A Daring, Hopeful Diagnosis

 

typewriterI’ve always thought everyone else was simply better at being a person than I was.
In every aspect of my life, including writing, I have struggled to maintain my focus. Not in the way most people do – where they get distracted by a noise or a conversation for a second and then bounce back to what they were doing. I zone out, come back, and realize I’ve been signed up for a committee I didn’t want to be on or some other unwanted responsibility. I can’t remember most things I need to do through the day if I don’t write them down and pin them someplace where I know I’ll see them – so my house and desk at work are full of post it notes and scraps of paper with notes to myself scribbled on them.
I want to remember. I just can’t.
I get very frustrated with myself when I can’t make myself remember, or when I can’t sit still and feel actual pain if I don’t move some part of my body. I feel frustrated when I’m in public and snapping my fingers or tapping my fingers together or bouncing my knees to the point I annoy the people around me. I try to stop. But then it feels like bees are swarming around inside me instead and I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t start moving again. I wonder how other people manage to control that feeling. I marvel at writers who consistently sit and write for hours every day.
Most of my dedicated writing or creativity time looks like this: write for five minutes, get up, walk around, read a paragraph of a book, crochet for five minutes, walk around, remind myself to write, try to relax so I can, start bouncing my knees because I need to move, remember I was supposed to call someone today, try to find the piece of paper I wrote the number on, chastise myself for not washing the dishes, start clean water to do it, sit back down to write, forget I turned the water on, remember ten minutes later when the sink is overflowing, clean that up, berate myself for being stupid, sit back down to write, remember I still had to call someone, try to find the paper I wrote the number on again…
My brain has always been this way. I’ve put it down to being an extremely creative person. High school was a struggle. College was a struggle. Anything that has more than three lines of instructions on it is a struggle for me. I didn’t know everyone’s brain doesn’t work like this.
I’ve only ever had the one brain, so I couldn’t compare.
Turns out, not everyone thinks this way. They aren’t just better at controlling it than I am. They aren’t just better people. They aren’t just smarter than I am.
I’m not lazy or stupid or less of a person.
I just have ADHD.
I’m 42, and when I was in school, ADHD was just getting to be more widely known. At that time, it seemed to mostly be a label stuck to little boys who couldn’t hold still or listen to directions in school. I was well-behaved and did my work and sat still – with great effort.
But as I’ve gotten older, it seems to be getting worse. And since my brother’s death, it has worsened exponentially. I’m used to being scatterbrained, but this is a whole new level. It feels like I’m trying to think with a brain made of Swiss cheese. I know grief can do a number on our brains, but I was beginning to feel like I couldn’t trust myself to function on a daily basis. The anxiety is worse, as well, and I’m in treatment and trying to learn ways to cope with that. It’s hard.
Now that I know what the problem is, I can get help for it. I’m thankful for science and medication, and having a prescription to try and coping mechanisms to learn makes me feel like there might be a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. I know there are other writers and creatives who have ADHD and have managed to produce beautiful art. It gives me hope.
I’ve finished When Knowing Comes and it has gone out to the editor. I’ll soon have a pretty website (courtesy of my talented and intelligent daughter) with a newsletter – something I’ve tried and failed to do multiple times in the last few years. I have an assistant now who is helping me streamline and keep up with the social media end of writing. I feel much less overwhelmed. And I’ve been on medication for just over a week. I can actually feel my brain becoming less scrambled. It’s weird.
I will likely always be scattered and impulsive and struggle with focus to some extent. But for the first time in a long, long while, I’m excited to see what the future holds.

I’ve got a long ways to go, but I’m confident I’m going to get there.

 

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