, relaxed blur. Unfortunately when I woke this morning, I had no recollection of if I had taken my nortriptyline.

I took my normal dosage this morning.

And then found out the hard way that I HAD already taken it the night before. The most prominent sign was that it made me EXTREMELY drowsy...to the point where I had to leave my weekly event in the middle of the day and I went home and zonked out for four hours. It took nearly two hours to wake back up, and even afterward I was grrrrroggy. Talked to a friend this afternoon and told her how drowsy I was...she said "well you texted me last night and told me you had just taken it". Ha. Didn't remember that either.

Oops.

I have a pill keeper with the days of the week market on it, but I lost track of it (I'm not sure when). Time to find it - and I highly recommend them to others. With so many details in life to keep track of, why tempt fate?

One big exercise in humility...

2011-09-23T08:49:00.000-07:00

Have you ever felt like you needed something to keep you humble? Something to make you realize that you are fallible, human, fragile and imperfect? Let me suggest blogging. Some would argue that bloggers are self-absorbed and a little full of themselves, posting to jerk themselves off and because they really think their words are tres importante.

Few things in my life have ever made me feel less "important". Less "all-knowing". And more human. Than going back and reading my posts from earlier in the week...like yesterday's.

Here at 18 Channels I try to capture the honest day to day experience of living with ADHD as an adult. A lot of moments in my life and the life of my family are hilarious, kooky and fun...but then there's days like yesterday. Yesterday I was nearly eaten live by depression and impatience - by a pile of completely understandable concerns that had taken me apart in pieces, one cell at a time, deconstructed me to the point that at the end of my workday, I no longer recognized myself.

I called and left a message for my prescriber and said my medication wasn't doing shit (in the nicest possible way). I called and left a message for my therapist. I can't tell you how glad I am that the therapist was the one that got to me first.

My therapist really is great. I've been seeing her long enough now that we really have a common language for framing my world and I appreciate that. When I talked to her yesterday I said "for the past year and a half life has been so overwhelming...first I'm depressed, then I'm disabled, then I have a little renaissance and feel better but now I'm anxious, then I'm depressed again, I'm tired of being unhappy and I'm just exhausted and I'm sick of feeling this way".

She said "what can you change"...then "how can you change it".

I know the answers to these questions. I ALWAYS have the power to change my life in any way that I wish. Always. I realize that not everyone is that lucky. Some people have more permanent factors to contend with...but all of us always have choices. So she asked me what I can change, and to identify ways to change it. Of course right now, there are things I cannot change right away. That's the wall I'm up against at the moment.

"Then you have to file it away in your radical acceptance folder."

Sigh. This is nothing new. But she was right. I had to. And at this point it's a matter of survival. I cannot function if I continue to let these things eat away at me. My choice is continue to be miserable, or work to file these things away until they can be handled in another way. Patience of this type has NEVER been easy for me.

Have I blogged about radical acceptance? Probably. It's worth a brief revisit...radical acceptance is the kind of acceptance you have to employ when logic and desire will not get you what you want. It's perfect for all of the unwinnables in life. Crazy parents? They'll always be crazy. Health issue that drives you nuts? Radically accept it. Work with an asshole but can't quit your job? Radically accept that you are choosing to do what's best for you by putting up with that bullshit just a little longer. Have ADHD? Quit beating yourself up. Radically accept it and move on.

In my experience, radical acceptance can be a very rich experience...it can feel freeing or it can feel awkward...or it can feel bittersweet. Right now, it feels freeing AND bittersweet. I have a pile of crap driving me crazy that I have to accept or I will lose my mind. But I have that choice available to me, the choice to file it away for a bit. Something about that felt better than letting it continue to drive me crazy. I'm still sad...I'm still frustrated. I'm still dissatisfied...but I am choosing radical acceptance...which then makes it a little easier to see the small sparks of "fight" that I have left (and to then seek ways to feed those sparks). It also helps me step outside of my misery for a moment to see that I was brought to this moment by choices that I MADE. And that those choices were actually really good ones that made a lot of sense.

At that point in the day I still had several hours left in my work day...we had a night-time show coming in. It just so happened that this show featured a band that is really emblematic of everything I love about the music that I love...they're legendary, truly. So I got to enjoy an amazing night of music that triggered all the good stuff in me...that really fed my soul. It breathed a little life back in me.

I am still hovering in a cloud of bittersweet mist but I can hover here a little longer. I'm not asking for my meds to be changed right now. I turned down a beer last night when offered. I didn't sleep any better but hey, what's new. I DID get to climb in bed with my lovely husband, lay there in a warm, safe house, and breathe.

And I wrote it all down in a blog post so I can go back and read it later, and remember how imperfect I really am, but that it's okay.

This is when you know it's time to call your prescriber...

2011-09-22T13:06:00.000-07:00

For the last few several months I have come more and more to rely on alcohol to make me feel...not even good, just more sane, slightly closer to able to "deal". It's like this...I go to work and barely function...and then I go home and drink a beer to make reality more palatable. Nothing really excites me anymore. I had a little spurt of enthusiasm at the beginning of the summer but it's clearly expired.

Then last week I didn't want to eat. I thought it was because of an antibiotic I was taking. But...no. This week it's evolved. I feel a little darker. Like a cloud rolled in. And the self-medication has evolved too. At least it's delicious. Yesterday I chugged a large order of hot and sour soup at my desk (crap, just talking about me makes me NEED IT) and just now I trucked over to the gas station to grab a container of the best fucking Ben and Jerry's I've ever had in my life (Bonaroo Buzz...I can't even tell you what's in it because I'll go get what little is left and finish it). Then I go home and chug a beer.

Aside from that I have no appetite at all.

I feel no joy.

I have zero optimism. I actually keep trying to think of "fun" things to write about but...meh.

I know to a lot of people a beer or two doesn't seem like a lot but I'm an extreme lightweight that actually gets a buzz off a half a beer.

I know my prescriber would have been telling me to take an ativan but I know that you shouldn't take that every day either. If you feel like you need to, something is clearly wrong.

And something really is clearly wrong.

I have been sort of ignoring it because I have genuine "socio-environmental challenges" right now and I've been patiently hoping they would evolve so that I could see if my dis-ease was related to that or related to body chemistry. Truly, I want to take some dynamite to my socio-environmental challenges...I need and deserve a break. But I don't have the luxury right now.

Am I sick? Is my environment sick? Yes to both. Is patience going to kill me? I'm starting to feel like it.

So...yesterday I went to a store that sells Happy Lites. Priced them. Not in the budget for the paycheck but my husband agrees it's worth the investment. And as soon as I'm done typing I'm going to call my prescriber.

Problem is, my anti-depressant (which clearly isn't doing shit for me) is also my migraine vertigo medication. If I stop taking it, I may very well lapse into disability.

Gah.

GAHHHHHHHHHHHH. But I'm making the call anyway.

Yeah so I wrote another post...

2011-09-14T20:17:00.000-07:00

...but because I violated one of my own rules, I hid it. I didn't delete it. I put my conviction behind every word, and I really feel the way I do. Anyway, we don't need to get into it, but I violated one of my own rules. When a person reaches a certain point of frustration, it's hard not to sometimes.

Everything in my life right now requires extreme patience. Extreme for me in any case. I have pieces of everything that I can work on, but I ultimately have control over none of them. I just have to wait.

I think the house-buying was what tipped the scale just a little too far for me to handle with ease. Yes, we are working on buying a house. It's a lovely house. An old New England house with lots of cool retro features that we love. Buying it, because of its age, involves coordinating a bunch of contractors to come in and out and give us ginormous numbers that we're trying to finance along with the mortgage. Really, it's all in good shape but a few critical items could use an update...better to do it now than have the ancient furnace kick the bucket in New England in January!

You can't just let anxiety tell you "don't buy a house because it's too hard!". But it does feel like I took on another job on top of the two that I already have. On top of family life. On top of you know, every other damn shebang.

I guess the only thing to do is just keep working on the pieces. I don't anticipate enjoying it. But I'm going to keep working on it.

I talked to my therapist today and she said "remember you are not alone...other people feel these things too in these situations". I'll just go with that.

Shame Spiral.

2011-09-08T18:28:00.000-07:00

My dear friend who for the purposes of this blog we'll call "The Mermaid", talks about the Shame Spiral. Like it's spelled with capital letters. Like it's larger than you and me. Because in the moment, it certainly feels that way.

It's that feeling she gets when her baggage relating to all of her imperfections or perceived imperfections or deep wounds from the past rises up like the tide to try to swallow her alive and drag her out to sea with the rest of the debris. By the time it's around her ankles she feels that she will drown, and then of course the panic sets in. Sometimes that means I get a phone call, which is fine with me really, because as a previous commenter posted: misery loves company and frankly I can often relate.

Yes, I have my various "issues" but I've always been willing to jump in and take challenges and push myself, and have always felt like I was ready to climb the next mountain, because WHY would anyone waste their time with MOLEHILLS. And I'm tenacious...I think it's a result of ADHD actually...even before I was diagnosed I was aware of how easy it was to start and not finish things, and I developed a serious complex about it and it made me feel really lame, so I developed an almost compulsive need to finish everything I started.

Then I attempted my Iron Man Are You Fucking Kidding Me-athlon of 2010...quick recap for the first time reader: I finished grad school, ran a small business, held down a paralegal job, met my now-husband after swearing for 34 years that I would never get married, moved in with him and his children, planned and executed a wedding for 300 guests, got a dog...and got asswhipped by the worst migraine vertigo that my neurologists had likely ever seen. So there I was disabled to varying degrees for...a while. Certainly longer than I ever had been before.

And let me tell you...if I had baggage before about worrying about not finishing things...let me tell you...that hit me in May of last year, a year and a half ago, and I'm still not only literally recovering from the whole thing in that my brain still isn't 100% of what it used to be. It was like recovering from a concussion really...and interestingly since my mother was going through recovering from a mild concussion at the time, it was interesting to note parallels. But I finally just realized tonight, as my husband asked me to make the kids lunches tonight instead of tomorrow morning and I had a minor meltdown...that I am carrying a giant suitcase full of shame with me these days.

Shame is a charged word. Shame is a word that I'm not even sure I can say out loud right now. It's so provocative to me right now that I'm actually trying to get up the nerve to say it out loud because I've clearly really hit on something and I think it's something that's holding me back...or at least something I need to move through in order to continue recovering from that whole experience.

I am ashamed that I have limitations. I am ashamed that I spent most of last year unable to engage regularly in my family's morning routine because it triggered illness on my body. I am ashamed that even now I have to be very careful about how I regulate my activities and my energy to make sure that I'm not pushing myself too hard. I am ashamed that though it would be more helpful to my husband for me to make the lunches at night instead of the morning (it's a long story), I just can't do it right now. And it's like Kate Bush wrote "when you can't tell your sister, when you can't tell the priest, 'cause it's so deep you don't think that you can speak about it...to anyone".

I am ashamed that the coping strategy I have used for years of pushing myself tenaciously through to the finish line in nearly any situation I've seen fit to challenge myself to...can now cognitively and physically disable me.

I do not pity myself...but I AM afraid, and I AM ashamed.

The lunches are just a metaphor. They were my way of dipping my toe into the routine, with the hope of being able to take on more as the school year progressed. Sonny isn't trying to make me feel bad...he's just trying to make a morning happen in a stress-free way. But to my shame suitcase it sounds like "it's still not enough". And it hurts.

To add a layer of the possibly ridiculous but true, I am also ashamed of being ashamed...a classic Shame Spiral. Because then you are ashamed that you're ashamed of your shame...a barber pole of unending shame, rising up in your soul (at least I still have a sense of humor when I'm miserable).

So yeah, my ankles are steeped and I'm carrying a shame suitcase barber pole thing. And worse, I'm mixing some really clanky metaphors (what's new). I'm kind of glad that I noticed...so that maybe I'm can start unpacking that piece of baggage. I can see the lock's a bit sticky on this one though...

On being and feeling: Awesome

2011-09-08T09:09:00.001-07:00

Today many of my friends are circulating this admittedly terrific post online, about how everyone should wake up full of awesome. You know, loving being you...enjoying yourself...feeling good in your body...awesome...here's the post: Waking up full of awesome

Awesome, just like you used to be, every day! It talks about how when we were all five, we woke up feeling awesome and we should try to tap back into that feeling now. As much as I love this idea...and seriously, I DO strive for that feeling every day with mixed results...this was not how I felt as a child.

I did not have mean parents. In fact I had a whole extended family of people who ADORED me. And in many ways I feel like my birth marked a transition for my extended family, at least on one side...where some of the dysfunctions of the present were allowed to become the dysfunctions of the past (not all of them...but some of them). It was a time in American history (the mid 70s) when people started to take interest in their "feelings" and the importance of those feelings, and what those feelings told them about how they fit into their families and their world. When I was 5 we moved away from our home state, 3,000 miles...I still had warm and meaningful connection to that family but we had additional distance from some of the "quirks".

I was a cute, pigtailed, smart little girl, and I daresay, fairly awesome. And I didn't take no shit, nosiree...I wasn't one of those pushy, flashy little girls, but when people pushed me, man, I wasn't budgin'. "No flies on that kid" they said. I was just very confident about my convictions. Nothing wrong with a little girl who feels confident about her convictions.

But even as a young child, I had two distinct sensations: I often felt like a grownup trapped in a child's body. Perhaps blame my family and 7 years of only child status, but I was treated like a person, not a child. And on some level I always looked forward to being a grown up, because the "other" status of children felt very wrong to me. It made interacting with people awkward, because I didn't really identify with a lot of other "kids" and many grown ups were not able or willing to treat me like a grown up because duh, I was a child.

My other companion was what I now know was anxiety.

ADHD was not such an "issue" for me when I was 5. I was in kindergarten. I fucking loved grilled cheese sandwiches. I watched Iron Sides with my mother when I came home from school. I had a blue bedroom and spent much of my free time dancing in my room to Disney records. My teacher found me entertaining enough, and my parents thought I was the shit. I wasn't running around the classroom...my mind had space to wander. My mother made me a Cookie Monster cake for my birthday. I tried to grow an orange tree in my backyard from seeds (this was doomed to fail in the Seattle climate, my mother told me, but whatevs). THIS, was all certifiably awesome.

But I did worry. About ghosts. I worried a lot about ghosts. I worried about "savage killer bees" coming to America to sting us all to death. My teacher's name was Mrs. Savage and I was just stunned that she had anything to do with these horrifying bees. And when I went to other people houses I sometimes got a sick feeling in my core, all up and down the center of my torso, a crushing feeling that made me unspeakably sad inside. And when that happened, suddenly everything looked different. Children know sadness too, and children know anxiety. Even when nobody did anything "bad" to them, the spectrum of their emotions and sensations is incredibly complex and they can "feel" so much more than they can even understand.

I now know that mental health pros call that"everything looked different" feeling depersonalization...that state of feeling detached from your surroundings in a way that, if you don't understand what's happening, can be terrifying. Now, when I feel it, I know what it is and can divert myself away from a panic attack. Then, I just pretended it wasn't happening and desperately, achingly waited to go home, or for the feeling to pass, whichever came first.

As I grew older, my relationship with anxiety became more complex, and my anxiety load was often just too much to harbor, so it expressed itself quietly in many ways. Usually little "OCD" tics...clearing my throat...brushing one foot briefly on the ground each time I stepped. Picking at my skin. Counting and ordering things. Categorizing things (pages and pages and pages of lists of alphabetized names for horses, anyone?). Sometimes it expressed itself loudly: temper tantrums. And sometimes I was a passive aggressive little shit. Every night when I went to bed, I was afraid of ghosts in a very intense way (and I apparently had visual migraine phenomena as a child...which did nothing to discourage my belief). As I got older, I controlled my food intake in a very unhealthy way. I refused to use public restrooms...I washed my hands dozens and dozens of times per day. I REALLY worried about what people thought. I was terrified of letting people down. As of course with ADHD a real player by the time I got to high school, keeping up with what I thought I needed to do in order to not let people down was a huge challenge. I constantly overcommitted myself, always slightly underachieved, and always, always felt like I was letting someone down, even when it was just myself I was perhaps letting down the most. I was extremely self-critical, even as a small child.

My mother noticed these things, and being a social worker and a smart person, she did help me to learn about some good ways to deal with these things. And I cannot tell you how grateful I am that she did. I am also, and this may be hard to believe, grateful that she did not rush to medicate or define me, because I had the chance to learn to deal with daily life, unvarnished. My parents did NOT push me to get perfect grades, they supported me in becoming a well-rounded person, even if that allowed me the rope to hang myself with overcommittment, lol. That in itself was pretty awesome, really.

Back to awesome, here I am getting all heavy about a cute blog post about being awesome. It's just challenging to separate anything about my experience from that anxiety. It was really always there in some way. Does it make me less awesome? No. But it's presence won't allow me to go "yeah, everything was fucking sunshine and rainbows awesome!".

Even though NOW I feel more awesome more of the time than when I was a child, I STILL feel like I am searching for awesome. And some days it's easy to find that sweet spot. Some days it's not.

It's never forever.

2011-09-02T18:47:00.001-07:00

It's time to admit that every time the anxiety goes away, there's a little crumb of hope in a crack in my mind, that hopes it's forever. But it's never forever.

Generalized anxiety disorder and ADHD share that fine quality.

Sometimes I wish they would both go away.

10-ish days ago I visited my therapist and I remember she asked me the routine questions. Here were my responses:

Do you have any depression: no
Do you have any anxiety: nope, not really, I feel pretty good
Are you suicidal: absolutely not
Are you homicidal: hmmmm, let see...um no

Each of those answers was absolutely true. I felt great. Any anxiety I was experiencing was directly related to some things going on in my life that ANYONE in the same position would be experiencing...it was purely situational and we had plenty of time to talk about those situations.

This is that other kind, the kind that is almost unbearable. If there was a switch I would turn it off. Medication isn't really a switch. It's a vacation. I am grateful for the vacation, I used to feel this way all the time after all, but it's true that the contrast between the vacation and the return to reality makes what used to be routine harder to bear.

I can't stop tightening my throat muscles in a particular way. I'm unsettled and a little propelled...driven to move, to talk, to "do", and with a certain intensity. I pick at my skin. Uncomfortable in any given moment...unable to settle on a peaceful moment. Like a butterfly I go from flower to flower but each flower is on fire and I must keep moving. Unable to land, I tighten my throat, over and over while my legs search for a way to connect my feet to the floor.

Through this, I function in my life, but it is just so uncomfortable, and I do not enjoy this feeling of intensity. It's just too much.

And what does it mean? My medication seems to do something for me most of the time...except for you know, most of last winter when I was horribly depressed but too depressed to realize that I was depressed. Or you know, every so often, seems like at least once every 6 weeks where my anxiety level just seems to be too much for a bit...some of it is hormones...is all of it hormones? Are my meds just not right? Is it unrealistic to expect to feel better more of the time? Or am I just so enmeshed in the fibers of this anxiety right now that I'm not even thinking clearly.

All I know for sure is that I don't feel good. I cannot find peace in my own skin, and though I am functioning in my daily life, I am so uncomfortable.

It's never forever. The anxiety...the vacation from the anxiety...none of it is ever forever. And honestly I am worried about what may happen as the seasons change. It took a long time, to recover from last winter's depression. In this northern paradise we call home, winter is long...and here it comes. I'm afraid to get stuck there again. Terrific, now I'm pairing the situational anxiety on top of the chemical one...wahooo!

Maybe I need to print this blog post when I see my prescriber next month. Maybe I'm not as insightful as I like to think I am. Maybe the meds are wrong. Maybemaybemaybe.

Maybe.

Drumroll please...

2011-08-31T10:06:00.000-07:00

...Sonny has decided to try ADHD stimulant medication.

There was no pressure within our household for him to do so, and there was no pressure from outside either, for that matter. After seeing me and our daughter try them, and have beneficial results, he thought he might try them too. Sonny is like me in that he is an adult with ADHD, for whom ADHD presents challenges, but he has also learned a lot of ways to cope with those challenges. He has been at the same job for over seven years, is a busy professional musician outside of his day job, and has lots of friends and social connections...but I think that also like me, even though he functions well, he was interested to see what it might be like to not have to work quite so hard for certain shades of normal every day. He really is the primary parent in our household, very hands on with his children, so he deals with more of the logistics and details that could really be a handful for a person with ADHD to keep track of, and in my opinion he kicks a lot of ass. I can't think of any reason why he shouldn't pursue a treatment that might give him a little more peace in the midst of our very, very busy lives.

So far, he gives them two thumbs up. He's going to try them a little longer and see what happens, assess the landscape. I love him just the way he is so really, as long as he perceives a benefit to himself, and there are no harmful effects to him or anyone else, I'm happy with his decision.

I'm also happy with the way his prescriber has approached it. She has given him a not huge dosage of a non-extended release version. It gives him a chance to try it out without being stuck in it for HOURS in the event that he isn't liking what it's doing. Because he lives with me, he knows that the come-down from a short-acting stimulant tablet can be a little janky, so if that happens it won't be a surprise. He'll try it for a little bit and then they'll reassess.

Good times. We'll see what he decides :)

I would not necessarily recommend this...

2011-08-24T21:56:00.000-07:00

But it's funny so I'm telling you anyway.

Yesterday I knew I had some insanely boring tasks to complete at work...so I didn't just take my Concerta, I freaking doubled the dose.

I should clarify, I have taken that amount before and been fine, it just gives me a harder focus than my usual dose. My usual dose, while not a hard-focusing mechanism, DOES take the edges off of my irritability, mood swings, and general "wtf" that I wake up with every morning. I choose the lower dose because I know that it's going to be sufficient for functioning on a day when I know I'm not going to be in a prison of data scrambling and data entry for 8 straight hours.

Mother of God, I knew this was going to be the most boring day of my life...and by golly that 36 mg of Concerta had me so focused that I couldn't even put my head phones on and listen to music like I usually do because my brain was like "GIVE ME THE SILENCE I CRAVE AND DO NOT DISTURB MY MOJO WITH THIS SILLINESS". I crunched that data like it was marshmallow fluff. For nearly 8 hours...with almost no breaks. And of course, while hardly eating a thing because Concerta superpowers do not require fuel.

I am SO glad I never tried cocaine in college.

One size does not fit all...

2011-08-23T14:58:00.000-07:00

...I read a lame cookie-cutter article about surviving college with ADHD today. Lame because it assumes that every strategy makes sense for every person with ADHD. Click here for said globalizing article

One tip in particular, really raised my hackles: stay away from online courses.

As an undergraduate, I did not have the option of online courses. I had difficulty sitting/staying in class, I had difficulty concentrating in class, I had difficulty completing reading assignments, and I graduated with a 2.6.

As a graduate student, I discovered that online classes were PERFECT FOR ME. I "attended" them when I wanted to, I worked in the middle of the night on my "classwork", I still struggled with the reading assignments, but because I had more energy and felt more engaged by the online format, I had more patience to try strategies for attacking them (like using a highlighter as I read, and reading only the first and last line of each paragraph in long articles, so that I could get the basic gist of them instead of trying to slog through every detail for 35 pages). I graduated with a 3.73.

I would not have survived grad school without the option for online classes, if only because I absolutely cannot sit still for 4 hour classes on a regular basis, without professors who don't mind me doing other stuff during class (like flipping through People magazine...I listen better when I'm multitasking). I realize this is not the case for everyone...but writing is one of my strong points, and I find online discussions engaging, so for me, perfect. The courses are visually structured for you online so as long as you are engaged enough to check in and stay on top of things, the structure is already there for you, and it's there on your schedule, whatever your schedule may be. I understand why the article cautions against online formats for students with ADHD, and can especially see the potential pitfalls for younger students who are still learning how to organize their lives and their study habits...but for some students this is a much better option, and I hate the idea that others might read this article and not explore that option, when it might actually help them.

If they're not willing to give the article the space it needs to truly be informative, I wish they wouldn't even publish stuff like this. I can just see an editor going "yeaaaah...could you cut this 3,000-word article down to a 650-word one-size-fits-all soundbite? thanks s'much..."....

Oh come on now...

2011-08-16T17:02:00.000-07:00

...I didn't realize that I'd run out of refills on my 25mg nortriptyline. I have 10mg ones and can double them up to get by, but after a few days, the missing 5mg starts to matter...as you can probably tell from my previous post. Cheers to that...

I'd called the last pharmacy that had filled the prescription to get my refill and was informed that I was out. Oops.

Well that's okay, I just needed to call my prescriber for a refill. I called, I left the message and I was VERY SPECIFIC about which pharmacy to leave it at, because I don't have a car, and I can only get to the one closest to my house on a regular basis.

And of course when I called to see if my prescription was ready (because nobody ever called to tell me if they'd gotten the message or filled the prescription) I was informed that I had called the wrong pharmacy because duh, my meds are totally at a pharmacy that I can't get to. And tomorrow is the one day of the week where my husband's schedule (he who has the car) is inflexible.

We'll get it figured out and everything will be fine, but I wrote this whole pathetic episode out solely for the purpose of demonstrating that the stakes are a little higher in these situations for people who have ADHD or in my case anxiety. It's enough work for me to organize myself and my life...without my mental health prescriber's office (haha, that is pretty funny) screwing up my meds for me like that, so that I have to figure out how to get the meds AND I have to go probably a couple more days without medication that I really genuinely need right now.

Boo. First-world problem, but boo anyway.

Who pressed the mayhem button...?

2011-08-15T14:00:00.000-07:00

I have learned something about blended families with joint custody situations that I honestly don't like very much: every re-settlement of the children into their next destination requires time to settle in.

Disclaimer: I am not writing this to say that children should not have to endure joint custody arrangements between their divorced parents...I firmly believe that when both parents are attentive, relatively healthy people who can and should be having a hands-on experience raising their children, then they should be. And of course, studies show that children are always better off having more contact with their biological parents, as many as may be living and available. That said...every time our children return to the nest after four days at mommy's house, it's like some sick sadist has pressed the mayhem button.

What comes next involves: hours of rapid-fire questions/demands for "stuff", a lot of need for reassurance and hugs, a lot of NEED in general, easily agitated children with short fuses who frequently exact emotional warfare on one another and must be parented into positive behavior...over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over...fights over tv shows, fights over food, fights over...everything you can possibly think of.

Part of it is excitement: we haven't seen each other for days and naturally a return involves happy excitement.

Part of it is: there's some different rules and realities at mommy's house and daddy's house (no judgement, just a fact) and they have to adjust to that.

Part of it is: they're feeling unsettled because they're on the move and have to reacquaint themselves with the home, and make sure everything's still "the same".

Generally this is only Day One and that's understandable.

As an adult with ADHD and anxiety, there's a lot about this that sets me on edge. It's a LOT to juggle, period. And unfortunately, because it's so predictable, I often experience a high degree of anxiety leading into it, which I then have to juggle appropriately on top of the juggling of the children. I am always glad to see them when they come back but it's coupled with a sense of anxious anticipation that is not allayed when of course, that anxiety is confirmed to be somewhat justified.

It is genuinely stressful having these elements land in your home, no matter where they are coming from or who is creating them.

Because the needs of the children must be prioritized, it's important to me to make sure that a few things happen. Let's lay this out, shall we:

1) I try to always make sure that I am home that first evening that they return. Both Sonny and I have a lot of work-related evening obligations, and we both make an effort to make being home that first night a priority, when the kids REALLY need reassurance and welcoming. When framed with my anxiety of course, this feels like the exact opposite of what I should be doing. My anxiety tells me to run. My logical parenting brain tells me I must be present. The logical parenting brain wins, but what do I do about the anxious voice that won't go away?

2) I remind myself that in our home, this is "normal". Again...this feels backwards, but it IS normal.

But will it ever feel "ok"? Will it ever not stress me out?

Lately I see with clarity how people turn to religion, drugs and alcohol to cope with life. I know that none of those are apt or appropriate choices for me, but I wish I could find a mental framework that would soothe me through these transitions.

Workplace ADHD Hazard #245: The guy across the room talking on the phone

2011-08-11T11:10:00.000-07:00

...when you're trying to listen to a conference call at your desk...where you're the one that's supposed to be demo-ing the new database for a group of other people, but to do the demo you have to be able to hear the instructions that are being given to you...but you can't follow the instructions because the guy across the room is talking on HIS phone and it's literally impossible to focus with that distraction in the room, with the sound of his voice layered on top of the sound of your speakerphone.

Sort of felt like my brain might explode.

I can feel my holes...can you feel yours?

2011-08-11T06:04:00.000-07:00

Alright, so you know how we with the ADHD sometimes have memory deficiencies, difficulty prioritizing things, can get cognitively constipated, and the like?

I'm a smart person, people say I'm fairly "quick" and "witty", but of course I DO clearly have ADHD which means I've found some curvy methods for getting to the end points in life.

But I can FEEL it when my brain isn't working. It's like I'm driving golf balls for a while and they're flying beautifully off into the sky and then suddenly WHOA, who put that brick wall there! The balls of thought bounce back at me no matter how hard I try to hit them away. It's a deadness in my thought pattern that cannot be revived through artificial means. It's a sensation that's palpable like a blanket in a baby's hand.

I also KNOW that I forgot SOMETHING but I can't tell you what IT is. I know it relates to YOU somehow and that I was supposed to remember it, and it bothers me until I figure it out. I know that seems odd to people who don't have that problem, because I see that people think it's odd when I try to retrace my thought process out loud. But I've learned that it's better, for example, at work, to admit that you don't know and you have to go look through your notes, even for something simple like details about a phone call you JUST had 10 minutes before that you're not sure that you actually had...until you see the note in your own handwriting. Fortunately I've had many employers who are willing to let my results speak for themselves, and who don't worry about my process for producing those results.

It's like looking at a person's face but not being able to see the features on it (please know this is a metaphor, not a new mental health problem, lol). I can see the outline of the face, and I know a person is THERE, but I can't tell you who they are or what their expression is, or what they are trying to tell me.

This is why I take a lot of notes...I KNOW the holes are there and often, the notes help fill them in. Sometimes it's just a function of time though and notes mean nothing...I used to joke often that my memory is actually very good, it just runs on a 10-20 minute delay. A 10-20 minute delay that I'm acutely aware of...that sits there like a hole I can't fill with immediate recall, but which, over time, slowly comes into focus after I take a first pass, and a second pass...and write myself a note to take a third pass later...

Sometimes it doesn't make sense to people (without ADHD) that I can SEE that there's an issue, but I can't immediately "fix" the issue. I can see myself that it's odd, really, it doesn't make sense. If you know there's a problem you should be able to fix it. It's simple logic. And to that I say "this is why they call it a disorder". Furthermore, it's a currently incurable disorder.

...sometimes it's like there's too much information and I can tell that my mind is "working" on the information, but I can't connect the dots immediately. Then, suddenly, all dots connect at once. Or sometimes dots connect immediately on something totally seemingly unrelated to the topic at hand...sometimes it IS actually totally relevant but the conversation hasn't gotten to that point yet...sometimes my mind has decided "this is a stupid topic and a waste of my time, I'm moving on". I AWARE that it's all happening when it's happening.

It reminds me, in a small way, of a man that I read about once, who had Alzheimer's. He was a painter, and he was aware of what he was losing, as he was losing it, and could show it to others, simply by painting a portrait. As the disease impaired his cognition, it invaded his ability to paint, it eroded both his inherent talent as well as his technical skills. And for quite a while, he was aware of exactly what was happening, but he couldn't stop it or control it. His paintings slowly lost their definition, their detail until indeed, all that was left were the abstract suggestions of faces and landscapes.

Thankfully, ADHD isn't quite like that...it's isn't progressive. But I wonder many times if others with ADHD have that same awareness of the "gaps". Sometimes keeping track of the gaps is exhausting. In the last few years, I have had to learn to let some of them go, in order to let go of some of my anxiety...and adjusting to that is hard, it makes me feel a little less "in control".

Can you feel your holes? Do you sense the gaps? What do you do to try to keep track of them?

I am the voice of Christmas future...

2011-07-29T13:09:00.000-07:00

I'm coming at this ADHD thing from a variety of angles. I am a grown-up with a diagnosis of ADHD and an anxiety disorder. I am a step-parent to at least one child with ADHD and again, an anxiety disorder (though I would bet money if I had it that we have a second diagnosis coming our way among the children). I am also the wife of a person who also has...drumroll please...ADHD and an anxiety disorder.

As such, I read blogs and online resources for adults with ADHD, for spouses of people with ADHD and for parents of children with ADHD.

When I comment on the first two I am speaking to my peers...but when I comment on blogs for parents, I am among peers, but I also represent something else: the future.

Every child with ADHD is an individual, and every one of those individuals has different challenges, different gifts, and different interactions with the world around them, so I don't mean to say that I am what and who every parent's child will turn out to be, but there is something I genuinely wish to offer and that is hope.

Because I am a step-parent, I understand what it feels like to worry that your child will continue to struggle...will continue to have challenges...and to worry that you won't always be there to help them through these times. But because I also have ADHD I know that there is life beyond these worries.

The best thing you can do is yes, try to help your children, try to teach them how to cope...and as importantly, to give them a little space to have the chance to fail because that's when they have a chance to show you, and to show themselves, what they've learned.

Recently, my stepdaughter seems to have some symptom resurgence, the likes of which we hadn't seen for many, many months and we (and the family therapist and family doctor) finally realized "what a minute...she's a child and she's growing, she may need a higher dose of medication". And that's most likely the plan that her father and bio-mom are going to go with. Step-daughter complained recently that she didn't feel like herself and blamed the medication...but I think the real problem is that she is feeling like she used to before she took medication and can't think of anything else to blame...because she's just 9. That's certainly what her behavior would lead one to suspect anyway...

But this all got me thinking...about how it's easy to revolve conversations around dosages and negative behaviors, as though it's a fight between good and evil (and oh, I understand how some days really do feel like a fight between good and evil!). I reflected on how we have also asked her to work to modify her behavior though and suddenly I saw the whole issue in a more lush and articulate way. Yes, she likely needs more medication because she's a growing girl...but she also deserves audible praise and validation for the positive changes she's made in her behavior. She deserves to be recognized for not only complying with our request that she stick with the meds, but also for making real, conscious effort at being a more thoughtful member of the family. I wrote a note in red marker on our family white board in the kitchen: "Affirmation chat with C!". I want to make sure to tell her how proud we are of the changes she's worked for, and to encourage her to keep working...and heaven knows if we don't write it down, we may forget, lol.

This is a little girl who was becoming infamous for invading other people's personal space in an overwhelming way, berating and blaming her brothers incessantly, arguing with parents in the classic total absorption of ADHD...and we have reminded her over and over that she needs to make different choices (and have helped her identify some of these choices), to respect other people by treating them more carefully, and that sometimes she needs to accept that she's not always right - or that if she believes that she is, she needs to make a different choice about how to address it. In so many ways it's becoming clear that she DOES hear us when we say these things, and she DOES work to try these new, foreign things - because she DOES care.

Among the moments of insistence and argument and obsession with the imperfections of others, and other calamities of childhood ADHD, there are moments when I see her walk into a room...perhaps not find everything to her liking...and she may choose a book and go find a quiet place to read, instead of picking a fight. She may go outside and play with the dog rather than angrily manipulate her brothers. I had a talk with her recently where I introduced the concept that arguing in the moment is not always effective and often a better choice (ahem, especially when both your father and step-mother ALSO have ADHD) is to walk away for a little while, think about what you want to say, and then pick a quiet moment later to bring it up. She pondered this with far more seriousness than I would have expected of someone just 9 years old...but I remember my own mother sharing strategies like this with me when I was her age, so I suppose I should not be so surprised.

I do have a point here and in my ADHD-way I'm getting to it: your child has a future and that future will likely be as marked by successes as by challenges. Don't ever forget that and don't ever let your child forget that. Remember to celebrate their successes...remember to celebrate your own successes.

Children with ADHD grow up to have very interesting lives. Lives that, when attended to with conscious care, can be rich, meaningful, and successful in so many ways. Lives that are unique and surprising...yes, lives filled with lost keys, ridiculous arguments, hungry cats reminding people to feed them, and other sometimes more serious challenges but UNIQUE, and wild and fulfilling. Lives that deserve all of the preparation you can give them, but lives which may require you to let go of your expectations, and allow your children to be essentially themselves, whatever that may mean.

Help them when you can, and celebrate the paths they find...

And in the meantime, if it's helpful, remember that I'm here, like so many other adults with ADHD, living a surprising, passionate, perplexing, but meaningful life full of learning and love and yes, lost keys (every morning I tell you, every damned morning)...and I'm here. And someday you child will be too.

We create systems so the children can undo them, of course...

2011-07-24T19:42:00.000-07:00

...creating simple ways to do things can be the salvation of many an ADHDer, in relation to getting everyday stuff done around the house.

In our house, we strive to create some loose sense of routine at least, despite the fact that three of the five of us live at another house every four days. In other words, it's an extra layer of challenge. But that's okay. Life's like that.

The nature of the kids' mommy/daddy schedule though does create genuine challenges...for example, you can't create a day of the week specific schedule because they are not here on the same days of the week every week. Things like chores and household helping have to be worked in sort of spontaneously.

One of the wee girl's helping tasks that she likes is feeding the cats. Fine and dandy!

Let's talk about the cat's eating arrangements though:

We have two dogs, and two cats. We have to keep the voracious dogs out of the cat food and we have to keep the fat cat out of the dog food. So the cat food bowls live on the stairs to the basement where for some reason, the chihuahua will not venture, which keeps him from eating the food. Strangely the big dog also shuns the basement. So much the better.

When wee girl feeds the kitties, for some reason she is compelled to micro-manage their eating process to such a degree that she takes the bowls and MOVES THEM to a different place, every single time she feeds them with each bowl totally separated from the other, so that if you find one you still have to look for the other one...and she routinely forgets to put the scoop back in the cat food bin which usually means that it's rolling about on the kitchen floor somewhere, or it's been stolen and partially consumed by the chihuahua...and she often forgets to push the bin so that it snaps shut which of course defeats the whole purpose of having gotten a stay-tight container to keep those large quantities of kitty-kibble from drying out.

I'm sure you can picture the mild hysteria when I go to feed the cats after she has left to go back to her mum's house and I can't find the bowls, I can't find the scoop and as a cherry to the whole event, the bin has been left open.

I have had years of living with my brain to know that there are certain things you just have to do exactly the same every time or risk the peril of making your ADHD life completely fucking miserable. Wee girl is just 9 and so hasn't learned the benefits yet. I understand this...but in the moment when I am late for work because of my own ADHD quirks already, it sends me right over the edge of sanity. There's a lot of swearing involved, but it's okay because at that point there are no children home!

Some day it will all click for her...and I await that day with a grand and premature glee!

Does the peg, regardless of shape, ever fit?

2011-07-22T05:57:00.000-07:00

Is this the perpetual dilemma of the ADHDer? Do we ever "fit"? Do we ever find a perfect place for ourselves in our world?

For years, I avoided having to fit myself anywhere, by simply keeping my options open. More recently, I have made targeted, calculated choices based on conscientiously selected criteria...and I still end up dissatisfied. I know that life can't ever be perfect. I would just like to be one of those people...one of those people who talk about how their home life is really "satisfying" to them, about how their job is really "fulfilling" and makes them "happy". About how their network of family and friends is the best a person could ever hope for...actually I DO feel like that a lot of the time, but because of my perpetual struggle with making time for "relaxation" I don't get all of the free-time with friends and family that I would like. That's not their fault though, they're still great.

Do I rely on a certain sense of dissatistfaction to keep me engaged? Do I require a feeling of unsettlement, in order to feel normal. Is slightly unhappy my default setting? And is it learned or inherent? Am I just a shapeshifting peg with a chronic case of refusal?

Or am I just in a really strange spot in life right now where I just don't feel quite "right" (despite the fact that I'm actually probably mentally healthier than I've ever been) because the pieces around me just aren't quite correct?

I love my family, but it's a fact that my home life is often stressful. My home is very different from what I grew up with...and totally different from anything I ever imagined it might be.

And my job...well it has its plusses but there are chunks of it that are simply not defined. I knew this going into it...but the feeling of moving through that reality is still awkward at times.

I'm usually able to write blog posts that come to a natural and pointed conclusion but today I just don't have it in me...because the nature of the issue is as filmy as an unwashed window.

A virtual get-me-the-fuck-outta-here

2011-07-19T08:55:00.000-07:00

Sometimes (frequently, and recently with alarming frequency) I need a virtual get-me-the-fuck-outta-here. And if you have ADHD, you know that you do too.

A virtual get-me-the-fuck-outta-here can take many forms and can be different depending on the day, situation. A virtual get-me-the-fuck-outta-here is sometimes the difference between good and evil, between keeping your job and telling someone to go piss on themselves, between knowing you're right and telling everyone who will listen, and keeping it to yourself, a sweet secret.

Today's virtual get-me-the-fuck-outta-here: grooveshark.com. Grooveshark lets you find songs that you love, create playlists that you'll love even more...and you can change those playlists everytime you log in (which is what I prefer) OR you can save playlists for reuse. You can also put headphones on and listen to the same song over and over and over if it's the only thing that's going to get you through the day, without annoying your coworkers.

Today, I can tell you it's the only thing (aside from the methylphenidate that's wearing off and the nortriptyline that makes me waaaay mellower than I was at this time last year) keeping me a) employed b) sane c) sitting at this desk d) from losing my shit as I stick over 200 individual labels on individual envelopes e) interested in maintaining any form of status quo.

I have no comment on whether any of this is beneficial. I can't go there. I just know that it works.

And that Destroyer sounds like Al Stewart, the London Suede, Roxy Music and a tiny elf had a baby. A baby that makes me stuff envelopes faster.

Crafting: shabby chic style...

2011-07-18T06:03:00.001-07:00

Last night, instead of letting the kids loose with a pile of dirty, muddy, delicious clay in the kitchen, I brought the whole brick out into the yard.

I set up a folding table in the driveway at the front of the house, where they were riding bikes and scooters around with a friend, so we could all hang out and make pinch pots (something we had been talking about doing all day).

Busted out the clay, made some great pinch pots, and a huge mess. A huge mess that, when we were done, I could simply hose off of the table and the driveway with a big hose!

1) Kids love making pinch pots and there's some really nice air-dry clay options out there that aren't expensive, don't need a kiln for drying, and are "real" clay for kids who have moved beyond the allure of the neon synthetic squishy stuff.

2) Doing it right out in the yard like that on a folding table was pure genius...cleaning that mess up in the kitchen would have been...challenging. And Sonny and I do not need any more challenges in the "keeping things tidy" department...

3) We are having WAY more fun in our yard than our grumpy neighbor is, in his perfectly manicured Stepford-yard. So THERE. But if he wanted to come make a pinch pot with us, I would absolutely welcome him with open arms. That's how we roll.

In just five minutes, five times/day...

2011-07-17T19:26:00.001-07:00

...you TOO can have a glorious shabby chic garden!

I actually enjoy weeding, but even I often don't have the time or patience to devote hours to it. My solution: spend about 3-5 minutes weeding, every time I take the wee doggy out to pee. It's easy to remember, I mean the weeds are their own visual cue...the whole crux of the situation is that they don't go away on their own...so I take the pooch out, and while he finds a great spot on the lawn to burn with his urinary juices, I pull a handful or two of weeds.

I began my weeding career with my grandfather, in the summers, as a child...I pulled the weeds, and then, either we fed them to the sheep, or I would transplant the ones I liked to my own "weed garden" area, which I lined with rocks and pebbles and rusted trash bits that I found on the edges on my grandfathers yard (beds springs, gears, etc...).

Now, my Sonny benefits from my love affair with the weed...and so does the dog. And really, so does the grumpy neighbor. He has ME to THANK for the fact that our yard is weed free (though full credit for the actual garden goes to Sonny Rollins, master of the mulch, eradicator of overgrown "wildflowers", and divider of unmanaged hostas).

Shabby Chic

2011-07-14T13:16:00.000-07:00

I just wrote a reply to a comment on a previous post, and it reminded me of, well, something I should probably just make into its own post.

Sonny and the kids and I live on a really cute little street in our small New England city, lined with houses that were probably all built around 1900. Houses that have been freshly and colorfully painted by our neighbors. Each house has a sweet little garden in front, with little solar lights that light up the sidewalks at night. It's very sweet. Visitors always remark how nice our little street is (some of the nearby streets are not so cute) ...even our visitors from Pakistan were impressed (and I don't know what their expectation of an American neighborhood would be).

In the middle of all this cuteness, we live in what I like to call the "Shabby Chic" house. We don't own, we rent, and the duplex is certainly in need of a paint job. It's not awful, but it is...shabby chic. Light brown, a little peely...one of the steps just fell through on the side porch when Sonny stepped on it. But we do have lovely gardens like our neighbors, thanks to Sonny's green thumb. It's quite lush and pretty, and mulched.

Our lights are a little different from our neighbors. Somehow, all of the neighbors have the same little solar lights that look like they are wearing little flat black helmets. Our are big crackly globe lights. With switches that allow you to make them either white or...gradually changing rainbows of COLOR! WHEEEE! We usually leave them set to white because Sonny thinks they're too Christmassy the other way...but the option is there!

And...it's challenging remembering to get the kids to pick up everything they've left in the yard all the time. We DO try, and we DO think it's a good thing for them to do, but sometimes we just need to keep our collective self rolling forward and the toys are forgotten.

And...Sonny and I both have a lot of activities and projects that involve a lot of gear...and often, that gear/equipment and supplies end up piled up on our front porch. I don't like it...but it's kind of a fact of our lives. Our apartment is small and there's really nowhere else to put it all sometimes and we're truly coming and going so fast that it's just impossible to keep up with. My husband is the kind of person that will get up early on a Saturday to clean the grout in the kitchen tiles with bleach, so we are not total slobs (not that there is ANYTHING WRONG with being a total slob). But...we're two really busy people with three really busy young children, three of us are diagnosed with ADHD and sometimes...it takes us a week to get around to moving one pile of stuff so we can replace it with another. I'm just sayin'.

As such, I'm pretty sure that our neighbor across the street, with the truly gorgeous, impeccably manicured lawn, the really finely ground mulch (we can only afford the chunky stuff) and the absolutely spotless property...hates us. And there is no interaction that should have led to this, in fact we have been there for over a year and haven't really interacted with him at all past the usual "hello".

And the other day when Sonny went over to chat with our next door neighbors, and this other neighbor was there chatting with them...he stopped talking when Sonny stepped into the conversation, and wouldn't join back in. Then left.

Rawr. I can't claim to know what it's about...but I will say that it pushes my buttons because I already feel self-conscious about our clutter level...even though I love my quirky little home and my quirky little family.

Or should I say: my shabby chic little home and my shabby chic little family.

My children run around with Nutella on their faces. So what?! My globe lights aren't little soldier lights. So what?! My third-world slum porch is cluttery. So what?! So we had a funk band playing in our basement. So what?!

So what. Unfortunately, it does bother me. But I guess life is short and ADHD is long. And I can only do what I can do. Someday when I don't have three young children at home and a husband who works by day and plays gigs with like 800 bands by night, and a small business and a full day job...maybe then my yard will be perfect too. And I'll have so much time on my hands that I can finely grind my own mulch BY HAND with like, a microplane...artisan mulch...YEAH...

Or...my porch will still be cluttery and my neighbor can go fuck himself.

Quantitative progress

2011-07-12T10:27:00.000-07:00

Here's what they don't tell you when they say "try meds": it might take months or years to really adjust.

Not only adjust to the medication, but to NEW ways of feeling, new ways of being, and new ways of acting. And that's if you don't resist because it feels too different!

It has taken me...seems like about 2.5 years to find the right dosages, meds, behavior adjustments. This may not be typical, but for me, it is simply the way of things.

I now go to bed at between 10pm and 12am...which is soooo much better than between 1am and 3am.

I am way more laid back. I manage to find my motivation these days most of the time, when I need it.

I can have conversations usually without feeling like my heart is going to explode out of my chest.

I can make myself STOP TALKING more easily when I notice that it's probably time for that to happen.

I get intensely annoyed, irritated and pissy FAR less often.

My ambient general anxiety level is MUCH lower.

I am better at editing my thought processes, particularly in the area of starting new projects. Sometimes this makes me sad...sometimes I think I over edit these days...and so I'm seeking smaller ways to inject fun, without formulating additional world domination plans (to run concurrently to the plan already in progress). For example, I can make a Barbie dress for my stepdaughter in an hour and it's a fun, creative diversion that can leave me refreshed to do more boring shit afterward. Ah ha! Instead of, you know...writing a novel in an afternoon or something.

Now then, new challenges in life have brought me, well, new challenges to how I deal with certain life situations. But I think that's progress. I'm not stuck on the same old shit. I'm moving forward. Some of the new challenges are bigger than the old ones...but part of the reason for that is that being stuck on some little shit prevented me from encountering the bigger shit. Well fine...I'll take that.

And so the thought hit me...the other day...that I really do believe that my life is better than it was. That it's all been worth it. That deciding to be treated for anxiety and ADHD was a good idea.

It's a mildly bittersweet satisfaction...if only because the experiences along the way have really been very intense. But the net result is a good one.

I might need to set an alarm for this...

2011-07-07T14:18:00.000-07:00

After taking medication that makes you focus like a laser beam, REMEMBER TO TAKE BREAKS so that you don't give yourself arthritis or carpal tunnel syndrome.

I got a ton of work done today...but after clicking like a demon for like, 4 hours straight, the knuckles in my right hand are screaming in that way that abused joints do.

Fab.

Remembering to take breaks was already a problem for me...with stimulant medication, I still have that problem, I'm just working on two things at a time instead of 15. Which is probably actually worse for my joints, though it's terrific for my productivity!

Silly ADHD.

Calendaring Hell

2011-07-01T07:05:00.000-07:00

It took me 33 years to finally figure out that an electronic calendar was what I needed to make my life make sense.

Then I met Sonny. He can't use an electronic calendar. Readers with ADHD, I know you know what I mean when I say that: it REALLY doesn't work for him for the same reason it once took me 6 months to turn in an electronic time sheet to get paid.

Of course we should just have our own calendars...but WAIT. We're married and have three children in the house that we have to plan around. So...we can't really have independent calendars if our life is to make any sense. It's gotten to the point where I can't even schedule a new appointment at my therapist's office while I'm there, because I have no fucking clue which dates are truly ones where he is home to be with the kids and I will be able to access a vehicle to get there. And if I leave the office without making the appointment, I won't make the appointment because that adds an extra step to the process and that extra step makes it impossible to complete because by the time I remember to do it, she'll be all booked up. Living successfully with ADHD is all about simplifying, eliminating steps, and being realistic (though NOT unnecessarily limiting yourself or making excuses...it's a delicate balance!).

So I am making a concession. I hope it doesn't make me insane. I bought a paper calendar. Paper calendars give me anxiety to a level that makes me almost cry. Last night I spent three hours putting all of our appointments and obligations into this calendar. And I will kill him if he doesn't remember to tell me when he puts new shit on his calendar. I will fucking kill him.

Yes, I realize this sounds like I'm setting us up for failure. It's also possible that my TERROR of him not telling me when he puts new things on his calendar will motivate me to ask him. Probably 30 times a day. Because if ADHD doesn't help you remember, OCD-mimicking certainly will (as it takes years off of your life span).

Random side tangent that I think is valuable to the non-ADHD reader and amusing to the ADHDers in the house: If you have been a regular long-time reader you may already know this...at my former office we had an Excel spreadsheet that we had to fill out as a time sheet. I use such things all the time at work, but this one was really, really overwhelming for me. It had individual little boxes to fill in. It had shit popping up in military time. It had what seemed like endless categories of types of time to fill in...and a mileage section. I guess this is all standard time sheet stuff. In that format, for me, it's crazymaking. I avoided it for 6 months before our payroll person finally went "DO YOU WANT TO GET PAID, EVER?". Yeah. And yet...for calendars, I like electronic calendars...where you have to type a bunch of crap into little boxes on a computer of smart phone. But the little reminders that pop up are LIFE SAVERS. Ah, the predictable unpredictability of ADHD.

And so, contrary to what I know is generally true of living with my ADHD, I now have the paper calendar. I now have to remember to LOOK in it, and write things in it...AND I have to remember to remind my sweet Sonny Rollins that he needs to give me updates. I have become the reminder. I know that "being the reminder" often drives wedges between ADHD and non-ADHD partners. This might be survivable for us, because I REALLY understand that he's not just trying to drive me insane by being challenged in the calendaring department. My anxiety really comes from worrying about my own ability to manage.

We'll see how this goes. It's the first step, hopefully, to my getting my creative life back. I haven't been able to schedule me-making-stuff-time because I have no idea what's happening on our calendar. I need that time to keep me sane, to make my life literally worth living. I turned down law school to preserve this ancient piece of myself, the piece that stated, in kindergarten-ish "I want to be an artist.". I took a vow of poverty in committing to my life, and committing to my musician-teacher husband (it's a mutual vow of poverty, taken with a smile on our faces). It's only worth it if I get to do the things that make me happy.

Construction Noise

2011-07-01T06:58:00.001-07:00

Since I began working at this job, back in January, a new building has been in progress right outside my window.

LUCKY ME.

Every week brings evolution in the form of new species' of grinding, banging, bonging, clanking and BEEPBEEP-ing noises. I gotta tell ya: IT'S GREAT!

I also gotta tell ya: I'm being TOTALLY SARCASTIC. I'm sure if you have any familiarity with how life works that you won't be surprised to know that I'm the only person in the building whose desk is literally right in front of the window.

It's hell for a person with sensitivities to LOUD NOISE. I acquired a pair of ear plugs. I also listen to music with headphones but the sounds are still audible over the grinding, clanging, etc. This week's loud grinding is really something. I've got the Pixies and their more aesthetically pleasing grinding noises cranked as loud as they can go without damaging my hearing but I still hear grinding construction noises. Maybe if we could hook the cement mixer up to a distortion pedal it would sound better...

There's not really another place for me to work in the building. The ribbon-cutting is in November. Come on November. Because I can't stand this shit much longer.

A bird's nest of notes to self-

2011-06-10T06:47:00.000-07:00

-perches on the desk before me. I'm supposed to be going through it to consolidate my notes and get rid of the ones that reference tasks I've already completed, but instead I'm sitting here bloggin', while trying to find a magic way to get myself to give a crap.

Incidentally I'm out of Concerta and "meth" this morning so I didn't take any, but isn't that the lazy man's way out, blaming the lack of meds?

Yes, yes it is. There are tasks and actions that I file under "not enough Ritalin on the planet earth to get me to give a shit about this" and this goes on the list. I'll use blogging as a coping tool though, vent my dissatisfaction and then threaten myself with the importance of job security to get myself back on task. Anxiety is unhealthy, but MAN is it useful.

It's hard not to laugh when I think about how many times in my life I have had to resort to mental self-torture to get things done. I can recall sitting in my room in junior high school, watching Gilligan's Island on my little black and white tv doing anything but my homework...trying to convince myself that I would do it in 5 minutes...for hours. In junior high, when I was still early in my self-steering journey, mismanagement of my time got me kicked out of a gifted students program. It hasn't gotten me fired from a job yet but there's still time I suppose.

This is a pretty special pile of crap on my desk here, taller and denser than usual, I don't normally let it get to this point at work because I can't function in clutter. I usually am able to organize things and categorize things, but many of my tasks at this particular job are...only tangentially related to one another...and I haven't found a good way to keep my work flow streamlined yet. So I'm sorting through a pile of scraps of paper. On the one hand at least I write stuff down. On the other hand...I look forward to creating a steering mechanism that works more effectively for THIS work.

Blargh.

When ADHD meets arrogant douchebags...

2011-05-31T06:06:00.000-07:00

I possess zero tolerance for arrogant/stupid/self-centered/narcissistic people these days.

Many of my friends are mid-menopause and one of them humorously refers to this as a case of "don't give a shit". I am not mid-menopause, yet I also do not seem able to swallow a shit sandwich.

I'll illustrate...well...I mean I can't really write about some of the douchebags in question...hmmmm. Okay...let's pick one that I'm not sentimental about. And I'll generalize a little. But I think you'll see what I mean.

Let's talk about "I'm the only one that's allowed to ask questions here" guy. AKA "I'm insecure and can't handle women pointing out potential shortcomings in my perfect logic guy". AKA "I scream at people in meetings and talk to other adults like they are children" guy.

My reaction to said "winner" was to slam both hands down on the table and yell back "REALLY?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! REALLY?!". I then dismissed myself and as I was doing so, told him that his address of me was a COMPLETELY INSANE way to address fellow volunteers. I have since politely stepped down from that project. I was not asked to, and the committee chair's response was "well, he was pretty out of line". But when I am no longer able to engage in "the work" in a productive manner, I don't think I'd be doing anyone favors to insist upon my further presence. When you commit to working with a group you have to accept a certain amount of quirk. In this case, I am very aware that I am not willing to "work with" an asshole that is wasting my time.

Now then, while I am an "ADHD American" I generally have pretty good skills of diplomacy. If anything, my ability to think quickly on my feet in certain kinds of situations has allowed me to skewer and deflate douchebags with verbal wit on many an occasion. I can't say I've never told a motherf***er where to shove it. It's just that recently, I seem to get to that point more quickly - but only in certain situations. You see my point of wondering: it doesn't MATTER really, but I do wonder sometimes where that line between ADHD and personality lies.

I have a theory: I used to feel obligated to endure a certain amount of crap. I am so used to questioning my own reactivity that for a long time, I didn't trust it. While I can't go around telling people where to shove it all the time, perhaps I've gotten to a point where I am trusting what my gut is telling me now.

I think that's healthy. I think that's a good thing. And I think it's actually going to help me pare down my obligations as I more honestly assess how I want to be spending my time.

That, my friends, is a gift in a crap package. And who gives a flying monkey about the package, you just tear that off and throw it away anyway....

A drowning nomad...

2011-05-28T19:25:00.000-07:00

Utterly lacking in inspiration of any kind, I reach for a beer and here I sit, writing. I'm not a big drinker, but the other day, to do some writing, I had to have a glass of wine first. I have never had to seek inspiration. It has always found me. Exuberant inspiration has always been my close companion. It's a little lonely without it. I'm not depressed really, I'm just not happy. There are things and people in my life that I love, but something is missing.

I know that if I continue to have to drink to access the free-flow of the universe that it won't be a good thing, so I will make sure not to latch onto that crutch.

I also know that I am not alone in this experience. As winter has thawed in Northern New England and humans reconnect everyone talks about how hard the winter was this year, and how life just doesn't feel quite right. I feel like I need a connection to something larger that the geographic place I happen to be living, but I don't know what it is yet.

This much I know...the other night I dreamt that I was begging someone to take me away from New Hampshire. Begging as if begging for my life to be spared. Begging through a web of grief. I pleaded with them that I had to leave, because I was so sad here. But I don't think sad is the right word.

I lived 35 years as a nomad and now my limbs are bound to more permanent tent stakes.

The first time I moved, I was almost 4 years old. We left New Hampshire and traveled on an airplane, the first of many bicoastal yearly trips that we would make. I wore a red dress that my Grammy bought for me. We left our family behind. Our sprawling, intricate network of family, branches that stretched across the years and geography of the Northeast. We tore up our roots and we left. One uncle lived near Seattle and we were going to his house. I thought that the plane would land in his yard; the airport surprised me.

We had one layover, during which my mother had to take our cat, in her carrier, into the bathroom to clean her up because she had pooped on herself. My father had our tickets and accidentally got back on the plane without us. We almost could not get back on the plane. You cannot live a day with ADHD and not experience it in a palpable way.

For years after this, I dreamed that I drowned in my red dress. That I fell into a deep lake, surrounded by cartoon seaweed. I gently landed at the bottom of the lake and could see above me a circle of people watching me die. Sometimes the lights of an ambulance would appear, wavy through the water above. No panic, no sound, just placid recognition of my separation from the world of the living.

After moving out of my uncle's house - we didn't stay there long - we lived in one house for a few years, and then we moved into an apartment in the same city, I think so my parents could save up for a house. After about 5 years in that city, we moved to another, when my parents finally purchase that house. And we were there for 7 years-ish until I left for college. Where I lived for 4 years and then left...and then went to California for 6 years and then left...and now I have been here in New Hampshire for 6 years.

And here I am.

What is home? My sister says that home is where the heart is - she's quite literal in her interpretation, she means your heart that is beating in your body and any ethereal qualities and feelings it may contain. That scroll is tattoed right on her body; a reminder. Or an insistence that belies uncertainty...?

My new household is much different from the one I grew up in. And though parts of New Hampshire are imprinted on my soul like that scroll on my sister's leg, it does not feel like home. What IS home? WHERE is home?

To frame this as ADHD is to trivialize the purgatory of my tethered heartstrings. To frame it as the product of my parents' likely ADHD is irrelevant. I am here now and we will not move for at least 15 years because our children are still in school and their mother lives here too. Even if we buy a house (sometime in 2065 at the rate we're going) it's going to be right near here somewhere.

Every frontier has an end, a horizon where you see the dots of civilization and remember what it feels like. I have spent my life reassured by its existence but avoiding capture. And I've found new frontiers through stepmotherhood. But this is no consolation for a loss of freedom of movement.

I don't know how to get home. Maybe I've never known. My life has forced me to a definition. And I'm resisting, oh I'm resisting.

Mothers' Day

2011-05-08T11:48:00.000-07:00

I started this post on Mothers' Day. The title was not Happy Mothers' Day, but not because I'm not happy. Life is pretty good. It's just that I wrote it more as an unfinished thought than as an exclamation of certainty. Mothers' Day is far more complex where stepmothers are concerned.

I got my first Mothers' Day gift that week. Last year, the children were not sure if they were supposed to, or not, and that was just fine. I've never had two "mothers" before and as such, I respect that they have an experience of our family that I will never have. That experience is theirs to interpret.

This year, they interpreted that I should certainly receive gifts, and they really worried about getting me the right "thing". For the record, I was not worried about it. They could have given me a dead bug (not out of the realm of possibilities with this crew) and I would have graciously accepted the offering.

The littlest, for whom, I think, it's less odd to have had a new mother-type addition to his family (he was 3 when I met him, after all) brought me a little plant that he grew at school, and a card that he made. He'd apparently gotten distracted while writing his name in it because he forgot the last letter.

The middle told me, in distress, that he could not make me a Mothers' Day present in class because his teacher told him he couldn't make one for me. It was a time issue, they just didn't have time to make two in class. I reassured him, of course, that this was not a problem and I completely understood and was not worried about it. I just wish his teacher had known how much distress this had caused him. It's got to be so hard for kids to get used to a new family and to him, this was clearly a VERY big deal. He would also not have time to make something for me at his mother's house because...that would just be awkward. In the end, he picked me a nice flower in the yard: perfect.

The oldest was also very intense about the gift issue and was worried about what I might want. I told her that whatever she would like to give me would be perfect. She made me a big BIG card that was very pretty and clearly very thoughtfully made.

Best gift: the kids have clearly officially decided that I'm part of the family. Cool.

Bacon...it's REAL BACON

2011-05-06T14:34:00.000-07:00

If you ever wondered what the frig I'm doing in that photo on the right hand side of the page, I'm eating bacon. Real bacon.

Good news! Adults don't have ADHD!

2011-05-02T16:22:00.000-07:00

No seriously everyone, this is so great! I just got new insurance coverage and when I took my new card to the pharmacy, the pharmacy was told that they can't refill my prescription for 18mg Concerta because a) I'm over 19 so I can't have ADHD and b) because I don't exist, because you know, adults don't have ADHD and I haven't been taking this drug for quite some time now, I have to get prior authorization from my prescriber. You know...the one that wrote the prescription? The prescription that says "hey, my patient is 35 and has ADHD and needs this medication".

I am SO not joking right now. This really just happened.

The pharmacy sent a fax to my "doctor's office"...but I don't know if that means the mental health center (aka my REAL doctor's office for the past two years, who actually deal with me on a regular basis) that prescribes all of my medications and who clearly are aware that they have "authorized" me to take Concerta, or the PCP office that doesn't prescribe it, that, if contacted is going to go "Yeah, I guess so, I mean we've never treated this person for ADHD because they go to a MENTAL HEALTH CENTER FOR THAT but the patient did self-report that they take it and showed us the bottle...so does this count as pre-authorization? And can we get extra cheese with that?".

Hey insurance company--no wait, let me get more specific, hey ANTHEM BLUE CROSS HMO BLUE NEW ENGLAND--FUCK YOU.

FUCK. YOU.

FUCKYOU!

Sheesh.

At least there's good news in there somewhere: there's no such thing as ADHD if you're over 35! Which must be why I feel bitchy, volatile, and probably disproportionately reactive about the whole thing. Because I don't have ADHD, and didn't just about cry in the middle of the pharmacy.

Because people pretending to have ADHD over the age of 19 are what's wrong with America's healthcare system. MAN, I'm so glad they just called me out like that and refused me my medication, I mean people like me are really taking advantage of the system. It's not the unhealthy lifestyle choices of the majority of Americans that are screwing insurance companies out of their bottom line, and making insurance coverage suck for everyone else, it's people like me, in generally good health, PRETENDING TO HAVE ADHD.

FUCK YOU ANTHEM!

Update to the ADHD diagnosis criteria

2011-05-02T05:55:00.000-07:00

I'd like to add:

Does subject's life feel like a broken record?

File under: I like THIS about our household

2011-04-17T21:07:00.000-07:00

If you had one million dollars and nothing better to do with it, I would bet YOU a MILLION dollars that my oldest and youngest step-children are the ones with the ADHD, and the middle one, though he may seem like an ADHD stereotype at times, is not.

Granted, the oldest is already diagnosed and really doing well with her stimulant medication as a helper so she's not really the focus of this demonstration (just comic relief).

The youngest is still very young and there's no need to visit "treatment" or "diagnosis" at this time. But I recognize the signs. He vascillates between total absorption and total lack of anchoring in a way that to me, is charmingly familiar.

The middle on the other hand...is a rambunctious, energetic and at times, frankly, a bit hyperactive 7-year-old boy. But let me demonstrate a difference or two...

Dinner with the 7-year-old boy: involves chatter, involves questions, involves energy, but also generally involves eating. Dinner with the 5-year-old boy: hey, lookie, there's a bug on the wall, oh look, I'm wandering around the kitchen for no reason, wow, how'd I get hyperfocused on that goldfish cracker, hey, now I'm handing it to my step-mother because I know she likes the color orange. Hey can I have some ice cream? Are you going to eat more dinner? What? Oh...I forgot about the chicken nuggets somewhere between jumping out of my chair 80 times and examining the crunch factor of my goldfish crackers. (Dinner with 8-year-old sister: wtf, eating is like such an inconvenience, I'm in a super hurry to be somewhere else, ugh, oh shit I squirted ketchup in my eye.)

7-year-old brother is generally able to hear and follow instructions. Will grumble about homework, and occasionally throw a cocky attitude around, but generally will do what is asked fairly efficiently, hears reason, likes to help with household chores (and will do them from start to finish). When you say to him "hey, next commercial break, you could run in, do a page of homework and run back out" he'll just go do it because it's practical and makes sense. Loves to ride his bike and skateboard, but can remember to finish things he's in the middle of.

5-year-old: want to set a record for the slowest Easter egg hunt ever? He's your man. He's so stoked on the Easter egg hunt that he'll forget what he's hunting for!

(8-year-old: OMG. GET OUT OF MY WAY, THOSE ARE MY FRIGGING EGGS AND IMA KILL A SUCKA THAT GETS IN THE WAY!)

7: If he's screwing around it's usually because he's making a fairly active choice toward jackassery and testing your limits.

5: If he's screwing around it's usually, not always, but USUALLY because he is on Mars. But he really likes it there, so lay off man.

(8: I'm WAY too anxious to give a crap about whatever it is you're telling me. Oh lookie, I forgot my meds with morning, even though Daddy handed them to me and they're still sitting there on the table, d'oh. Can't imagine--insert sarcasm--why I feel so anxious and crappy. Heh heh.)

I'm just setting the stage to explain to you the title of this blog post. I am, indeed noticing these things about the kids, and can't help but assume that 1 and 3 got the ADHD genes and 2 did not.

But in our house...none of that really matters. That's what I love about our house. We look at each child and adapt to the reality before us, instead of expecting uniform conformity at all times, across the board. Yes, we have basic rules...no jumping on furniture...we have consequences...you lose a bead if you...we have expectations....it's simply not okay to scream at other people, regardless of your spot on the neurodiversity spectrum. Everybody's got things they're good at, things they need to work on, and choices to be made.

I expect to remind the 5-year-old about 80 times during dinner to please sit his bum on his chair so he doesn't choke on a goldfish cracker, and I know to expect that his daydreamy approach to genius is highly entertaining and really extremely bright. I expect the 7-year-old to test limits, for whatever reason, but I do really appreciate it when he shows what a good listener and hard worker he can be, because that's something he's able to do (and it shouldn't be taken for granted). I also expect that when 8-year old is feeling anxious or overstimulated by her surroundings, she's going to act like a crabby jerk...and will need to be reminded again that the crabby voice is not the correct one to choose when making a request. Also appreciate when she makes better choices. And I don't mind using creative methods to make homework easier to focus on, or giving her breaks to air her brain out.

Whatever the reality in front of us is, we try to just accept it...and work to make it a more pleasant and productive experience for everyone involved. Nobody's bad or good, just different.

File Under: And I'M the one with the ADHD diagnosis?

2011-04-17T21:00:00.000-07:00

My boss does crossword puzzles during staff meetings because it's easier for her to hear what people are saying when she's busy doing something fairly mindless.

I guess it's a tale of two coping mechanisms. Me, I generally just have to pop another meth-tab because the staff meetings fall right when my meds wear off, lol. Within 10 minutes I'm no longer fidgeting and can miraculously "hear" what people are saying. Also like the body relaxing. Nice. At least for those of us who don't find crossword puzzles relaxing, there's drugs.

This victory for mental health DELIGHTS ME!

2011-04-12T06:26:00.001-07:00

It's not a total victory, but it IS satisfying and will hopefully lead to good things.

I live in NH, a state in which funding for community mental health support is scarce and only getting scarcer thanks to the proposed budget from our currently "insane" State Legislature. Because of the paucity of outpatient mental health resources in our communities, it is not uncommon for people who don't need to be institutionalized, to be institutionalized. This is not the 1850's. This is the State of New Hampshire, in 2011.

Many people are unhappy with the current proposed budget from the State Legislature. The reasons are many, but it is fairly clear that the budget was crafted 50/50 from concerns about the budget...and partisan, ideological shenanigans. You have to remember that NH is a state ripe with Free-Staters and other assorted stripes of Libertarian. And while I, personally, actually agree with many of their ideals, I am a practical person who is willing to bow to certain realities. Institutionalizing people who don't need to be there is beyond wrong. "Families" and "churches" aren't going to make people sane again. (I should add that there's a weird neo-con element at play here that has gotten all mixed up in the Libertarian ideals...it makes no sense but hey, maybe I just don't get it because I'm a "liberal". Hmm. Wait, nope, it actually doesn't make any sense, lol.).

If the NH Legislature has its way, we will lose funding for all kinds of things that make many people's lives worth living, including significant funding for community mental health support-- support which was already lacking.

I'm delighted this morning to read that the Federal government agrees! I'm not given to delight over Federal government intervention, but in this instance I am--why do we even have government if not to protect the weakest among us. We are all only as strong as our weakest citizen.

Per the Concord Monitor, The AG's office has gone so far as to state that they will be compelled to sue the State of NH if the lack of community mental health resources in our state continues to be a problem.

As someone who currently utilizes these services (because I have only intermittently had insurance in the past several years) and who has seen friends suffer needlessly because they cannot get access to either the money, the insurance, or the availability of these services, I have never been more in love with Federal government than I am right now.

Hyperbole? I have ADHD, I do everything emphatically.

Let's talk about what "as is" means...

2011-04-11T13:51:00.001-07:00

Someone left a comment about just being myself "as is", and that's really an important concept to grasp. It's a comment with sincerity, simplicity and value, and when I am able to do so, this is what I really strive for.

It gets tricky though on the days where, for whatever reason, me in my natural state is in inherent conflict with everything else in my life. And I am not a person that seeks conflict.

This is where "being yourself" starts edging you into the territory where conflict with one's surroundings can be defined as a disorder.

There are mornings where I am truly too depressed to get up and I do anyway. There are mornings where I am so anxious that I feel like my innards might explode but I still have to go to work or wherever else I need to be that day. There are days where, for whatever reason, everything makes me want to cry, but I still need to do some laundry and help my husband with the kids. There are days when I am exuberant and unable to sit still but I still have to get the boring stuff taken care of. There are days where I feel simply at peace. Every day, at some point, inability to "focus" becomes an issue. And I have had to learn to temper various types of reactivity. At least one to two of these issues is at play every single day and it's not something I can choose.

I am the first to say that there is nothing inherently wrong with any of these states of being. But no matter what I think of them, I have to think about how my behavior will help me to mesh or not mesh with whatever it is that I need to do that day. I cannot choose what my body chemistry is doing. I cannot choose how I "feel". But I CAN choose what I will do and say as I move through the day.

My dog doesn't think about what and who he is like I do and there's charm to that. But frankly, it's gotten him into big trouble on occasion. You can't just bite people when you're feeling insecure and expect no consequences. You can't just pee on the rug every time you feel like it, because you don't feel like going outside.

Happily, my dog now sees the superiority of peeing outdoors (he gets a lot more freedom now that he does). My natural, unaltered state with no behavioral intervention involves a lot of behaviors and vocalizations that are simply not appropriate in settings where functional adult humans exist in their daily out-of-the-home-routines. Many of them would not be appropriate in my home either, really.

We with ADHD (or any other "disorder" that takes us out of the normal acceptable range of behavior) need to take responsibility for ourselves. So yes...we DO need to accept ourselves. But we also owe it to ourselves and every other creature we share space with during the day, to find that line between "us being us" and "us being assholes". This is not neurosis...this is necessity.

How many depressed people does it take to change a lightbulb?

2011-04-11T06:20:00.001-07:00

Are you kidding me, there's no punchline, that's just not funny! What can you really say to that "none, because they can't get out of bed to change it" or "you have to care to change it and depressed people don't have the energy to care". Ouch!

I was thinking, on my way to work today, about how there are some REALLY great jokes out there about ADHD. I love ADHD jokes. None of them are mean (that I've heard), they're just hilarious. When ADHD isn't kicking your ass it's absolutely stand-up comedy worthy.

There's a lot of jokes out there about a lot of mental health issues...some of them ARE mean, but really, come on, some of them are hysterical and some aspects of many mental health disorders are fairly humorous in a dark comedy kind of way. In thinking about this though, I was trying to think of some funny ones about depression.

But depression just isn't funny. I was thinking that the next time I'm feeling horrible I would whip out some "here's why depression IS hilarious" jokes to cheer myself up but I couldn't even think of any. If you know any, please post them. Don't worry, you won't offend me, it's nearly impossible, lol.

In the meantime I'm feeling so much better. Maybe the changing season is getting me back on track? I don't know what it is but I am grateful. I have known many whose battles with depression feature prominently in their lives and though I had some rounds with it when I was young (9-14) I haven't had it stick around long enough in my adult life to really disable me. I have been disabled by it this winter, and it has affected every aspect of my life. And when I'm not firing on all cylinders, it begins to affect my husband's ability to keep up with life too.

Or maybe it's more like this...

2011-04-11T06:19:00.001-07:00

...maybe I could be doing any old job, but I need to remember to take breaks that involve physical activity.

HUH. There's a thought.

This morning, because I was actually able to sleep last night, I was able to get up early enough to go for a walk with the dog, do a little bellydancing, and then ride my bike to work. And I feel pretty darn good.

Self-Sabotage 101

2011-04-08T10:45:00.001-07:00

I repeatedly pick jobs that are below my intellectual capabilities, because busywork satisfies my need for movement and I'm afraid of getting in trouble for not "looking busy".

That can of worms I just opened this week really makes me sad. But it's true.

Jobs that ARE appropriate to my intellectual abilities make me uncomfortable. I would rather stuff envelopes for 5 hours than have to do a thinky-thinky job where I feel like I'm not doing anything because I'm not moving.

But then those jobs get boring. Meh, go figure.

This becomes very interesting when you think about what kids with ADHD do in school all day for 12 years: they get in trouble for being disruptive, for daydreaming too much or for being lazy.

My teachers trained me to be afraid of looking "not busy".

I'm not blaming them. I'm just having a moment of realization.

Also a moment of mild panic because I don't know if I'm ever going to find a job that I love that also lets me "be" in a way that feels right, that doesn't involve washing dishes, being a janitor, or preparing food...or making $9/hr.

I feel I've been coming to this crisis point/realization for a long time. I've been knowing I need to deal with it, indirectly, for years.

But now I really need to deal with it.

Ugh.

Fucking self-discovery, it's painful. I think I'll go stuff some envelopes while I think about what to do with myself, lol.

152 + 156 +25...no 26...

2011-04-06T22:19:00.001-07:00

I just read the amount of blog posts I've written. Add one year to another to another and HOLY SHIT!

That's a lot of blog posts, some better than others of course. That's a whole book (if all of them were worth including, lol).

I'm fascinated that in 2009 and 2010 I wrote almost exactly the same amount of blog posts for the year. Although 2010 was a full year and 2009 was not...

Anyway, I'm here now. Yes I am. What a trip.

Yes I'm here and I don't know quite what that means right now. But I'm here. This winter has been awful.

The only way I have been able to begin to pull myself out of this is by asserting myself in small ways.

The other night, instead of leaving "kids shows" on in the livingroom, where I sat within sight of step-daughter doing her homework...I put Dancing With The Stars on. When she finished her homework, she came to watch it with me for a few minutes before bed.

When I was 6, I adored the Solid Gold Dancers. I remember going to daycare after school and telling the teachers that I wanted to be a dancer and they said "oh, what kind" and then I got shy, so they assumed a ballerina. We had to draw pictures of whatever we'd decided to be when we grew up and I drew a ballerina. It was clear that the teachers thought that someone who wanted to be a dancer wanted to be a ballerina, so that's what I drew, but I really wanted to be a Solid Gold Dancer.

Step-daughter and I watched Dancing With The Stars and the first dancer came out in a bright metallic gold bikini. She was stunned and a little appalled. I pointed out that this was no more shocking than average swimwear on the beach. She conceded that point, but thought it inappropriate for appearing on television. The next dancer came out in a long dress that covered her body. I said "see...you never know what these girls are going to wear". By the third couple, she was critiquing the dancers like a pro "I think that was a 7".

Right now it's the little things. I'm a little afraid to come back to life all at once. But I might like to do it in a gold bikini.

Sargasso Armada

2011-04-05T20:24:00.000-07:00

I don't want to beat ye olde Sargasso Sea metaphor to death here...but here goes:

I'm swimming in fucking kelp. I have spent much of the past three months unhappy to be stuck swimming in kelp...I feel strangely much more peaceful today, though not in the creepy suicidal way. I seem to be slowly accepting that I am indefinitely living a metaphor that, once romantic, is now tired, old, and yet still totally applicable. Accepting it in a way that might allow me to appreciate the relative luxuries of my current life.

The key words here are tired and old. I feel as though the life and soul have been sucked out of me. I recognize the value of many of the fixtures of my new life...but nonetheless I am struggling to keep myself firmly upon the shelf. Many times in my life I have felt like I was in freefall and been able to reassure myself the eventually the side becomes easier to grab...or that eventually I will hit some kind of bottom and then buoy back up to the surface. Truly, though I have had many emotionally trying periods in my life, I have never felt before like I do lately. I have never fallen so far and for so long. And endurance, under these conditions, becomes trying.

We have a large glass of beer and a Broadway show to thank for my current state of candor.

About a month ago, I stepped on my own glasses and broke them. In another time where I might be feeling more resilient, this would be a laughable tragedy. This echoed like an amputation. The glasses issue came to a head the other day as a symbol of everything else that's been bothering me. I finally couldn't stand it anymore. I work at a theater and couldn't even see the shows I was working, from the back of the theater...because I CANNOT SEE. The other day I went to Wal-Mart, a store that literally shits on everything else I work for in my life...to see if their vision center might have something I could stand to wear. I went because I am currently living in a state of financial disrepair that I have never before in my life experienced and financial instability terrifies me.

Financial instability that, because I live in New Hampshire (dundundunnnnnn) where our current legislature doesn't give a flying shit about human beings, could realistically morph into something more like homelessness sometime in the somewhat near future. But I digress. (See...you waited this long for a new post...there had to be a good reason...let's hear it for becoming almost unmanageably depressed...).

I ate what felt like the last tiny piece of my soul for lunch and drove to Wal-Mart. I found a REALLY cute pair of glasses. The price was right, but truth be told, I can't afford anymore more than a $5 pair of glasses at the moment so that fact that they were only $68 was almost meaningless. It wasn't totally meaningless until I was told that by law, I cannot get a new pair of glasses, with my "old" prescription, without paying for an eye-exam that, even at Wal-Mart, costs more than the frames I'd chosen.

I got my first pair of glasses at 18. My prescription has never changed. I am 35 years old now. So let's see...I could have a child graduating from high school this year who would be the same age as my fucking prescription.

I looked the poor sales dude in the eye and said "I need you to be totally honest with me. Because I am literally going to have to choose between feeding people, and getting an eye exam, if what you are telling me is true.". He repeated what he'd said before. I walked out, went to the parking lot and sat crying on a bench outside of Wal-Mart. And I called out for an order of sanity. First I called Sonny...it wasn't the most helpful conversation right then, but not because he was being a jerk, because he wasn't, I was just inconsolable. So I called my mother. I called my mother and sobbed and dropped f-bombs on her for a good 5 minutes. I couldn't think. I couldn't form a coherent, logical thinking process. I finally grabbed onto the only piece of wreckage in my mind that made any sense, and remembered that Sonny needed stuff at the grocery store. I would get in the car and go to the grocery store. With mom still on the line, I went to the car...the car...DUDE, WHERE'S MY CAR?!

As if sobbing in the parking lot outside of Wal-Mart wasn't pathetic enough, I couldn't find my fucking car! I wandered around looking for it, mom still on the line as I evolved quickly from hysterically sobbing, to a robust laugh-cry.

I hung up with mom, called Sonny back, apologized that I'd lost the car (and finally found it) and was running so late and he reassured me that it was not worth freaking out over. Went back in the store. Deep breath. Went back in the store. Apologized to the extremely nice man that I'd walked out on before. And ended up having a great chat with him. He also made a list of everything I needed to do, how much it cost...and absolutely confirmed for me that a bunch of no good lobbyists were the source of my eye exam misery...it was like he read my desperation and knew just what I needed to hear...like a stripper...but selling eye-glasses. Thanks Dennis.

So...I free-fell and the bottom seems to have been (please, God, let that be the bottom) on a bench outside of Wal-Mart.

Then I saw an amazing musical at work that made my heart soar. Just for a little bit. Those moments have felt so infrequent. I used to feel like that every day, no joke. Either soaring up, or soaring PENSIVE or soaring BIG or small, or soaring...with big feelings...somewhere...in so many directions that I was constantly engaged in feeling something. Engaged and full of creative energy. That's my default setting.

So often this winter I have felt nothing. Or like I'm dying. Or like everything in my life feels like too much. I am afraid. I am afraid. Afraid because everytime I rally and gather the strength to push forward, kelp tangles around my legs and water fills my lungs or something unexpected happens and throws me for a loop. Every time I force myself to rally beyond my exhausted energy, life sends a curveball to punch me in the face. Many of them are curveballs that, in the past would have been easily rebuffable. I used to shake these things off but I'm so spent that I haven't been able to. To be perfectly frank it's a living death, although it constantly redefines my will to live. I don't WANT to feel this way. I want to feel better, but the territory that I'm wandering is one I've never previously entered. I know I'm not the first one here, but finding the bones of others is hardly comforting on the path to wherever the fuck I'm going next.

I've been trying to find comfort in very small things and I think the cumulative effect has been beneficial. Want a cannoli but have no money? Get a fucking cannoli. See a new consignment store in town? Go in. Look around. Enjoy looking around at stuff instead of going somewhere to DO work of some kind. Hang out with the dog for an extra few minutes. Kiss the husband. Just sit with the children. Go to bed late sometimes instead of unnaturally fighting to sleep.

It feels like I need an armada to navigate this water and emerge the victor. But there's only one of me.

I can't control the world around me.
I'm surrounded by crazy people.
I'm struggling with the routines of daily life.
The usual mental tricks for refocusing on the brighter side have not been working.
The "at least you're not terminally ill" strategy is usually fairly effective.
The practice of gratitude acknowledgement too...

All of my usual strategies for "fixing" myself have failed me, repeatedly and I don't know why. New life challenges? Maybe my body chemistry changed? Who knows.

But today...for whatever reason...I felt like I started to turn a corner. A corner where I started to be able to forget how terrified I am of additional potential curveballs. For months I've had a pit of self-doubt haunting my belly as I've absorbed probably too much responsibility for life's unpredictability. I've put on the appropriate face over and over, like never before, only to feel like I am faking it to a degree I've never had to before.

I wish I was more certain about how to preserve this feeling and cultivate it...but...I don't have to decide that right this second I guess.

I think you can probably see why I haven't wanted to write. I haven't been able to. It's been too much in the living, I couldn't re-live it in the re-telling. So much else I could write to illustrate it but I've probably already written too much.

Cheers to beer and Broadway.

And a small life-jacket to the tiny otter that rose up to float among the kelp today.

The impulse grabs me and then...

2011-03-22T07:55:00.001-07:00

...I just don't feel like writing.

Sigh. Right now it just feels like one more chore. Even though I've had many moments worth documenting. I guess. I don't know, have I?

Meh.

Inspired by Jeff's Anger...

2011-03-14T08:15:00.000-07:00

...Jeff has been posting hilarious anecdotes about his anger and so I was inspired to share.

I am still a reactive, expressive ADHDer but it's actually been quite a long time since I really just wanted to climb over something to maybe punch someone. I'm generally able, these days, to reflect and realize that it's just not worth flipping out about certain things. Especially since I live with children, I've learned to be very thoughtful about how I express my frustrations with my world.

The other day I'm riding in my car with my mother. I was actually pretty tired and i was in the passenger seat. She decides she wants lunch from Burger King, but she can't eat gluten. So she starts asking the squawkbox questions about the food and the squawkbox is clearly annoyed. "Does this sandwich come with breading on the chicken?" says mom and "ummmm....YEAH" says the squawkbox. Well, mom sees chicken fries on the menu. I say mom, chicken fries are breaded and she says "oh I know, I just want to know" she turns back to the squawkbox "I would like to know if they are chicken or potato?".

Sqwakbox: "CHICKEN or POTATO?! Um, they're CHICKEN."

At which point I lose my shit, grab my mother's arm to push her out of the way and scream back at the squawkbox "WE KNOW! WE JUST NEEDED TO KNOW IF THEY'RE--" mother pushes me back into my seat and starts laughing. Says to squawkbox "sorry, I've got a wiiild passenger!" and laughs.

It's been probably...two years since I just flipped a lid on a moron like that, lol. Apparently I don't like it when people treat MY people like shit. Even if it's over a chicken fry.

My feelings about the situation were totally rational. My physical reaction to it? Maybe a little overboard :) So as you know, Jeff, it's not just you.

Even Comedy Can't Cure ADHD

2011-03-04T19:12:00.000-08:00

Let's talk comedy:

Let's talk inability to sit still. Let's talk about those times when stillness only allows a sense of sandpaper on the inner side of the skin to take hold.

Standing in the back, in the dark, in a theater of 900 people...the show is fantastic. World-renowned and funny as hell. I cannot stand still in the pauses between jokes. I cannot stand still in the middle of them. I can't stop thinking about the feeling of the wooden banister under my chin, and it's cold, and then my legs fele uncomfortable, and then I shift from foot to foot. I try and it incites mild dread and almost-panic. Then I just want to detach from the room, and the people in it. I think about my dog. I think about crying.

I think I'll go up to my office and sit in the dark and listen to music.

Sit in the sadness in a place where I don't have to judge it.

Where I don't have to hide it.

Where I can sit still because my mind can be occupied.

This is why people with ADHD become workaholics. Because we cannot find peace in moments that make other people laugh. I've moved away from that -ism quite a bit but I cannot totally control it. It's an interesting experiment to try to make yourself just "be" when you literally can't.

I understand my restlessness and my anxiety and my sadness so much better now. Now I identify it more quickly, just accept it and give it space to be. No wasted energy of questioning...energy that mills itself quickly into a roiling anxiety and near panic...and flight. Now, the flight is conscious, controlled...as controlled as it can be when the urgency of thought and movement are belligerent and rough, disregarding my humanity and relentless in their expectations.

900 people laugh just a few rooms away. I'm alone in the dark and it soothes me more than any comedy can.

But wait, I thought I left those on Jupiter...

2011-03-02T13:10:00.000-08:00

As I'm sure is the case for many women with ADHD, I seem to have times when the effect of my stimulant meds is more or less potent. At times like these, I have parameters that I know I can work within to self-adjust my meds a bit.

So this morning I realized this was one of those days and I was going to take a little extra Concerta and thought to myself "damn, I left the bottle next to my bed"...without looking in my purse.

You TOTALLY know where this is going.

My husband just called me a few minutes ago to make sure I had my house keys with me before he left for an evening gig (and isn't it nice that because he also has ADHD he knows that it's not a bad idea to check these things and also doesn't resent it?). I looked for them in my purse. They were there next to my bottle of Concerta.

So yes, I could have had a much easier time focusing my mind today...oh well...!

Annoying To The General Population

2011-03-01T09:43:00.000-08:00

There are things that drive ADHDers bonkers, and then there are things that would drive any sane human being bonkers.

Just now, I hold one of those things in my hands.

I'm doing manual data entry to update a list that my database can't seem to "sort out" on its own. Sometimes these evils are necessary. However, I have entered this particular list of numbers FOUR TIMES now. Each time I have entered the list, I have then hit "execute" and...I'd like to say some kind of intriguing "Kaboom!" occurred but it's actually a silent, empty blue screen. The kind of sickening silence you can only earn after your hard work has come to a repeated, impotent fizzle due to factors beyond your control.

Another category is worth noting here: it's things that would drive any same person crazy but drive someone with ADHD COMPLETELY FUCKING NUTS.

Our admin is resetting the database. (Pause)

I'm going to try it again now...

Just one phone call was all it took...

2011-03-01T06:47:00.000-08:00

...so I wrote about being depressed. Then the screaming anxiety came back. Then I lived a circling pattern while my message to my prescriber got lost...then the VERTIGO CAME BACK!

MOTHER F*****!

New readers: I have a migraine disorder that involves no headache pain, and instead flares up as VERTIGO. Last year it was an ordeal, and it took ages to figure out what it was...they thought "maybe a brain tumor"..."maybe something else equally terrifying!"...nope, just migraine phenomena. As a result, I take a tri-cyclic antidepressant that just happens to treat/prevent migraine issues AND assuages anxiety as well.

I guess it makes a whole hell of a lot of sense that if I'm feeling depressed and anxious again...AND start to have vertigo again...my medication must not be sufficient at its current dosage anymore!

Called the prescriber again and was able to get a call back (and an apology for the lost message) almost immediately. And...a prescription for 10 more mg, 'cause I'm a wicked lightweight.

Voila, the vertigo is gone and I feel much better. I dare say that I FEEL LIKE ME! The me that I've come to expect now that I no longer tolerate a ridiculous level of ambient anxiety running the show.

The lessons here:

1) sometimes it's good to re-visit dosages if they're not doing what you need them to do
2) sometimes office staff make mistakes and lose phone messages (or put them in your chart without telling your provider)...be persistent if you need help

Because mornings are never going to be fantastic...

2011-02-21T07:19:00.000-08:00

...I will probably never stop bitching about them. Here's a description of how I generally feel in the morning:

I literally feel like I have been punched in the brain about 1000 times, every morning when I wake up. Then, once I'm out of bed, it's like a full squadron of aircraft, really old ones with grinding engines screaming are bearing down on my senses and carpet bombing my ability to think. What the heck...I should at least get to drink like 8 cocktails before feeling this way...gah...

Hilariously, there have been a few times in my life when I have actually been "the morning person": when I've dated people who don't get out of bed until noon! In those relationships I get this terrible reputation for being perky, ambitious and ready to take on the world in the morning. I'm the one SPRINGING out of bed at 9am, talking non-stop. And that's the key, really...I simply cannot function before about 8:30-9am. It's never been possible. But boy, if you let me roll on my body's natural schedule, BAM, here comes Mrs. Rollins with a to-do list!

I have tried going to bed earlier (and laying there...sometimes for hours)...I have tried other ways of altering my sleep schedule. I've tried getting a better bed. I've tried coffee. I've tried having jobs that start later--oh wait, that's not true, because NONE OF THEM DO! I have tried getting more exercise to make me more tireder. I even take a migraine medication at night that allegedly sedates a person, but unfortunately my body seems to have adjusted to that effect just fine, so sedation no longer occurs. I seriously and truly believe that I was born with some kind of genetic programming that makes it literally impossible to alter the schedule that my body seems determined to adhere to. I'm frickin' 35 after all...I've had a few years to observe and attempt to alter this phenomenon. I'm not a teenager, feeling oppressed because getting out of bed is like so hard (tho' even teens have legit biological reasons for feeling that way!).

I DO have the ability to make myself get places in the morning, regardless of my very real misery. It requires extreme effort and doing that every morning really sucks. The harder I push it, the more likely I am to forget things, drop things, accidentally hurt myself.

It DOES help to take my ADHD meds when the alarm goes off, that is absolutely true. But it does not solve the problem, it only keeps me from screaming, destroying small galaxies or becoming a cannibal while the squadron bears down on my sanity. That's a huge improvement and I appreciate its value, but what I would really prefer is a way to just turn the fucking ON switch on. Fully on. None of this dimmer switch "now I can stumble through the dark" shit.

I truly have no ill will toward employers who can't relate to my experience of mornings. Business starts when it starts. I get that. I work to accommodate that.

It's one of those possibly ADHD-related issues that exists within the painful realization that the rest of life would be so much easier to just attend to if some of the seemingly small things weren't so hard sometimes. This isn't a poor me rant...these are the words of a person who enjoys doing a good job, helping people, making the world a better place...I'd just like to be able to spend all that energy that I have to spend on mornings, on THOSE goals.

It's one of the mind's unwinnable games.

And just like that, poof....

2011-02-16T19:56:00.000-08:00

...it was like someone flipped a switch one day.

For a few weeks there, I was trapped in a fairly serious depression. I wrote about not wanting to write about it.

Then one morning I woke up and instead of the depression, I was wracked with an equally intrusive anxiety. It's been about 6 days now I think, and I'm still there. I used to be "there" all the time, that's part of why I decided that a now defining visit to a certain mental health center was necessary. Having been free of this kind of consuming anxiety for a long time now, it's beyond uncomfortable to feel it again--it's almost unbearable. But how do you define bearable in a situation like this? Unless you're literally indulging in self-destructive behavior of some kind, you are "bearing it". That doesn't mean you're thriving.

And yet...and I feel it's important to point this out...I'm still performing all of the functions of my normal life. I clean my house, I function as a member of my family, I go to work, I just met up with friends for a beer. The whole time, it feels like I'm consumed by an energy that won't leave me alone, and it feels like my entire chest and neck and lower face area of my body might explode, and I can't stop "moving". This is literal, as in I have tics that others might not notice, but that drive me crazy, like a subtle throat clearing for example. Sometimes it's a more physical thing like I can't stop moving around the room, or talking or...it's different from the ADHD feeling...and it's not the "oh, some medication I'm taking might be making me anxious" feeling. It's the white noise...it's the native grinding kind...and it's back. It compels me to move and speak as a means of escape, and it literally feels like running...but running as hard as I can in quicksand.

"Trying to relax" by doing things like breathing can help, but but not much. I can't control it. Even Ativan couldn't control it the other day, so I just don't bother taking it. I have too many things to do, too many responsibilities to be doped up. Over the last few days I've adjusted to this sickening feeling a bit, but it's still awful.

It makes me trapped...and trapped by something that I thought was in the past, no less.

ADHD medication does not make it worse, in fact, it actually helps me feel better. The other day, I had forgotten to take the ADHD meds first thing in the morning so I took it later in the morning. Within 15-20 minutes my body and mind began to relax and focus, but that baseline of anxiety was still there. I'll tell you what though, just taking that edge off was like cold Mexican beer on a 106-degree day.

It makes the little things difficult. I'm thankful that I'm busy because if I wasn't, I would be focusing on this, and I also wish I wasn't busy, because it takes so much work to function this way.

It's disrupting my eating, and disrupting my sleep.

I'm a little angry that nobody at my prescriber's office has bothered to call me back after I told them that I was feeling horribly depressed. Although I wasn't suicidal, they didn't know that...because they didn't call! I could be really be dead right now and they would have no idea. But I'm not, I'm just infused with an anxiety that makes drug addiction and innumerable other outcomes that anxiety often leads people to, seem so much more plausable. Just because I'm able to "function" this way does not mean I should have to live this way. Makes me glad I sought help...makes me realize that there's nothing wrong with my determination, just my body chemistry. Also makes me pissed that again, nobody has called me back. I do not deserve to have to "function" like this.

I remember writing about this before...and writing about how it was like my body is a house, and in one of the rooms of that house is a person who just sits and screams, and I'm unable to just shut the door. She's back. And I have all the sympathy in the world for her, but all the sympathy in the world won't soothe whatever it is that makes her scream.

I sit here tonight, writing instead of sleeping. I spent my day working furiously, instead of eating.

I will call them again in the morning because I am unwilling to give up on advocating for myself, but I get tired of being ignored because I seem functional. Because I'm able to articulate. my experience in a way that seems calm, and "not that bad". Because I'm "not crazy". I'm so frustrated to be here again with this feeling, and so frustrated to feel ignored on top of it. I'm working so hard to just do what I need to do and it shouldn't be this hard. I'm tired of the act of tricking myself into gratefulness with "well at least I don't feel this way all the time anymore". I feel this way NOW. I've felt like this for 6 days. I need help.

But until I can get help, I'll go to bed, I'll get up, I'll go to work, I'll run a meeting, I'll remain suspended in perpetual motion until I get to the side of the pool, and something I can hold onto.

Juxtaposition...a classic plot device.

2011-02-16T19:40:00.000-08:00

So there I was last night at Borders, two Additude magazines in my left hand containing a piece written by me, and in my right hand, a copy of "Understanding Girls With ADHD".

I cried.

Left hand: proof that I have come a long way. That I am able to express myself effectively in words. A small victory if you will.

Right hand: Someone who never met me wrote my life story. Someone knows what it felt like to be a girl whose brain was doing strange things. Someone knew what it was like to be a little girl in plain sight, yet be invisible.

Left hand: The fruit of years of hard work finding myself.

Right hand: Documentation of those years during which I was lost.

Left hand: Proof that hard work and being true to yourself pays off.

Right hand: Proof that I had to work harder than anyone guessed, to get here.

Left hand: The power to help others by telling my story.

Right hand: ...what? I have a disability?

Left hand: I've arrived!

Right hand: (I exist...)

How can a person not cry, when being pulled in two directions?

Happy ADHD-iversary

2011-02-09T17:10:00.000-08:00

This blog began in May of 2009.

However, my "WTF do I do with ADHD" journey began before that. It began in the cold winter at the beginning of 2009, in January or February. I was desperate. I was in grad school. I had left my full time job and could not find a part time job. Never since age 15 had I been unable to find work. And school was extremely stressful. The combined stress was pushing me into obsessive anxiety and I could not shut of my mind...nevermind focus it. At the time, I had no idea what focus was.

Normally, I had been propelled through life on the whim of adventurous ideas. Nothing crazy, but certainly beyond the level of spontanaiety that most people subscribe to. Life with ADHD was an adventure, for a long time. Sometimes heartbreaking...I alternated a certain native practicality with spurts of big risks for big rewards, interpersonally, geographically, artistically. I wrote plays, acted, learned to flamenco dance, explored extreme territories of love and emotional landscapes.

But school has always made me feel constrained and I had no control over my work life that winter. I'd moved into a fixer-upper apartment that should have been a good idea--a big risk...that should have been a big reward, but thanks to the drug dealer downstairs, was a totally unsafe nightmare. It was icy winter in New England. In winter here, everything dies.

Trapped in that place, I had nothing to distract me from some nagging thoughts that I'd had for years.

Thoughts that I was beyond my ability to cope with just being myself anymore. Thoughts that other people didn't seem to be as challenged as I was, to complete many ordinary tasks. Thoughts that I felt like I lived outside of something and worked hard to be seen as "an insider". That I worked hard to seem normal...and that maybe that just wasn't normal. And of course...there was the simple fact that it took me up to 12 hours at times to read articles for school that should have probably taken an hour.

So there I was. And here I am.

This isn't a literal anniversary, but it IS an anniversary.

I write this not just for myself, to celebrate a milestone. I write this to make a point: it's taken me two years to get here.

Where is here? Well, frankly I'm a little disgruntled at the moment...but not because I can't figure out what to do with ADHD. And not because I'm having some big undefined anxiety issue. I've taken on a challenging new life that was bound to come with growing pains. Another big risk for big rewards, another big ADHD adventure. But I am better equipped now, thanks to the past two years of experience.

I'm pretty good at steering myself through the day now, and through my resources, even when I'm having challenging emotional experiences (and I do still have them). I am able to express myself in far more patient ways, even at challenging times, because I understand the processes that are happening in my mind. Because I know the territory of my own ADHD so well now, I rarely panic now at those times when quirks arise.

If you've followed this blog, you know that I did not take a magic pill that fixed my life. I have worked to get here. I have tried quite a variety of different magic pills to find ones that work for me. Through it, I still lived my life...I had jobs, I had relationships, I had a wedding, I got stepchildren (and those are just the highlights!), I rocked my community work and won awards for it. I have been very contemplative and conscious about selecting coping strategies that help me to operate at my best. I have tackled some of my oldest baggage.

Diagnosis was a moment, but learning what to do with this diagnosis has been a process.

Progress is a reasonable expectation, with effort expended.

But a quick fix? Quick fixes don't exist.

Medication made many things easier, it laid a foundation for certain learning experiences to occur more easily...but it did not cure me or fix me.

Therapy can help you learn strategies, and explore baggage...but it takes commitment and time.

So here I am. Here I am. I absolutely recommend beginning your own journey, if you haven't already, but know that it will take time to really extract your rewards.

Lying is lying is lying. Oh, and also...it's lying.

2011-02-06T10:33:00.001-08:00

Lying corrodes relationships. I'm not talking about keeping a secret because you're planning a surprise party. Eliminate all the teeny untruths we tell that make perfect moral sense and what we're left to discuss here is: lying. There's a million other names for it, but it's all lying.

But I was trying to protect them.
But I was trying to protect myself.
But I didn't think they would love me if they knew.
But I don't think they'll want to be my friend if I tell them.
But I didn't think it would hurt anyone.
But they'll leave if I tell them.
But reality is boring.
But my real life isn't very interesting.
But I don't want people to know who I really am.

And it's all a huge fucking waste of time. I realize this is hypocrisy for a semi-anonymous blogger. I omit certain truths about my identity in order to protect my family's privacy. It's an extremely moral flavor of untruth because I have dependent children who deserve the protection of anonymity. So...I'm eliminating that variety from the conversation as well.

Oh, okay, there are sometimes life and death situations where you have to lie. Yesyesyes, I KNOW. But that's not what I'm talking about.

I'm talking about the cheap stuff. The manipulative stuff. The stuff that dishonest relationships and families are built upon. The stuff you say yes to because it "made you feel bad" to say no. The stuff you said to make someone do something they didn't want to do. The stuff that keeps people from knowing who you really are. The stuff that you think you're protecting yourself with. The stuff that helps keep things sick. Part of being a victim is often "saying yes" to things you don't even want to say yes to.

It's easy for people who don't see themselves as "normal" to feel that they should lie to fit in. It's so easy it's just plain lazy. And it's fabulous insurance that you will, indeed, always be alone. Even in a crowd.

I've eliminated a lot of liars from my life...the big challenge was learning not to pick them again, over and over and the only way to get past that was to start being honest myself. That was my half of the responsibility, my half of the work. I sound like a pompous ass on this topic because I've been there. And when you work really hard to put yourself out there and really be present in relationships with other people, you lose patience for people who take the lazyman's approach.

I would rather spend my life alone, than spend it surrounded by people who ask me to drink poison. And I wish more people felt the same way.

The Spring Issue of Additude Magazine!

2011-02-05T20:08:00.001-08:00

I'm in it! Check it out!

That is all...for now :)

It's more than just ADHD

2011-02-05T19:40:00.000-08:00

My stepdaughter and I are finding that we have more in common than just ADHD.

For example, we went to the mall today. I asked what she was looking for. She said:

"Skulls. I want things with skulls on them." And not cute ones with pink bows and stuff.

It's not really the place of a step-mother whose hair currently looks like Joan Jett's, to deny a child stuff with skulls on it. Though she IS still only 8.

So...we did some wicked bargain shopping and ended up at home with a bag full o' rock and ROLL!

But we had several candid, but panic-free conversations about what types of necklines and lengths of things are appropriate for the 3rd grade. And what kinds of things, while very cool, will NEVER be worn in the the classroom (even when the envied "teen-age" arrives)!

"I just don't like to wear the kinds of things that other girls like to wear." Tell me about it kid.

She ended up spending her hard-earned $25 on a very classic fedora, a chunky black bracelet, and an age appropriate tee shirt with some metallic, swirly embellishment. Punk rock lite. Super cute. I wish I could claim to have picked it all out, but she did it on her own. And Daddy approved. (Daddy is a professional musician who once rocked a mullet longer than North America, and busked his way around Europe. While he wants his daughter age-appropriate, he also understands the urge to rawk.)

It was fun. I liked it.

Next week we can go get matching tattoos! (<-----um...never!)

Off-topic and yet completely ON topic...

2011-02-04T07:35:00.001-08:00

Step-parenting is absolutely the most thankless, punishing role in the modern family. Oh biological parents, I KNOW you put time in and work hard and invest a lot. I totally get it. Parenting of any kind (while often rewarding) is not easy. Single-parenting? Holy hell, I can't even imagine. And being a step-child has got to be difficult--I'm truly grateful that I never had to experience that one.

But step-parenting is one big pile of WTF, a significant percentage of the time, and step-parents are subject to dynamics that bio-parents should consider themselves lucky to avoid. Those dynamics range from stressful to toxic to completely deranged and can be inflicted at times and in situations that (and this is what really and truly makes the step-parenting role punishing) you have zero actual or direct control over, often despite the "best intentions" of most of the parties involved. If you do your job as a step-parent properly, you are taking on a great deal of responsibility while having zero final authority over issues that impact your home, and every single one of your other basic needs.

Let me just emphatically stress that step-parenting also has rewards. I'm leaving that there in the air as a given. And my husband is the best person I could possibly have as a partner in this situation. TOTALLY a given.

I am a grown-up and I did choose this. I don't regret it. But it's not frickin' easy.

Silence is not always golden

2011-02-03T12:52:00.000-08:00

Sometimes it's gray, deep, pervasive and melacholy.

It's easy for me to write about anxiety and ADHD. It is not easy to write about depression. And so I don't.

I think I avoid writing about it for two reasons. First...the desire to isolate is a symptom. Second...holy crap, sometimes my list making annoys even me...SECOND...when you are hoping something will just go away, you really don't want to dwell on it. For me, depression usually goes away, eventually...so I alternate retreating into it and ignoring it.

It's not going away this time. Not yet anyway.

Don't worry...I have mental health professionals. I've already talked to them and I'll talk to them again at dates that have already been determined. I'll be fine. I'm generally quite resilient. I know this, and I remind myself frequently.

I am making myself write this because isolating is probably the worst thing to do. Because others know what this feels like and when you feel this way the only thing worse than desiring isolation, is feeling like you are alone.

You're not. I'm not. And it's not forever even if it feels that way right now.

Taking the time each day...

2011-02-03T06:15:00.001-08:00

...to clean my work area, is CRITICAL TO FUNCTIONING.

I can't imagine there's a person with ADHD out there that would not benefit from at least trying this. It keeps the mess manageable. It gives you a chance to organize your brain in a literal, tactile, visual way.

Okay okay, I can't say that I know how everyone should live their work lives, but...if you struggle with work organization I highly suggest it...because after years of doing this, and trying different ways, I generally DON'T STRUGGLE MUCH WITH WORK ORGANIZATION ANYMORE.

When we take the time to practice positive coping techniques it can become easier over time, and it cans become easier, more of the time, and...it is NOT a waste of time to do this, to try this, to at least give yourself a chance to see what works for you.

I do not organize myself in the same way in each workplace. Some people might benefit from trying that, but for me, it works better to find a method that works for THAT job.

Here at my desk at the theater (yes, I work at a theater) I have a long list of email folders where I can stash my emails into logical categories...and most importantly can stash and rediscover those emails QUICKLY. I may love organization but I'm still impatient. It's better than swearing and getting pissed and ruining my afternoon and wasting time and totally derailing myself because I can't find something.

I have a "TO DO" folder, and in that folder, are about 5 other folders that pertain to specific projects. Those folders themselves are not perfectly organized within at all times. But as I go through my day, when the paper starts to accumulate and I feel my brain getting ready to explode, I can just toss things into their proper folder until I need them (things like post-its...scraps of paper...lists...printed emails). Then when I think "oh, I need to be working on my Promotions" I go to the Promotions folder and look, a pile of shit that all relates to Promotions is already there, and then I can have fun organizing it as I think about the project and prioritize its parts. Then I can stack all of the items in the order of attack that makes the most sense...and feel good knowing that I have set myself up for success. Because the next time I open that folder, I will look at the "thing" on top first and off I go on my journey to completion.

Long term projects require repeated sorting.

If you looked at my desk (and didn't watch me while I'm working...or fall victim to a random tangent of my chatter) you would have no clue that I have ADHD. Not that appearances are what I'm caring about here.

What I'm caring about here is that I'm one of the most organized people that people who know me, know. It's not a competition, but it does feel good.

Try it, you might like it. You don't have to do it the same way I do it. But as I've said many times before, you owe it to yourself and everyone else around you to try. If you don't know where to start, read about how other people organize themselves. Personally, I find it more useful to look at how I work...and go from there. Buying tons of organizing systems and boxes and crap won't "fix" you for you...it's more about developing a good relationship with yourself.

So go to it...have a nice chat between you and you...and maybe a cup of tea...

Dear dancilhoney: I don't whore out for free!

2011-01-30T11:02:00.000-08:00

I got a comment that I'm declining to post. Normally I'm not into "censoring" or deleting comments because I like transparency with my dialog. That's the key to this situation though: it wasn't part of a dialog, it was a blatant "ad" for an alleged ADHD drug.

So, I just wanted to clear something up.

Whoever you are, username "dancilhoney", until you decide to send me a substantial check, which clears into my bank account, I will not be posting YOUR ads. I work hard, I need money, and I don't whore out for free.

I'd be delighted if some drug company wanted to pay me to post an ad here, actually. I could use some spare income, and heaven knows my audience is interested in information about ADHD.

I don't agree with everything that drug manufacturers do, or all of the ways that they conduct business, but to say that they do NO good in the world would be, from me, hypocritical. I love my ADHD drugs.

So...if you actually want to pay for adspace on my blog, by all means, we can probably work something out. Until then: go fuck yourself.

A Challenge...

2011-01-24T09:26:00.000-08:00

...it's a fact of life that we can't make every moment of our lives ADHD-friendly.

Today I am living that fact.

I have discovered that regular exercise is a helpful ingredient to my sanity. I'd gotten into a pretty cool routine of walking first thing in the morning with the dogs, then walking again at lunch and then maybe again in the evening.

And sometimes, during the day, a random quick jaunt around the neighborhood really clears my head. Or a zippy bike ride...I think REALLY well on my bike!

Today, it's about 10-below zero out, and with wind chill, it feels like 20-below. Going outside to get some fresh air, for more than 5 minutes, is just not an option (I don't thaw well).

I always take the stairs when I'm at work, but I'll probably take some gratuitous trips up and down just for the heck of it.

If you need me, I'll most likely be found jogging up and down the stairs of this Victorian mansion, adding my footprints to the history of the house....

...the stomach has a limited capacity...or it should...

2011-01-19T21:20:00.000-08:00

I was at a loooong meeting at work today. It's important to clarify that I was really enjoying the meeting...but, if you've read this blog long enough, I'm sure you know what's coming next: I always have a hard time sitting still for a long time, and this very productive, valuable and really inspiring meeting was 5 hours long.

At a certain point I had to start finding strategies for either keeping still/paying attention while in my seat, or simply giving myself acceptable reasons to get up and move around.

I do this thing sometimes, where I just rotate my ankle. You can do it under the table, it's not noisy, and I enjoy feeling my brain shift from white noise to comprehension of the conversation at hand, as I begin to circle my foot. It's literally like flipping a switch and suddenly I'm enjoying the conversation because I can HEAR it! And follow it!

Opening and closing my pen cap was another good one (it's a quiet cap).

My other strategy may have been less, um...grown up, but it helped: I kept getting up to go grab a cookie off of the plate of cookies on the other side of the room. I was able to move in a direction that wasn't disruptive to the conversation...I ate about...5 of them? (Large ones...) And 3 brownies. This strategy might not be the best for everyone but I still have weight to gain back after my Christmas-era explosion of illness. I knew I'd gone beyond the realm of normal cookie consumption however when the Executive Assistant happened to be at the table with me and said, with a genuine smile "you CANNOT eat more of those cookies". I took one more. And I know how I roll, I know that when my brain is in that mode, I'm going to hear more and be a more productive participant if I can get up and move around.

And MMMMMMM cookies! (I have no shame...)

Enjoying this blog...

2011-01-19T21:18:00.000-08:00

...check it out! Another perspective on the search for answers with a unique brain...

Wine, Cigarettes and Stilettos

I suck at Ping Pong

2011-01-18T09:47:00.000-08:00

This morning, I rolled into work with a "Ritalin, I don't need no stinkin' Ritalin" attitude.

And I didn't.

Until there were two people having a conversation on either side of my desk and I couldn't follow it at all.

I took the Ritalin.

How far is too far...

2011-01-18T08:58:00.001-08:00

...I've become my step-daughter's designated homework helper, at her request. And so, after her brothers are in bed, we camp out at her desk and do what must be done.

Generally, she needs the most help with her math assignments, and of course, third grade was the first of many years of math nightmares for me. I'm a better tutor than I thought I would be though...

One evening last week she tells me "I figured something out. If I do something with my hands while I'm working, it's easier for me to think.". I told her this was great, that I often have to do the same thing, and that she could pick something to "do" with her hands while we worked on homework. She chose the squishing of Squinkies. If you don't know what a Squinkie is, all you need to know is that they are tiny and rubbery and satisfying to pull and squish with your fingers.

It seemed that her theory was, indeed, correct, HOWEVER...she is 8 and she is discovering this for the first time...so drawing the line between productive fidgeting and just plain messing around was not yet clear.

I tried being instructive with my reminders, letting her know that "you have to remember, when you pick a thing to do with your hands, and other people are around, you have to pick something that will not bother other people". Or "you need to pick something to do, it needs to be something that is not distracting to you". And of course "you really need to pick ONE thing to do, NOT FIVE", after she began SPINNING in her chair.

Finally it came down to "doing something to help you think better, and just plain messing around are NOT the same thing".

Line drawn. Homework was completed...eventually...

I've taken a radical position: being myself

2011-01-11T05:31:00.001-08:00

I'm gently settled into my new job, like a fresh snowflake. A lacy newcomer, perched on the efforts of the snowflakes who have come before me. About to be squished into the history of this place, by a blizzard of new demands.

But all winter metaphors aside, this is a very ADHD friendly workplace, at least for MY version of ADHD.

I had another potential job before this, that I decided not to continue the interview process on...after seeing that I would be working in a room with 10 other people, all talking on the phone, all day long, all facing each other, with no escape, and with fluorescent overhead lighting splashed over the whole shebang like too much oily salad dressing. I was very interested in the job, so I panicked a little when I saw that the workplace was extremely inappropriate to my work-needs quirks. I told myself that this was a chance for me to try something new: picking an environment to fit ME, rather than shaping myself to the environment. It's good to be flexible, but I ALWAYS put myself in that position, which means that I often put myself in situations where I may be able to improve the situation for others, but I am often stressing myself out, trying to fit in boxes I shouldn't be forcing myself to squish into, no matter how superior my contortionist skills.

For many years I have been a human pretzel, worrying that if I don't fill this role, I will never have a job, or never be needed, or...that I'll simply get bored because I won't be working so hard to "be" something I shouldn't have to be.

This time I drew a line around myself and vowed to honor that boundary.

Our office: shared office, but we all have our own workspace. Everybody likes having the overhead lights off for a significant portion of the day. And...nobody minds if I have headphones on at times when I need to focus. So I have the stimulation of a few people around, but the option to engage...and no blaring fluoresecents throughout the day. This is PERFECT for me.

I have the freedom to work independently but I have to work within the boundaries of an 8:30 to 5:30 work day. This little nod to structure is actually helpful.

I was hired for my creativity.

I have a boss who is available for questions and who is interested in my ideas.

We work in a big, beautiful victorian mansion that is aesthetically pleasing to exist within.

We adapt to the formality of the situation at hand...when we need to be "business" we are business, when we need to dress to move furniture, we dress to move furniture.

My primary business is: engaging people in what we do. I'm good at that. Really good at that.

I feel like I fit here just the way I am.

After the first dose of medication...

2011-01-07T18:11:00.000-08:00

...comes this weird transition time, where you think it's not working anymore. Here's my experience with that feeling.

1) I started taking medication.

2) It opened my eyes to what "focus" really means, and I felt like things would be perfect like that forever!

3) Then I noticed something. The meds didn't actually make life perfect. And as I got used to them, I thought they weren't working...or something.

4) Then I panicked. I kept going to my prescriber going "I think I need a higher dosage! It's not working! It's not working!". Finally had my dose so high that I felt REALLY not awesome, way too amped up, and way too rigid.

5) So I tried another medication. And again, the first time I took it, life was beautiful. Then I panicked as I got used to it and thought it wasn't working.

6) Then I just didn't take them for a while...and noticed something. Noticed that the meds WERE doing something, they were just doing something more subtle than I was initially able to appreciate. (Then I had to be patient while some eccentric factors in my life that made it hard for me to commit to medication, moved on...but that's another issue.)

7) When my brain is naked, it has hyperfocused highs, and practically comatose lows. With the meds...the highs are lower and the lows are higher...and I'm overall less anxious while trying to get things done.

8) Oh.

9) So I take it now...and I like it. And I DO see how it helps. Of COURSE the meds aren't as pronounced now--now that I'm used to the feeling, it's not NEW ANYMORE.

10) And now that I've been taking them for a while...I see the benefit...AND I see how I've been better able to pick and choose and try different choices, and even keep some of the methods I was already using to make my life more functional. (Before, it wasn't conscious, it was just "coping"...now, it's "making choices".)

Some of the coping skills I've kept:

Creating visual cues.
Keeping my work desk REALLY clean.
Double checking my work notes to make sure I don't forget things or lose important info as I work.
Make to-do lists. The only difference is that now I make sure to put all lists in one place, and sometimes will take a few minutes to combine them.

Some of the coping skills I've learned to fill in the gaps:

Asking people to repeat themselves when I haven't heard what they've said. I used to pretend I wasn't lost and them do reserach later to fill in the gaps. I feel silly sometimes asking people to repeat themselves, but I'm learning to do it in more subtle ways. At first I would say things like "I don't think I actually heard the last 45 seconds of what you just said because I was thinking about something else". Oops. Not subtle. Now it's more like "now wait, what was that about the x-y-z widget?".
Communicating more clearly with the people who live with me about why I do things the way I do. Helps my husband understand, which makes us sharing space a better experience...and I ask him about things instead of assuming that I know why he's left the milk carton in the middle of the counter (visual cue! duh!). And communicating these things to my step-daughter teaches a little girl with ADHD, how you can be organized and productive with ADHD. Kaboom!

And overall...I feel less moody, probably for two reasons. On the one hand, I have more of the chemicals my brain wants, in order to stay more even. On the other hand, I've gained more expertise in using my coping skills to navigate my life.

Pills really don't teach skills, but they DO make it easier to make better choices about learning new skills. I bet that a lot of people stop taking the meds after that first awesome introduction to the world of focus...I also bet there's a study out there on that somewhere...hmmm....

All of this makes me understand why the potential for improvement for people who are diagnosed and properly treated is actually quite good/skewed toword improvement...and why some really, after a while, may not need medication anymore. Personally, I like the help that the meds give me during the work day especially but hey, I'm not everyone...

New Year in New Hampshire

2011-01-01T08:44:00.000-08:00

Sonny and I find ourselves orbiting reality out in the middle of the NH woods this New Year's Day. We have no children today, but we do have Black Sabbath, a slingshot, snow, mimosas, cool people, and SUNSHINE!

Last night it was bonfire, drunkenness, music jams (with a whole houseful of musicians, it was inevitable), snowball fight, a crockpot full of chili and some really cool ice lanterns.

And what else do we have? Hmmmmm? What else? We have 2011!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I've been waiting for this moment. An arbitrary moment, delineated by the human construct we call "calendar" but giving this segment of time a new name is inspiring. And it's just the inspiration I need to continue pushing forward after a time of intense trial.

Pat Your Head, Rub Your Tummy and put your foot on the gas...

2010-12-28T19:24:00.000-08:00

...today I helped my 8-year old stepdaughter learn to use a pottery wheel.

I actually have no idea how to use one. I DID read the directions. And demonstrated to her that I knew this step was IMPORTANT.

Predictably, the first attempt really pissed her off...haha. This was ADHD impatience at its finest...there was whining, rage, abuse of anyone within range and not listening to directions, all wrapped up in one squishy looking lump.

Her father told her if she continued to behave that way, the pottery wheel would make a swift exit. I kept reminding her that this was all an experiment, perfection was not the goal, and that my potter friends have been doing this for YEARS to do what they do.

It's not easy being a little girl with ADHD who is also a perfectionist with completely unachievable expectations.

She turned the impatience knob down a bit for attempt number two...and a miraculous thing occurred. She started to see what her hands could do...and was better able to coordinate the pedal pushing and finger movements. And on attempt #3...WELL NOW. Suddenly she was making pretty, smooth sides and lovely flattened edges.

And toward the end she was VERY focused. Like a LASER. SCARY focused! I sort of loved the look on her face because I can totally relate to that brand of hyperfocus.

FUN TIIIMES! Channel the hyperfocus for the forces of good! It's exciting to watch her begin to learn ADHD navigation at such a young age...

World Domination, ADHD-style

2010-12-27T19:00:00.000-08:00

People with ADHD are numerous on my list of most productive, remarkable, and driven people.

I bet you think I'm going to say that ADHD is a gift :)

But NOOOOOOO...nothing of the sort. (Orange you glad I didn't say banana?) I am simply pointing out that ADHD in itself does not doom you to a life of failure.

I'm gelling on this topic because one of my ADHD-friends announced, a few days ago, on Facebook, that she was taking nominees for her personal Overachiever Of The Year award. And the nominees, shall we say, were very interesting. My husband and I were among them, but so were my other favorite ADHD people. Our friend Susan ended up being chosen as the Winner. Susan is the kind of person that can start a non-profit, organize a benefit concert, try her hand at needlepoint, stop in to perform music at the local Farmers Market, bake Dulce de Leche cupcakes, and research medieval history simultaneously. Perhaps my favorite thing she ever uttered is "there are 24 usable hours in every day". And yes...she has ADHD. And it's nothing she hides.

My friend that created the award: has lived at least 9 lives in this one. She's a gifted fiber artist, gardener, raiser of sheep, game-designer by profession and as we like to refer to her, fairy godmother. If you just happen to need a pair of vintage 1970s sunglasses, she's your hookup.

Another ADHD friend? Has started a school, and a music education center, both of which are going swimmingly. City council meeting? She's there. Dots need connecting? She's on it. And when she's not connecting external dots, she's connecting internal ones and deeply researching her next project...as well as raising 3 children.

My sweet husband? Coordinates a music program at a private school, plays in two bands in addition to the occasional solo gig, and composes jazz. Also a dedicated and very hands-on father of 3. (And the best husband, ever. Not that I'm an expert because he's only husband #1...ha...)

Among my other ADHD acquaintances: a newspaper editor, a highly successful businessman at the head of a classic business "empire", an effective lobbyist/attorney, another highly entreprenurial attorney who has carved out a career, a niche and a national reputation on his pet issues...there are more but I have a point to address here.

These people are not successful because they have ADHD (at least, not in my opinion). They are successful because they have found KICK ASS ways to manage their unique and raging minds. They have either intentionally or accidentally surrounded themselves with critical support systems. They have chosen mates that fit their "style". (And of course, some have left mates that did not...or have been left by those mates.) These are people who struggle with managing their pursuits but are driven to find ways to make them work. Driven to find the right collaborators to get the job done...driven to find the right hands to lay their projects in when they are ready to move on...driven to find ways to keep themselves organized, and who, after becoming frustrated, continue moving forward. People who find unique ways to organize themselves (and who fail at times, through trial and error, but who keep trying because they have no choice). People who frustrate themselves and may, at times, be driven temporarily insane by things like deadlines, or by the volume of the rushing thoughts in their own minds (or disconcerted by the sluggish quiet they may find there at times). People who figure out how to survive higher education that they need to achieve their goals, or who have found clever ways around that need...

But they are also all people who happen to be intelligent, persistent and resourceful. These are traits of personality...traits that the circumstances ADHD may have forced to become more prominent, though ADHD is not the ingredient that makes success certain.

I love this magic, holy ground where ADHD and personality meet.

To me, in many ways, it simply does not matter that I have ADHD, because I simply do. I can sit and think about it, and "what it means" as much as I want to, but the fact does not change (I do enjoy exploring the topic, I'm not gonna lie.). What can change, is how I choose to approach my life. And I choose to approach it in a way that allows me healthy exploration of my drives, and inspiration from the brilliant people I surround myself with, who, as it turns out, are probably making some similar choices, in varying degrees of struggle.

Whatever our brain chemicals are doing, we are living unique and yes, successful lives.

Yes. Successful lives.

And so this is Christmas...and what have you done...

2010-12-25T17:20:00.001-08:00

I have a lot of things to say about Christmas and none of them have anything to do with one another, but the element of holy day. Holly day. Jolly day.

First, Christmas freaks me out. It's a big ol' clusterfuck of all the things that make people with ADHD (okay, perhaps I shouldn't generalize and we'll just apply this to my situation) freak out. Too much to do, too little money to do it, which requires extra time and money management, comes right at the time of year when heating prices go up (for those of us in northern, freezing-ass cold climates), it's an assault of the spiritual senses as we have to digest a multitude of equally baffling versions of what people think "it" means, crowds of people (families) get together and make lots of noise in one place and demand each others attention from 5 sides of the room at once, people who don't give a crap about charity the whole rest of the year can suddenly tell you what the world needs now...wow. It hurts my brain.

Last night I had a nice night with mom, dad, sis, sis's boyfriend, and my husband and the kids. It was really a great night but I will say this, holidays are simply overstimulating for me. Sonny commented that I seemed a little off. Correct on two counts. One, I am still recovering from a horrific version of the stomach flu that required me to be hopsitalized overnight last weekend and two, there was way too much going on. People talking everywhere, too loud, 800 kinds of food, moving mechanical dolls, children yelling and playing and laughing, two dogs running around like maniacs. I DID enjoy myself, but I am always aware, in situations like this, that I am overstimulated. Well now wait...I wasn't ALWAYS aware, I used to just feel weird and not understand why and it freaked me out. Now I get it, so even if I'm overstimulated, I'm not freaking out. If it's too much I go lay down for a bit.

Here's what I like about holidays:

Working retail. I love being busy and thinking on my feet. Voila...you have the retail holiday season. I'm speedy at the register and don't mind running from one end of the store to the other looking for ridiculous last minute shit.

Big hunks of meat and fatty cheese from faraway lands (or local, equally smelly versions). I used to be a vegetarian, but I'm hypoglycemic. Hypoglycemia plus ADHD=moody bitch. Big meat and cheeses=I can think, and my taste buds are happy.

Olives and pickles.

Those little, weird, almost unnoticed sad moments that most people gloss over. I feel weird ignoring them, so I don't. I say hello to homeless people. Melancholy is part of reality, even at the "happiest" time of the year. Someday I would like to do away, altogether, with the "Christmas Magic". It feels like we ignore what's really important for 11 months, and then we really REALLY ignore it for the month of December in the name of being jolly. Weird.

That said, Sonny bought me a gorgeous original painting. I love it. It was my favorite painting from an exhibit of a man who lives here in town. He moved here with his wife and children, from Iraq. They left because their oldest son was kidnapped and they'd given their life savings to buy his freedom...if he was taken again they would not be able to afford his freedom and he would likely have been killed, so they left. The father and the other son are truly gifted painters. The painting is called "The Seamstress". A beautiful woman, rendered in vibrant color, holds a sewing machine over her head. She's strong, she's empowered...she embodies everything I love about sewing.

Sonny also showed that he pays attention to his lady's ridiculous culinary and spiritual peculiarities with the following stocking stuffers:

lemon curd
OLIVES
chocolate-covered Spanish almonds
an orange

There's a Christmas story from the Little House on the Prairie book series, where the Ingalls family gets a visit from their friend, Mr. Edwards. The visit itself was a big deal in those days, because travel was such an ordeal, especially in the midwestern winter. But he brought an orange and a penny for each of the children and they were ecstatic! My mother pointed out, when I was a child, that the value of things can change depending on your situation...but that it's important to be grateful for even the little things. When I was a little girl, we always had an orange in the bottom of our stocking as a reminder. Orange: check!

And...I got a remote control helicopter from the kids. Superficially, this may seem like a cute gift that THEY really perhaps wanted for themselves, but no...no my friends...this was a special request. I wanted one bad. I crashed it about 12 times out in the yard before admitting that I really need to read the directions.

So it was a nice holiday. Step-daughter suggested that we have a food drive. I'm going to help her make that happen. What with the "Christmas Magic" out of the way for the year we can get around to making the kind of magic that the world really needs. And, as I've said throughout this economic downturn, you never know when YOU might be the person that needs the magic helping hand...

My cats thought I was a total asshole 'til I found that can of tuna...

2010-12-22T20:43:00.000-08:00

I left the house for the specific purpose of buying cat food.

I returned with a remote control tarantula, night-vision spy binoculars, boys socks, a bag of bows, a sack of oranges and a roll of ribbon.

I got home and was very annoyed by the cats, spooling their way through my legs and trying to throw me down the basement stairs.

Suddenly I remembered what I'd forgotten. I pulled out my shopping list to compare intent to result. It read:

wrapping paper
bows

Sonny had mentioned the oranges on his way out the door.

Earlier today, when the two of us went out shopping together, I actually made a long, detailed list, we stuck to it, and we got a lot done, despite the asskicked state of my immune system (more on that later).

100% perfection is just not a realistic expectation.

I clawed my way through the cupboard and dug out a last can of tuna. I put it on a really nice gold-edged saucer to let them know I really cared.

Then I told Sonny that I'd left the remainder of our master to-do list on his sweater pile, so he wouldn't miss it. We both glanced to the sweater pile...where he'd just put his pants, right on top of the list, totally obscuring it. He pulled out the list...and we'll have to add "cat food" to it...

2010-12-15T10:02:00.000-08:00

We all survived Day One of the great Adderall experiment.

I read a lot about ADHD, and even though I, myself, take the medication, I have read so many weird stories that other people have written that...well...I wasn't sure what to expect.

What I did not expect were tears of joy. (From the grownups, lol...)

The medication did not make her robotic...it did not make her anxious...it did not make her seem doped up...it did not kill her.

We first noticed that something different was happening when Sonny asked her to please turn the television down a couple of clicks in the middle of a Christmas movie and she simply reached forward and did it. Which means two things...one, that she HEARD him. Two that she didn't fight about it. One stone, two small miracles.

As the morning and day progressed, we witnessed some shocking things:

Our little girl played with her brothers.
She made her bed and lined her stuffed animals up arm in arm on the bed together.
She wrote a play about "emajunashun". It was a musical.
She heard us when we spoke and often smiled big when she did.
She actively engaged in conversation instead of argument.
She respected other people's personal space.
She smiled. She smiled.
She noticed when she could "do better" and seemed content to try again instead of freak out and deny caring.
She NOTICED other people instead of colliding with them at hyperspeed. And she looked delighted by it.

And for the first time since I met this child...she relaxed. The whole energy of her body changed. The whole energy of our home changed. It made me very reflective about the usual level of chaos we live with.

She does not usually play with her brothers...not for very long anyway. What starts as play often devolves into badgering, bossing, insulting, yelling and "accidentally" hurting people.

Cleaning her room is something we generally do together, she and I, and we have a system, and it works...but it's very stressful for her. On that day, she needed guidance because she was 8, not because she was overwhelmed.

She was not at war with her environment. She was comfortable in her body.

She kept saying "I feel good. I feel happy.".
She said "I feel happy. I feel calm. Is this how your medicine makes you feel too?".
I said "When I don't take it, I feel like the whole world is screaming at me. When I do take it, I feel much better.".
She exclaimed "Now you know what I feel like ALL THE TIME!".

Both myself and Sonny were moved immensely by watching a child, maybe for the first time in her life, spend a whole day not feeling like she's under attack.

And it was moving as well, to witness it from the outside, after experiencing it from the inside.

We got to experience the "her" that we only experience about 20% of the time...on that day, those wonderful parts were 80% of her, because her personality was no longer obscured by fear, overwhelm, and inability to hear the world around her.

I already knew that something was wrong with the logic of the MEDICATION WILL RUIN YOUR LIFE AND YOUR CHILD people. Now...a part of me is genuinely angry with that perspective, because I really and truly feel that not trying every tool that may help is child abuse.

This was only day one. We have a lot to learn and so does our wee girl. But for her to not have had this chance, even just for one day, to see that life doesn't have to be such a struggle...would be shameful.