like popcorn, but the bag's too small

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"

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

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

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...

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...

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.

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...