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The Cat Got Your Tongue

posted: Friday November 21st - 10:04am

My ADD diagnosis is like a deep secret eating away at me.

I almost said it. The words sat on the tip of my tongue about to tumble out. I sat across the pseudo boyfriend at the diner this morning before work, and tried to tell him about the attention deficit disorder and the medication I’m taking.

ADD is like this dark and deep secret that I keep, and I want to purge badly. Lately it has been seriously eating away at me like a cancer—this struggle and these questions that come with being different and living with what I continue to believe is not a disorder.

I tried to reveal it in the way of frustration. Lately, things have been so hectic, I have such trouble, and difficulty prioritizing things and myself. I want to do it all, can you help, can someone help?

It came down to this: He wants to spend time doing nothing and feels like we're always going to places and not spending time alone. He wants to be a coach potato, he doesn't seem to have this ingrained color and spark that I have. It's in a lukewarm handshake, a weak smile.

He doesn't have this fire and desire—this is what I observe at least. I said I really needed someone who was good at organizing and he seemed to hold back. I was angry about this; if he wasn't going to edit me, who was?

He was wishy-washier than me, two clueless people equals chaos. He listened and said don't be so hard on yourself; there's room for creative people in this world. He once struggled with the same dilemma too, he said, but he found a job that lets him be creative.

He doesn't seem to think there's anything wrong with tardiness, flakiness, hemming and hawing. He's found his peace in meditation and going ummmmm. I retreated and sighed, he's not getting this. He's not asking questions, or he just doesn’t care.

But increasingly I want to blame the ADD, the meds, the way my brain is wired. What are these men going to do: turn their shoulder, not call back? If so they are not a friend, my sister says. I want to come out and just say it, "Please come with me to an ADD meeting." What is the shame here, why do I need to apologize for being me?

Back to It Again

posted: Thursday November 20th - 10:05am

Even on meds, my thoughts wander as my boss wonders why I can't make deadlines.

I joked with the little ADD posse (yes, I will call the therapy group my posse from now on) that having adult attention deficit is like being between a rock and a hard place.

I can take the mediation and be so focused that it is like being superglued to my seat, and in the same light, be irritable and angry because I am aware of my deficiencies. Or I can sit around with my thoughts scattered like marbles as my boss wonders why I can't make simple deadlines.

Given how frustrating it was reining my thoughts last week, this morning I took that orange pill called Adderall. How focused can I be? So focused that I am unaware of time, aware that I need to pee and yet I don't go to the restroom. I am stuck in my assignment mentally and physically.

I've tried the Post-Its organizational method, Filofaxes, even the Google Calendar, but now I am back again to a single planner—a heavy bulky leather book that weighs down on my shoulder—and mind—like an anchor.

Feeling Scattered

posted: Thursday November 13th - 10:27am

What motivates an ADD adult to get things done?

Is it ADD or is it fear? Do I scramble to fill pockets of time simply because of my deficiency in frontal cortex ability—or am I afraid to be with people?

The concept of doing nothing brings about an image of a grand canyon, an abyss; I always need to be up and about and can't sit still. When my pseudo-boyfriend pointed it out to me and asked why we couldn’t just hang out and do nothing sometimes, I wanted to say, "Hey did you know I have ADD?"

But I stopped short of that. Whatever words were on my tongue collapsed into silence. I could not do it and come out of the closet. I was defenseless. He was right; I am always on the run.

I thought of a question that the group leader posed to our little pow wow of ADD adults at the last ADD workshop. How do you get things done in your life, what is the process, what motivates you?

To be honest, it is fear. I need to be coerced into doing things. Otherwise they will never get done.

Mecca to the Planner

posted: Wednesday November 12th - 10:27am

I have a mountain of day planners, but to an ADDer, time is often meaningless.

There are others like me. I love this weekly group that is now on week two. I know I wonder if my interest in attending will fizzle like so many other things in my life. Sooner or later there is an annoyance that emerges and then explodes.

The group consists of other mature adults with ADD—mothers, wives, husbands. We all look professional and rush to the pow wow in our work attire of suit and ties.

The theme yesterday was planners. The word planner sends chills up my spine, mostly because I've been searching for a planner that works much in the same fashion I seek a man or a high heel that is comfortable. It's rather hopeless.

Somewhere in one of these entries I mentioned that I've purchased half of Staples. It is becoming my regular hangout, the Staples around the subway stop. I go in and am swallowed by the colors, sizes and the complexity of it all. Each slices and dices up time differently but to me, time is meaningless. I wear a watch and in fact have seven at home, but I forget to look at them. Staples should give me an ADD discount. ;)

I hauled in the mountain of planners yesterday, there were at least six, a monthly, a weekly, a Lifesaver-colored palm sized organizer, a manila folder with the Post-Its system that I thought was working (I write down stuff I'm supposed to do on one side and move the post-its to the other when I complete it). The yellow color reminds me of puke. I've literally gotten sick of it.

Our group leader turned on a light in my brain yesterday. She said that the to-do list is a bridge to the planner or scheduler. Little did I know. To date I've been operating on my hot-wired brain. I'll think of something and do it when I think of it, and everything else will slip through like water in the hand.

It might seem normal to the non-ADD world, but the to-do list, the scheduler and planner, and their purposes were as foreign as Greek until yesterday. I think I'll stay away from the fancy schmancy iPhone stuff though, lest I drop it in the pool.

It was a relief to realize that others struggled, too, with things like paying bills, managing daily work flow, the incoming stream of email, phone calls, and demands—always more, never less. I always leave feeling somewhat happier and more relieved.

I awoke this morning earlier at 7:10 (better than the 8:10), but I did make an excursion to Staples once again and arrived at work 15 minutes late, because I strolled up and down the aisles mesmerized by holiday cards and then wondering what I needed to buy everyone for Christmas. I did find a planner, a $30 leather bound black book with space to schedule daily things, and I have vowed to stick with it through thick and thin. Just hope I don't lose it.

What planner or to-do system works best for you?

Days of Freedom

posted: Monday November 10th - 11:58am

Imagine life without medication. Getting through the day and letting the chips fall where they may.

I sometimes imagine life without attention-deficit medication.

I imagine being on a Harley Davidson, my hair ribboning in the wind. In this new life, I’ll take a multi-vitamin and 10mg of Lexapro every morning, and let the chips fall where they may.

On the home front, my roommate is an unpleasant stink to live with, but there's not much I can do about it. For now I tell myself, stick it out and ride the roller coaster of uncertainty.

So much of living with ADD, or any chronic ailment, is learning how to turn lemons into lemonade. Martha Stewart did it when she shed 15 pounds in prison and came out smelling like roses. I hope I can, too.

The other day though, I had dinner with the male swim friend, a somewhat stoic and non-responsive fellow. Over a beer and some noodles, I opened open slightly, sharing some fears and acting like, well, me.

I said that when I was thrown in the vast ocean, I was humbled by the reality that in life it's hard to trust anyone. I've swum and followed others in the water and gotten lost or stuck in a current. It's like the blind leading the blind. "There's a mental ward nearby," he half joked after I stopped talking. Did I sound that crazy for sharing my feelings? All the more reason not to talk about the diagnosis.

I look forward to the next meeting with my fellow adult ADDers in the autumn/winter support group that I've joined. I look forward to traveling back to Earth, and being with my own kind.

Can ADD Adults Sit Still and Relax?

posted: Thursday November 6th - 9:24am

I always think I should be productive. Pack tomorrow's lunch, lay out the clothes, look at the planner.

After my two-week experiment of going off attention-deficit medication, I've gone back to Adderall after noticing, with much discouragement, that without it I am like a wild mustang running around in circles. I can't afford to make mistakes at work, because I can't get canned in these economically tough times.

The boyfriend had a talk with me the other day, the nice guy suddenly transformed into a ball of frustration. "I'm concerned that you can't seem to sit still," he says, referring to the flurry of emails I forward to him, events, places to go, things to see, things to do. "Why can't we just do nothing sometimes?"

I have no good answer. I want to control myself, but I'm like a child in a candy store. I want it ALL.

I am semi-amazed that he hasn't dumped me yet. He is so kind that I have the itch to come out of the closet and talk about the ADD diagnosis. The other day we chatted about one of his obsessive-compulsive friends who takes meds. I wanted to jump in and say, "Oh really? I do too." But I nodded and slipped into silence instead.

Every day is a battle. Last night (once again) I turn on the damn Internet and get sucked into surfing, or what Dr. Ned Hallowell aptly calls screensucking. In the meantime, I am constantly thinking I should be doing something else, something constructive like packing tomorrow's lunch, laying out the clothes, looking at the planner.

And it was a day mottled with failures—overdue library books and the $4 fine, signing up for an event that I needed to back out on because I have little concept of multitasking and time management—“the future,” as a fellow ADD compatriot says, "does not exist."

ADD or maybe just my technophobic-character offers laughs too. On Tuesday, I stood on the endless queue to vote. Once I get through the mosh pit of fellow voters, I am faced with the booth, and instructions to one side. I'm a voting virgin. I pull and yank on what I think is the lever, but no can do. I peek out of the curtain and the young woman shows me once, but somehow I still can't get in.

Another minute passes and I stick my head out again, now faced with an impatient line of people. I motion her in the same way I do to a girlfriend when I want her to give me her two cents on how I look in such and such outfit. She laughs, smiles; she's patient. "It's okay, you've not done this before," she says. I yank the lever and feel empowered.

My Experiment with ADHD Medication

posted: Tuesday November 4th - 9:25am

Day eight off the Adderall and I am feeling happier and a bit more loopy.

Okay, so it's hard to think of life as experimental or a project, but that is what it has come down to.

Day eight off the Adderall and I am feeling happier, a bit more loopy and all over the board. Lots of movement but no end results, that is the real me.

Last night I was all wound up again and was sucked into the Internet world. I found myself cyber-shopping again, looking at all of the nice fall dresses on Banana Republic. Good thing I stopped myself when I looked at the prices, but then it was past midnight and once again I had broken a resolution.

I thought back to what a fellow adult ADD woman said to me once, "There is no future." In ADD land the future doesn't exist, meaning ideas come in the here and now.

I called up the psychiatrist woman this morning, and told her about the results of the scientific experiment of getting off the meds. I am less irritable, and somehow I feel better. For a month or so, I'd been doing the most mundane things like climbing a staircase or walking down the sidewalk, and feeling like the world was going to cave in. I'd have to tell myself, "It's okay Jane, it's OK, everything will be OK."

It's a horrible way to live. She told me that I should continue with the experiment, and that, if things changed, like I was becoming more anxious, depressed, and even more scattered, to call her. "I'm rooting for you," she said. There was a slant of sun.

Now that I'm in on the ADD workshop, I've decided to continue my attitude that this is all a science experiment. Life is one big lab and I'm here to play. I'm here to try all kinds of remedies from buying planners, to setting a trio of alarm clocks, to mixing a variety of drugs into my brain soup, into going to group meetings, self-help meetings and finding the answer to what is ultimately happiness.

I did learn something through my own journey too. I read somewhere that in human emotion there is a bell curve; on one end is low arousal, on the other end over-arousal and in the center the golden mean. In ADDers there is often a fireworks of arousal at the start, which quickly fizzles, which is why executing something and keeping track of all of the scraps and marbles of everyday life is so challenging. The trick is to find the key or keys to solve the puzzle.

ADD People Like Me

posted: Monday October 27th - 10:00am

I've traded the ADHD medication and therapist for a 3-month workshop with fellow adult ADDers like me.

I have arrived at an awakening.

It has been six days since I've been off the med, the 20 mg. of Adderall. I still take a half a pill of the Lex, for the sake of simply saying I am doing something. The difference is that I feel calmer, even if I'm more disorganized.

Today, as I wrote and pecked away, I found myself mismatching first and last names, and sent the wrong text message to someone. Good thing I said nothing bad.

I've replaced the meds and the therapist (who really isn't helping me since chatting with her has the same effect as talking with my girlfriends). We have a guy-bitching session and she usually agrees with everything I say. Bad deal. I am paying $35 a session to have someone agree with me and nod—but I am not getting better.

I sometimes joke that I might as well go to a priest, because they, too, would provide sympathy or empathy. The only difference is they would tell me to say the Hail Mary ten times. No problem.

For the past four days, I took the rest and respite getaway to the island. Water usually has a calming effect on me, a natural happy pill, if such things exist. I went last year, same island, same getaway, the same azure color in the ocean, same pink-colored sand—only this year, things seemed quieter, like the calm after a storm. The unhappiness didn't entirely lift but there were moments when I sat by the water, and I felt like I were in another world.

The sister came along, too, working hard on her tan. She said that at the ripe old age of 26, she's discovered that life sucks. All of the signs of suckiness are there, the reality check that, in the real world, there is politics. People use others, friends are net-workers, most of the time you get one chance to make things right; and fat and ugly and forgetful people usually get the short end of the stick, unless they are related to some trust fund family.

When I returned, I decided that I had done the right thing. I decided to replace the meds and the lackluster therapist with a 3-month weekly workshop, a group of fellow adult ADDers like me. I decided that I would pay the grand and make that investment in myself.

There are seven of us and a psychiatrist facilitator, a woman with a wide smile and a high tolerance for humor. I like the way she welcomes laughter. I like the way I can share my experiences about everything from the challenges of doing mundane tasks like tackling dirty dishes, and struggling to complete projects at work, to walking around feeling stupid when, in fact, I know I am a "bright 30-something year old woman," with a higher than average intelligence for words, that according to the official Mensa-type IQ test I took last month.

It is as if the real world—the non ADD, non anxious, non depressive world—were like the Moon and the minority of us were on Earth. It feels good to be on Earth amongst people like me. I did not want to leave.

I Need a Lifeline

posted: Thursday October 23rd - 10:52am

Imagine if I were misdiagnosed. Deep down, I know it's not true—but in dreamland, I don't have ADD.

"Lifeline please..." I had a good laugh watching the Saturday Night Live skit a few nights ago where Tina Fey does Sarah Palin, and Amy Poehler does Katie Couric. I cackled when Palin asked for a "lifeline" when asked a question that she either wanted to dodge or couldn't answer.

Either way, the word spin-cycled in my head today. I need a vacation—a lifeline—some certainty in a clearly uncertain life.

In desperation, I went to see the psychiatrist woman for our monthly session yesterday. I almost canceled.

She's a sea of calm while I am a complete wreck. "How have you been?" she asked. In the real world, I would nod and smile, and say "Fine, oh just fine." But behind closed doors, on this couch, I pay $35 for the right to say, "Shitty, things are horrible."

Things have been horrible. In all truth, yesterday at the weekly meeting, the boss chewed me out and asked why in the world had I not handed in the assignment yet, especially since we'd already talked about my needing to meet deadlines.

She asked me – in the way one would ask someone with a very low IQ – where the assignment was, given that I had said I nearly completed it the other day.

“Isn't it common sense to complete a task that is nearly done?” she asked. Yes, yes, I want to tell her, but I don’t. In the real world it makes sense—but in my mind it doesn't.

Then there was the sense of doom and gloom that has transformed me into a sour puss. I go into work and mope. I cannot, just cannot, bring myself to read, work, complete tasks. I feel like I have no motivation.

The psychiatrist woman stopped me as I rambled. "I could be reading you wrong, but you sound more irritable today, as if you were irritated at me," she said.

"That's what I mean," I said, close to tears. I am much more irritable, and I am not sure if it is the Adderall gone awry.

Somewhere in this whirlwind conversation, she said something that stopped me in my tracks. “Adderall is a stimulant, and stimulants should work on people with ADD.” When I didn't take them, did I feel better, happier? Were my moods more in check? She asked. It certainly seemed that way.

She asked who diagnosed my adult ADHD, and I responded, the Buddhaman and the Ph.D. people at the hospital. For a split second, there was a ray of hope, even if, deep down, I know it's not true. Imagine if this were all a mistake, a misdiagnosis. I didn't really have ADD. I had once again drifted into dreamland.

The ADD medication problem has driven me close to tears anyway. And there isn't a single thing I can do about it. Every month I spend $80, plus another $150 to see the shrink, and take these drugs that make me feel unhappy and sick.

This morning I actually lay in bed long after the 7 a.m. alarm sounded. I wrapped myself tightly in the blanket, badly wanting to fall back asleep and sink into a sweet dream. I just don't want to deal, and yet the psychiatrist woman's questions were an awakening to me. "I understand that you don't like drugs and medication," she said. "But you need to let me know how I can help you."

I told her I was sick and tired of not understanding whether what I had was a chemical imbalance of ADD or a personality issue; I was tired of this trial and error with the meds.

If I had a chemical imbalance, I would be happy to take drugs, and I hoped that one day I could find the root of the problem – the genesis of the mood swings and sadness – and control symptoms without drugs. "Or maybe in the end, nothing will help," I said. "It takes time," she said. "Even with the drugs, you need to give something new at least two weeks." I told her that I appreciated this concrete information. I didn't know that I needed to give a new med two weeks; before I dumped it like a bad boyfriend. My impatience was my demise.

I told her that I wished the Buddhaman had given me more concrete answers to the multitude of unanswered questions in my mind. "I hate to tell you this, but the two-week time frame might be the most concrete thing you will ever get."

"Things related to the mind take a lot of time and patience," she said. "It's like trying to turn a freighter around—you can only do it slowly."

That's It

posted: Thursday October 16th - 11:43am

I fear I'm falling into a depression.

Enough is enough. I fear that I am falling into a depression. First the financial markets, then a string of unreliable men, and I am just tired—physically and mentally spent.

I can understand why the betta male wouldn't want a girl like me. It's too stressful when you are dealing with a basketcase, which is clearly what I've become. I want to do everything and in the end I don't do anything.

Oh, it's not lack of effort at all. I am tempted to run away from it all, kind of in the same fashion I almost did at the pool yesterday. I need a break from a world that is very practical and realistic. I want escape.

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