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.
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