Adult ADHD Blog

Archives: November 2008

An Ordinary Day

The harsh reality of work and relationships is frightening. My outlet? The weekly ADHD support group, a gathering of seven adults who are amazingly similar to me.

The weather has turned from balmy warm into the kind of icy chill that is a clear reminder that the season is changing. The birthday is around the corner. 33. Jesus died when he was 33. Somehow it seems like a milestone year. I have great expectations on some days, no expectations on others.

The romance-filled summer with the litany of men is gone; the harsh reality, and the silence that follows, is frightening. The temptation is to return to the harried, colorful treadmill of a life that I once craved, but I am tired now of it all and am left sad and angry.

The outlet is the weekly ADHD group, a group of seven adults who are amazingly similar to me. It is odd because I've spent much of my life feeling flawed, apologizing, and trying to get the message across that the missed deadlines, tardiness, the word skipping, topic jumping, forgotten birthdays etc. are not for lack of heart but rather what I now realize is a learning disorder. I arrived late once again, but I've learned to secretly praise myself when I do arrive. "You're doing fine," I whisper. I need to be my biggest cheerleader, selfishly so.

It turns out that I'm not the only one who has had a rough week, but it has been rough. I have been humiliated by the she-boss before the colleagues. Nothing I say or do makes her happy because she is so right. I am late with deadlines, do things last minute, and I don't seem to get the message half the time because I am so fixated and fearful of hiding my disability. The few times I've tried to contribute to a conversation, the boss looks right through me or to someone else and changes the topic.

Perhaps I am off topic, but I tried. I know from her standpoint I must look bored. I am looking around, the gaze first to the color of her finger nails and then to the wall, then to my colleague who is tap tap tapping his pen, to the part of someone’s hair, I think about the boyfriend who broke up with me three times. He fired me for the lack of sex and the string of miscommunications. I wonder if I would have elicited more sympathy if I said I have ADD. Doesn't matter now, because it is water under the bridge.

I am told that life for ADDers is a dance of three steps forward, two steps back. So the three steps forward are these: I carry the planner with me now, and have the Time Management To Do sheet. It looks like one of those dreaded time logs, punch in and punch out. I have the stopwatch staring at me. I take the 20 mg of Adderall. I live in constant fear that I will be canned, especially since the economy sucks. But I listen to others’ stories and realize I am not alone. There are others who struggle to get to work, keep jobs, please bosses, get along with colleagues, others who struggle to wash dishes, clean closets, whose minds run as free and colorfully as mine. What makes me angry is that I believe that life isn't that cookie cutter, why should everyone be the same? Isn't there a place in the world for me, a place where my gifts will be appreciated?

I talked about my week but it ended up being a depressing ramble. A dirty little secret is that I don't read, the newspaper, books, I don't read because half the time I don't get it. My mind wanders off onto another path. So the boss is very worried that I don't seem to be following what is going on. She's right, I am not following what is happening because there are times when I feel like I am reading Greek. I read and re-read a paragraph three times… what does it mean? I listened to a message from the boss and didn’t get what she's saying, partly because I'm so scared I won't get it. I started to think that I should record the meetings and conversations, but it would be proof that I have a disability. Normal people get it.

On the bright side, I resisted the temptation to buy yet another planner, yet another notebook. I have an infatuation with paper, as if each new list is a new promise and a new beginning to do things better. Staples really should give me a discount. I am already a platinum member, and not by choice. I did, however, cave in to a pack of fluorescent color Post-its. Everyone laughed and I laughed too. Humor is wonderful and it is free.

Ahh, the word free. I told the group that once again the only time I feel free is when I am in the water. Diving into the silence of the pool is soothing—no human voices—and I can control the movement of the water.

After the pow wow, a few of us grabbed a bite to eat. We've only known each other for less than two months but there is that connection that transcends age, race and economic background. The word "soulmate" followed me all the way home and I saw a flicker of life amidst a blur of tears.

Running a Mental Marathon

I try to manage time, but mostly fail. It's playing the slot machines: Pull the lever 10,000 times and win five dollars.

I feel like ADD is a kaleidoscope of great promises that go crash and kaboom. A new year’s resolution that starts with great promise and then fizzles.

Earlier this week, I told the sister about the weekly ADD group that I've been going to and told her about a depressing statistic I learned. There was a research study that concluded that adults with ADD with the same education make $8,000 to $15,000 less annually than their non-ADD counterparts. The statistic ignites the anger in me.

In response, I get a sympathetic "Oh well, we all have a bit of ADD" from the sister. This is the screw-you moment, when I want to tell off the non-ADD world. “You’re all boring and cookie-cutter conformist. You live life as if it were a game of connect the dots.”

Instead I tell the sister, “Well, it’s the degree to which one suffers. For me, it’s ruined my life.” OK, I was being a bit dramatic, but I was pining for empathy, which I rarely get because on the surface I seem so normal. Yesterday, despite the meds, I had the ultimate ADD day. I came to work early, so early that the cubicle land was empty, but once again I wasn’t sure how to start the ignition. I turned on the computer, listened to voice mail, tried to kill the frizz in my hair (rain day equals bad hair day). I applied lipstick, and then I went to check the mail, get water, milk for cereal (that I’d later forget to eat), grab the newspaper that I would never read, and then tried to get to churning out the two articles that would need to get done.

The meds kick in and keep me catatonic, super glued to the seat, so focused that I know I need to pee but I don’t move (it’s like falling into a deep sleep, awakening but not being able to open one’s eyes). I am sure that I have a pout on my face. As hard as I try to lasso in time, I fail; it’s like playing slot machines in Vegas: Pull the lever 10,000 times and win $5. So on this day I write and write and write, I research, I substitute snacks for lunch.

I hand in the work but get it thrown back to me like a short-order cook who has screwed up the omelet because it wasn’t supposed to be an omelet but rather scrambled eggs—or maybe it was the best omelet in the world but there was an egg shell in it. At the eleventh hour, the omelet I had spent the entire day on was thrown back to me from the chef. And then I look at the watch and say damn.

It's funny because a fellow ADDer is like me in that she doesn’t get why society does things a certain way. Why make to-do lists when we can just do things? Why write down that we are going to call someone, or buy a head of lettuce? When I think of something, I do it.

The Cat Got Your Tongue

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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.