Adult ADHD Blog

Archives: December 2008

Did ADHD Cost Me My Job?

I'll always wonder if my symptoms of attention deficit and anxiety led to my layoff. I'll never know.

It never really hurts when you are first hit by something. I remember when I slid down the stairs and my foot smashed into the concrete sea wall. I saw blood, but did not the feel the pain nor see the purple-colored bruise until a day later. I remember when my fist ran into a jellyfish during an ocean swim last summer. There was initial shock, but the welts did not surface for hours.

And that is how it feels losing a job so suddenly, being part of what corporate America calls The Layoff. To the company, I am a number, a salary, a title, an age, a gender. To me, a job was a status, security, a purpose, friendships, and for the adult with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD/ADD), it was also health insurance for counseling, therapy, and stimulant medication. Without the structure of a job, I am thrown into an Alice and Wonderland whirlwind.

The shock of the news has now been replaced by pain and disbelief. Maybe it came after a barrage of calls I placed to literally anyone and everyone I knew. I had an image of those poor, helpless people stuck on the roof of the World Trade Center, waving frantically at the ant-sized people below. "Help, help, please, this isn't happening!" The people below are helpless, as well.

A fellow ADD/ADHD friend of mine suggested that I find work in her babysitter/nanny network. Sorry I don't want to teach rich people’s kids and feed them caviar. What about dog walking? She asked. Haha, very funny. I love looking at dogs, but the thought of cleaning up after them made me want to vomit. I did not go to an Ivy League school to make baby formula or walk dogs, but I entertained it for a day as a novelty.

What scared me most was the silence and void, and this blank palette called time. I need structure and consistency and now I was being thrown out to the open sea to swim in a place without lanes. From where I floated, the waves were getting bigger, but I sensed that the worst was yet to come.

Until last week, I could walk into work and savor the routine. Then suddenly it hit me when I saw others attend a makeshift holiday party. It hit me as I stared at a pile of paper on the HR woman's desk, waiting to be filled out and signed. It hit me when I hugged the boss and said goodbye. I would not see her again.

Outside the first snow of the winter was falling, and I thought about how sweet 2007 was, how the ex-boyfriend and I tackled the ski trails and retreated to our cabin afterward. I was clearly living in the past.

Up until the announcement, I thought I was strong, courageous, and cheerful—an empty façade—and then just like that, the dam burst. A friend cancelled dinner with me because of the weather, and I'd discovered that I was no longer able to not take these things seriously. Things were so raw. And the tears came down, first one drop and then faster and faster. I stuck my head under the desk, pretending to clean up when in fact I couldn't control myself.

I have gotten several reactions from people when I tell them the news. Almost everyone says they are really sorry, because it happened right before Christmas. Some people stop the conversation short and say that they will call back, that we will have coffee, and they never do. Others go into action mode and tell me what they think I should do: File for unemployment, move home, and be that 33-year-old who mooches off her parents well into middle age. A lot of people say, you'll be fine, you're talented, you'll land on your feet again. A few others avoid me like the plague.

I appreciate their kindness. Any connection is welcome. My mind inevitably drifts back to the reality of what has happened, and how hard it would be to return to the road to normalcy. I don't want to move to Dubai or India or some strange place like Alaska. I don't want to be a sales clerk at a department store. Why was this so personal? Was it the money, was it that I had put my heart into this job and got nothing in return? Perhaps it was because I had always wondered how much ADD/ADHD and anxiety played a role. Might I have not failed and lasted longer, I don't know.

Today it was clear that all had collapsed, as I couldn't stop crying. My godmother told me to try new things, you don't have a mortgage or a family. I joked that I might baby-sit in the meantime. She paused. "Sell your wisdoms, not your labor, do not sell yourself short. You are a survivor." I am sick of being a survivor.

Outside, the tourists flock to the Rockefeller tree, the ball at Times Square. The department store windows are all lit up, while I try to surface from darkness. My heart goes out to the street sweeper, the man in a suit and tie babbling to himself, and the homeless person who sleeps in the same subway corner night after night.

A week ago I had been thinking of the kind of furniture I would buy for my new place, the type of bed, the sort of decor, and now I was left with nothing but uncertainty.

Pink Slipped

Dealing with an unexpected layoff in the holiday season...

In a split second I went from salaried professional to one of the gazillions of jobless out in the Big Bad Apple. I did not see the writing on the walls, but when I think about it closely enough there were signs. I never really liked the place. To me it was a job. It is what kept me in the city. I was one of the cattle called into the big boss's office early last week to be slaughtered. I thought it odd that the man wanted to speak with me, since he doesn't so much give me a nod.

What really surprised me was that my own boss did not deliver the news or show signs of the storm to come, as she sat and smiled as I told her about the new studio apartment I was planning on moving in to. If she was acting, she deserves an Oscar. I even called the father later that day and said, “oh, isn't it nice that my boss and I had this casual chat.” I was so close to "adulthood." Adulthood—with my own lease, with a job that I would have been at for more than two years, maybe even a pet—was so close and then it was taken away in a split second.

The term job layoff is a rather benign way of saying that "you're fired," and "no longer needed." All along though, I had an image of a bunch of gazelle out in the fields of Africa and a pack of lions chasing after their dinner, and 15% of my colleagues and I were caught. What could I say to the big boss as he shook his head and tried to look very sad. “There was a workforce reduction and you were one of them.”

The little section that we had been toiling over for nearly two years was being chopped in half. Print publishing is a dying beast, and much like a surgeon trims the fat off of a chicken, we were cut off just like that. I was not here for Sept. 11, I was not here for the dot-com bust, but now here I was sucked into the eye of the storm. I felt oddly calm as if I could finally exhale; I wonder if this is what I had really wanted all along, if that's why there were no tears, no lump in the throat.

It was the timing, the fact that the layoff was a week before Christmas. It was a major inconvenience, a major blow to my ego. I wanted to be the one who walked out with an Alpha job and said, "all the best," then the economy tanked. The timing is crap. I sighed and stared at the white packets holding a paltry severance, health care gone. What would I do about the Adderall or maybe finally I would be freed of the medication. The remaining gazelles would need to take a pay cut. The office felt like an oxygen chamber with the oxygen being sucked out of it. My eyes looked outside the office window to the staff slaving away at their assignments. What did it matter anymore. I took the packet, and said "thank you." Odd words to someone who had just given me the ax. "Don't thank me, we've never had something like this, let us know if there is anything we can do, print is dead, everything is moving online..."

It feels surreal and for a while all I could do was suck in my breath, trying to comprehend what had happened. What happened? The good friend at work looked devastated, her boss had been fired along with much of the staff. As a survivor, she didn't feel that great either. We went outside, walked around the block sucking in cold December air. The friend was telling me how this had happened to her before, it sucks but you'll get through this, you will, it must be a shock. I saw her call someone on the cell phone but couldn't hear the conversation. I wasn't getting it. Maybe I was losing my hearing.

Since then life has been a dream. Time is no longer defined because the days kind of blend into each other. When I tell people what happened, I get two reactions. Everyone is sorry but there are those who go into action mode, writing emails on strategies and what they think I should look into, and there are others who say, "I'm sorry to hear that, we will get together," and you never hear from them again. When a person's "status" is stripped, it's a strange feeling. You start to understand who you can count on, and it isn't always people who you would have expected would step up to the plate.

Today rather than sit at home and mope, I swam for two hours, just swam and swam and swam. I decided that it is all I could do. Right now it is the little black lane that is so holy, and the only thing that is certain.

Sabbatical from ADHD & Depression

I'm getting treatment, but frankly, I am bored and irritable.

I'm wondering if I'm getting tired of everyone, tired of even people who I'd considered friends until recent. Maybe it is the lack of sleep due to attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, stress, or, once again, the medication playing games with me.

I keep thinking about what the group leader said in the last support group meeting for adults being treated for ADHD. He said the ADD/ADHD individual finds it hard to get and stay motivated. Like the dream apartment with the Jacuzzi balcony is a flash of a thrill, an idea, and then as quickly as it starts, it fizzles like fireworks in rain. Depressing, very.

Because frankly I am getting bored and irritable again. I am almost certain Adderall causes the side effect irritability. So on one hand, I can sit here and work and work, and on the other hand I am depressed. I just want to be alone. What sparked this reaction? I'm not sure except to say that with life in limbo, I feel like I've been walking around like a wet towel. Escape, escape.

Adult ADHD Is the Love Buster

Relationships are all or nothing for adults with ADHD. Either we're fixated, or we're bored and indifferent.

Looking back to the failed relationships, so common among adults with attention deficit disorder (ADD / ADHD), I can see as clearly as day that I grew bored of these guys. Bored not just because of their quirks, but because I truly lost interest—much as it is with everyone else.

It is the semi-sadistic and perhaps indifferent man who catches my attention. The sister says that I want the abuse. I wonder if it isn't ADHD and the fear. I picked up a book the other day about ADHD and relationships, written by a fellow ADDer. I read the whole thing and kept nodding and saying, "Yes, yes, yes, that's me."

I am a hopeless romantic, suffering from black-and-white-cookie thinking (AKA all or nothing). I either click with someone or I don't. I need a man with spice, whatever that means. I need someone kind of indifferent—maybe because I need my space.

I wish they had a Build-A-Man workshop, because I'm getting pretty discouraged. I remain a serial dater, and not a day goes by when I am not struggling to stay streamlined and focused.

I wish that the stupid ex-boyfriend had listened to me when I tried to tell him why I was so paranoid about him being perennially late; it was the fear of dating another adult with ADHD. He started humming the Tigger song from Winnie the Pooh, and blamed scattered thinking on creativity. In many ways, it was a slap in the face. The sister says he sounds immature, but who knows? Maybe he has ADD, too, and he just didn't want to face reality.

Adderall Is My ADHD Super Glue Pill

What motivates the ADHD adult to organize, prioritize, and follow through on difficult tasks and projects at work?

Crunch time, deadline time on the job.

I got up at the crack of dawn today all prepared to be at the desk an hour early to finish a work project that I've delayed and put off for two weeks. I’ve collected all of this interesting information, but the problem is I now have to put it together. I am an ideas person, and suck at executing.

Last night at my support group meeting for adults with attention deficit disorder (ADD / ADHD), the group leader talked about the challenges of motivation, how adults with ADD have the hardest time getting up that ski slope on their own.

What motivates the ADD adult? Fear of failure, anxiety, breaking tasks into pieces, taking frequent breaks, rewards... like a trip to Tahiti? :)

We also talked about short term and long term rewards, and how the ADD adult has a tough time seeing the long term reward. We live in the moment. While sunning myself at the beach might be peachy for a day, I could have used that time to clean the apartment or figure out my finances.

My friends are getting married, having babies, and buying homes—and I remain a serial renter, dater, an impulsive snacker, and a bit of a spendthrift (lucky that I only like to buy things like candy and the occasional Banana Republic dress; otherwise I'd be broke).

For a minute I sat in the group dreaming of this apartment that I want to buy overlooking either the Hudson or East River, with a balcony big enough for a BBQ or a two-person Jacuzzi. Sometimes dreaming is enough to make me happy. The idea alone is the thrill.

Yesterday was a miserable day at work and a little scary. I was so fixated on the hellish project thanks to the Adderall. I did not talk to anyone. I looked so stressed and engrossed in the work that colleagues avoided me. I want to tell everyone I'm sorry for the social miscues. It's not them, it's me. It's the attention deficit disorder.

I wish I could multitask during the work day—eat lunch, go to the restroom, chitchat with colleagues, and also complete the work... but I just can't. I am so easily distracted that I need ADHD medication to chain me down. I was the first one to arrive at work and once again almost the last to leave.

It was very sad because in the end I felt like I was just spinning wheels. I had finished the project but it still wasn't perfect, and for all the fuel put into the engine, the results seemed minimalist.

Better luck tomorrow, hopefully.

Coming Out of the ADD Closet

Tired of feeling like a slave to the regal non-ADD population, I finally spoke out about the attention deficit diagnosis.

It is a refreshing feeling and yet totally awesome. I finally came out of the closet and told a friend about my diagnosis of adult attention deficit disorder. The victim, as I jokingly say, is the 36-year-old super-anal swimmer friend (Triple AAA type personality), who has repeatedly crucified me for being late. Nearly a year later I am still reminded that I did not arrive on time to swim practices in the morning. So I am not an early bird, please kill me.

Yesterday I promised that I'd meet the friend at a certain time, and given that I know how much these things mean to him, I made an effort to get up earlier and get there on time. Low and behold just as I leave, I receive a text from him saying, "Please leave your home now and make your way to the destination." When I receive messages like that, I feel like I am being treated like a child, a slave to the regal and elite non-ADD population. How dare you? I am an adult. So what if I am five minutes late?

Later as we sat down, I discovered I couldn't hold it in anymore. I needed to say something. I used humor and said it made me feel crappy to be triply reminded to arrive on time, on the assumption that I wouldn't. True that I have trouble with sleep sometimes, because I get sucked into the Internet, sucked into ideas, sucked into my own thoughts and then I sleep at 1 or 2 a.m. and inevitably am late for work. Time doesn't mean anything to me, I continue.

It took me about an hour to tell the whole story of how the ADD was discovered, how the diagnosis started with butting heads with a curt general doctor who prescribed anti-depressants for what was anxiety. That led to a visit with a neurologist and psychiatrist, which led me to be officially diagnosed with ADD by the doctors. As I talk about it I notice a tightening in the throat, and notice how my eyes narrow trying hard to block out tears. Don't cry, don't cry, I say to myself.

From there the story spills out, the anti-depressants, the Adderall. There is sadness as we sit there, I pick at the straw and stare at the ceiling and then at the passersby on the street. It is overcast and I think in a week I will be 33 — the problems never escape me: the roommate wars, the dating nightmares, the search for love & self & happiness. The struggle is endless and I want to die.

The friend is quiet, and says a few things that shed light on a dark conversation: Did I talk with the father about this? Yes, to this day the issue is treated lightly. The response I get is I need to grow up, I am immature, I drink too much Diet Coke.

I turn to the friend and ask, were there signs? The friend says that he would never have known if I hadn't told him, except I do have this quirk where I topic-jump a lot, and of course I can’t get there on time. But tell me more about the drugs, he says, are you still taking them? Are you taking other drugs like recreational drugs? For a second I thought he was joking. He said maybe rather than taking ADHD drugs, I should talk with a psychiatrist.

I almost laugh. I've been on this journey for five years now, I've been to the Buddhaman, I've been a guinea pig, I've bought so many notebooks, calendars. I've suffered in silence. If only he knew. The friend says that there are worse mental disorders, like schizophrenia or manic depression where one is in a forever funk.

Maybe you need to find things and be with people who make you happy, the friend says. It might be the best thing anyone has said to me in a while. But the conversation confirms that whatever hope I had of a romantic relationship with him is over. Already I was tagged as serially tardy and now I admit I take meds for what is a real disorder. Who wants a girlfriend who is mentally damaged?

An hour later the friend is silent, says he'll get the bill (it's a guy thing). He remains a mystery, while I've done a striptease. I cover myself again in silence, not understanding why I chose him to share the skeletons with. But he did not run away, rather he said he'd see me at my birthday dinner later this week. "I consider you a friend," he said. A friend, that is all — but I somehow felt freed. That wasn't so bad.

Drama Queen

The roommate blow-up, the boss fiasco, the break up. Somehow people with ADD always fall short.

Thanksgiving came to a fizzle and I guess we are officially into holiday season. Only this season doesn't feel very festive. It feels as blah as the gray sky. The family welcomed the pseudo-boyfriend-turned-friend with open arms. The father was extra chatty, the food on the table bountiful, and I am sure somewhere in his mind he was thinking, "Oh please, please let him take my daughter, anyone, someone take her!"

Over the past week I've been "lazy," in a half-vegetative state, as I ponder what to do down the road. The boss, who I've labeled Tyrantasaurus, is a nightmare. She gave me a very over-the-top tough assignment—kind of like make a five-tiered wedding cake in one night—and I can't deliver. I've already expressed to her fear and concern, and she says, "Try harder." They all say try harder, try harder.

I went on a weekend excursion with the pseudo-boyfriend now turned friend. As the girlfriends analyzed, we never had that "it" factor, the glue that bonds couples. We are around the same age, in the same attraction pool, we have some things in common, but physically and otherwise that "it" is missing. I am sorry about it because there's a lot he can offer, but what can I do. I can't force a square into a peg. Once again I feel like I can't do any right in life—with jobs, relationships, and such. Somehow people with ADD always fall short.

I fell short of telling the now guy friend about the ADD and the meds. He shared a story about another friend who has OCD, and who was super moody when she was off the meds. I wanted to say, "Hey, me too, I am like that too," but somehow the cat got my tongue again and I stopped short of it.

Rather I talked about my messed up childhood, the Bible-banging mother who cheated on the father, and of being abandoned. It all sounded very sound and perhaps a reason for my behavior, but in the end, not really. How does it explain that I seem so distant and detached at staff meetings or when I'm with friends?

The sister says that a time will come when I am comfortable with telling someone about my issues. "And the time is right when you don't need to ask," she says. She says that now is too early. She suggested explaining to others that I was having an Asian blonde-moment, and bringing some humor into the picture. She is right.

The next time I look catatonic when a friend talks, I will mock myself in Margaret Cho fashion. "Haha, Asia girl has a blonde moment," I will say, rather than internalizing what I would consider another failure.

Somehow though, the roommate blow-up, the boss fiasco, and the boyfriend blow-up seem like signs that something isn't right, that maybe we need a change—kind of like the political system. We need hope and change. After returning from the weekend excursion, I thought everything felt very stale and foreign. It was cold, uncertain, and, in that sense, extremely lonely.

Do you ever feel like something has outrun the course? Well, the drama feels like it. I thought to the conversation with the guy friend, that sometimes it is hard to simplify but maybe I just needed to do it repeatedly and think to myself that if I get on the right path, there are many sweeter years down the road.

Why must life be lived on a time line (even though yes, there is a physiological part of it)? The very thought that I am making a step forward helps despite all of the recent losses. As humans we fear change, but why is it such a bad thing? No, this time I will embrace it.

Dreaded Mondays

I could blame this mess on my ADD, but I'm old enough to see that it's more than that.

As I mentioned in my last blog posting, it is over: this relationship that dragged on with the evasive boyfriend, who was all but a "yes man" but screwed me in the end by saying nothing.

Of course the natural inclination is to blame it on the ADD, but now that I am old enough to see patterns in life I can see that it's a mix of personality, ADD, and, perhaps, hang ups. It is not pretty. There's a lot of work to do. I need to stay on the eight ball and continue the good fight.

The guy calls and says, "It's just not working out." There was no "fourth base" involved, but there were tons of little things, too. Our messages always crossed and were misunderstood, I wanted to do all of these things, and he's looking for someone a bit more organized. What the heck. He might have mentioned this like three months ago.

I did not cry over this relationship, wondering if the lack of tears is my boredom with the relationship itself. There were never any real sparks. Dating the fellow was like eating plain yogurt, not bad, okay, nice, just fine, empty adjectives.

My greater concern is with the job, always a struggle. I've come to accept that I will go into a Monday meeting and be the most clueless and spacey one there. I will focus so much on how my message should be delivered that I will not understand what others are saying or sharing. If someone caught me and asked me what the topic was about, I might shrug and reveal how spacey on am.

However, I really don't want to be so hard on myself. I took the Adderall this morning and tried so hard to stay organized with this black planner, which sits by me like an anchor. It is a reminder of how much needs to be changed. To get that guy, get that raise, to be accepted, I need to change.

And there is never a day when it isn't such.