Adult ADHD Blog

Archives: January 2009

A Staycation from ADHD

Date night gave me the stimulus I needed to forget about the job-pinched money crisis I found myself in.

New York winters are horrendous. Last night I went out with my 59-year-old date again. Indeed, amongst the financial mess, a life crisis of unemployment, and a severe ice storm, I have found time to date.

I told myself that I was so over men after last year’s string of lost romances—due to incompatible ADD traits I'm sure (attention deficit disorder), I’m sure—but here is someone very polite, nice, and into me.

We went to this zoo of a movie theater, one of those megaplexes that remind me of airport terminals. The mass of noisy teenagers and young couples sorely reminded me that from the observer's eye, I was a young Asian woman with an old white guy. I know what they are thinking, but in this phase of my life I want comfort, security. Chalk it up to life experience or age, but he's very smart. I do not want empty promises and added pressure. My ADD mind can't handle it.

We watched The Wrestler, which made me feel disturbed and blue. Has-been wrestler and has-been stripper find love against the dreary backdrop of a New Jersey working class town. When we left I found myself in a daze, feeling sorry for these non-existent characters. It's only a movie, right?

In the meantime, I'm not sure how much longer I can deal with the uncertainty and stress of job search, the apartment search, and man search. So the movie is an escape from the winter of wind and single-digit temperatures.

I told the father the other day that "this" current situation is the way I imagine hell. I said it with a laugh, and he laughed, too. I think he agreed with me. We are all in the same boat now.

Taking an Unexpected Turn

I know life with attention deficit disorder is no simple task—but I didn’t know I’d be back at square one at 33 years old.

In a bit of desperation, I decided to attend the open house of a tuition-free learning center for women. The words "tuition-free" made me smile. I went there and discovered that most of the women were either housewives with grown children, who needed to support themselves because of absentee husbands, or welfare mothers, who needed to attend to keep the checks coming.

I sat among the women like a black sheep, wondering who among us shared the ADD/ADHD diagnosis. I had on strappy black heels, a Banana Republic dress and matching jewelry, and I was the only Asian. A few of them looked at me as if I were a specimen in a petri dish.

The social worker was some young Jewish girl with a sparkling engagement ring and a gold wedding band. She spoke to us as if we were 12 years old, enunciating each word and giving very specific directions on how to apply. Step one, take out a pen. Step two, take out a piece of paper and write your last name first. I could feel my eyes rolling to the back of my head. Step three, attach a photocopy of your high school diploma. I almost laughed. I have a master's degree from an Ivy League. Why am I here? The snob in me surfaced, and the laugh slipped out.

Deep down I know that I am no better than these women. I'm an unemployed adult who has attention deficit disorder, I'm impulsive, I don't know how to budget, I am awful at math, and I don't know the rules of keyboarding. But a month ago, I never thought I'd be here. I thought that by the age of 33, I'd have a man, a house, a baby, a fabulous career, and weekends at the country club.

I sighed. I was back to square one again. It was as if my life had been razed by a tornado, and I was left to pick up the pieces on a deadline.

A Long Hard Winter for Laid-Off Workers

As I hunt for job offers in a world that divides into the "haves" and "have nots," I'm reminded suddenly that an adult with ADHD will almost always be on the outside.

The days of unemployment blend into each other, and I am fast discovering that finding piecemeal jobs is driving me even crazier. A babysitting job here and there, and teaching swimming for $12 an hour.

Oh, there is work to be done, even in this economic downtown, but where do adults with attention deficit disorder (ADHD/ADD) fit in? For me, the work never ends, and the worry has become part of every second of thought. I'm struggling to juggle the job search, the house search, and the search for self.

The word nomadic comes to mind. A nomadic existence. Today I walked into the cold, around the city, weaving through subways and sidewalks, and holding on to two bags, gloves, a hat, a scarf, and layers of clothing.

The jumble of stuff is indicative of this stage of my life. It's a mess. I network with former colleagues and friends, and the conversation is like deja vu. “Hi, do you remember me? Yes, I'm looking into a new career direction [vocabulary for being laid off].... Yes, I am keeping an open mind about different jobs.” This translates into, "I'll take anything."

It is hard not to look desperate or not be angry. I see people who work less hard who are still gainfully employed. Suddenly the world divides into the "haves" and "have nots." If anything, I feel like I have been told I am terminally ill and have a year to live. It is so unfair. It is twice as hard to find a job when you don't have one, and four times as hard with ADD.

"If you keep reminding yourself that you have this condition, then you might as well be an invalid and sit at home," the father lectured me the other day.

"Why don't I," I snapped back. "I feel like I am worth nothing." The statement, smothered in self-pity and low self-esteem, is also indicative of ADD. How many times have my fellow ADD friends and I crucified ourselves for being late, for not making deadlines, for handing in half-baked work?

I did a freelance project this week and dragged myself into the offices of this hole-in-the-wall start up company. There is something refreshing about going into an office, but as I sat in the conference room and listened to the staff's daily meetings, I was reminded that I am an outsider. I am a freelancer. I don't belong.

Maybe it is the weather that is causing the blues, the cruel wind, the 5-degree temperatures, or the news, with its headlines of more layoffs and more bankruptcy.

Perhaps the ultimate blow was receiving an email today from an editor who I was supposed to meet on Friday, who tells me the job interview is now canceled because she was laid off. I laughed when I saw the email, because it was so bad that it couldn't be real, but it was. I emailed the woman back and told her I was sorry, but that a closed door leads to an open one. It is a lie that I really want to believe.

In the meantime, I called a bunch of homes in NYC for women only—not halfway homes, but residents for students, single mothers, and starving writers. I was told that I needed to be fully employed or a full-time student. "So does consultant or freelance count?" I asked. "No, it doesn't," the woman on the phone said.

I hung up, unable to handle more rejection. Maybe I just don't have thick skin. Maybe I should be more like one of those actors who get rejected all the time. But tonight I had had enough, and was starved for light.

A Heartbreaking Smirk at Drifting Genius

Can the outside world see the wit and wisdom in us adults with attention deficit disorder?

The father would be very disappointed, but I slept until close to 11 a.m. yesterday. Back in job land I would rise at the crack of dawn to swim. But now, living a life as an unemployed adult with attention deficit (ADD/ADHD), motivation seems to have fizzled.

Friends, or as the Chinese like to say, “the wine and banquet friends,” have been calling. "Where are you, I can't seem to find you, we're playing phone tag." I don't have the heart or ability to tell them to f--k off. They are not in layoff land where everyone is an unwilling citizen.

It is like the singles and the married. The division is invisible, but clear as day. There are opportunities to socialize, to beat the blues, to start the job search, but I struggle to organize and feel motivated enough to get things done.

Last night, my buddy, the Type-A Swimman, and I had dinner to talk about our upcoming long-distance swim. I've learned that he and I have an interesting dynamic. It is push and pull. He likes to set the agenda and dictate things, and I, on the other hand, will swallow it and sometimes question him with a teenager-like rebellion.

I had hoped that Swimman might offer up his family's place for me to crash, since he is a native of where the swim will be held. I think my heart and hopes are still in this man, even though he has plainly told me he wants me no more than as a friend.

Rather than sit back, I told him how I felt about his bossiness and his demands, and added that it would be nice if he would be gracious enough to tell me where there are inexpensive places to stay at for the swim. “You can't stay at our place, Jane," he said. "There’s no room for you, but I can transport you from point A to point B."

I laughed and almost choked on the Merlot. "Transport," I repeated. "Do you have a truck? What, transport me like a fruit, like cargo?" There was anger and sarcasm in the statement, but he collapsed into laughter. They say that people with ADHD have an uncanny sense of humor, and for a split second, I wondered if it was my ADD self speaking.

The same humor surfaced two nights ago when I had a first date with an oddball photographer, a 48-year-old guy who walks with a limp and with one eyeball permanently rolling up. I wanted to be alone and almost canceled, but he was agreed to meet me in my neighborhood. I waited for him on the corner and exhaled the cold air, pretending I was a female Dirty Harry sucking on a cigarette and growling, "Make my day."

The irony in this dreadful economy is that I continue to get dates with men. So far I've gotten by on minimal grocery shopping, because I have a string of dinner dates with guys I’ve met on an online dating service. Most of them are at least 10 years older, and they have what I think is an Asian fetish. Most are a bit quirky.

The photographer was quiet, and he wolfed down the arugula salad and penne pasta. He showed off his Italian to the less-than-impressed waiters, who were dark-haired and olive-skinned—and who looked at us as if we were cells on a petri dish.

The lack of conversation was disconcerting, and I tried to add in chatter to stave off silence. I didn't mention the unemployment or the diagnosis of attention deficit—I learned that lesson from the time when I explained ADHD to a friend—but at one point, he laughed and said, "Oh, your thoughts are like this." He drew a quick arch in the air like a concave pendulum. I was offended. He had touched on an ADD nerve.

"And your thoughts are A to B, and B to C," I said, sarcasm in my voice.

He smiled, "No, they are like A to R and then R to Q."

I laughed and finished off the wine. "Well, my thoughts are A to 12 and 12 to rectangle and rectangle to red," I quipped. He nodded in a scholarly way. "That's good, you have wit," he commented. It is a touch of genius and humor, and, as I've discovered, men like that. I asked if he would take me along on his international travels (the photo shoots).

"I'll take you in my suitcase," he said.

"Only if the suitcase has a swimming pool," I smiled.

It is at moments like these when I feel that it is so unfair that these flashes of genius are not seen or even appreciated by the outside world. There must be a place for it, for people like us with ADD, I think.

He walked me home, braving the black licorice-colored slush with his limp, and kissed me, long and hard, in front of my door. "Thank you," I said, turning my cheek to him for a goodnight kiss. "You are OK," he said to me, "Stay out of trouble." I can only hope.

Living with Adult ADHD in Unemployment Land

When I had a job, I had a boss barking after me. Now the days just plod along, as I try to fight unemployment boredom.

A few weeks into unemployment, and I am already running out of much-prized patience. What does an impulsive adult with attention deficit disorder (ADD/ADHD) do in the aftermath of losing his or her full-time job? For me, it was, Eat lots of Ben and Jerry's, cry, and then fall into sweet sleep.

The father called this morning at 7:50 to make sure that I was awake. It is a depressing reality that, well into his 60s, he continues to harp after me. I jokingly told friends that I was like Britney Spears. In her case (her father has custodianship of her), it seems to be working, since she's back on Billboard's top 10.

My situation, though, is near hopeless. Not only do I need to find a job, but I am an ADD adult seeking a job. This requires more skill and organization than when I actually had a job, since I had the she-boss barking after me. Now no one barks after me.

I asked the stepmother what I should do to avoid boredom, and she sighed and said, "Obviously if you even have this question, you are not desperate." I have no idea what I should do. I start writing the CV and the cover letter, sorting bills and business cards, cleaning out the closet.

And at the end of the day, when the father—my new boss—asks what I've done, I say angrily, "Nothing." I have opened lots of boxes and made a mess basically. I can hear the peanut gallery in the stands, "Lazy, you should try harder. You need to get off your butt and find a job. This is no joke." Sometimes I find myself saying this out loud.

Already I have become jaded from the nightmare of filing for unemployment. I spent two hours on the phone and two hours online trying to file. The automated system seemed so sensitive that the sound of an inhale or exhale denoted a wrong yes or no. I would get through 80 percent of the application over the phone, and then suddenly be disconnected. In the end, the cell phone died, and I was tempted to hurl it across the room. May it die a painful death.

Online, the process was worse. I went through the application perhaps 18 times to be met with "click yes" to confirm, followed by "error, the system is not working right now." Damn this recession. In the world of the laid off, time has slowed. Somehow, the days just plod along, reminding me of summer vacation as a child.

Mostly though, I've discovered that New York City is one of the worst places to be unemployed. In a place that is go-go-go, I literally have no real place to go.

If Obama Were Santa Claus, I’d Have a Job

A wrong career move, a bad economy, a mismanagement of attention deficit symptoms. So many factors led to my job loss.

Last night I had a sweet dream. I had written two awesome papers, and was being heavily praised by the schoolteacher. I felt happy, but panicked that she would find out I had lied in one of my essays.

Has my life been a lie? I held on to the dream long after the alarm went off, and when I finally awoke, it was near noon. I don't know how long I will mourn the loss of losing work, not to mention losing affordable co-pays for Adderall. Being sucked into the finance world might have been my demise. [See Are You in the Wrong Job?]

The thought still haunts me: Does ADHD lead to unemployment? The distractibility, inattentiveness, and the naked chaos that is ADD were traits that coworkers and the she-boss must have noticed. Had I better dealt with—or concealed—the condition on the job, might have I dodged the downsizing? I don't know. Even before I was diagnosed, I needed structure. Without it, I feel like my world is unraveling. The scary part is that I feel like my spirit took a hit. Outside the shell is there. I move, I put on the lipstick; I go to the pool, I hang out in cafes with free WiFi. But I have lost my identity.

The boredom now is leading to thoughts of running away. What am I going to do? Despite taking a 20mg dose of the medication this morning, my writing and the motivation to complete these now-overdue-since-pre-Christmas projects are shot.

The scientist friend, the one with triple-A type personality, scolded me, and said I needed to stop wallowing in self-pity. "Apply for unemployment insurance benefits, and then get a job that suits you," he said. "Move back with the parents if you have to."

I think about the time a good friend's husband died. She would pendulum between tears and being normal. I never knew what to say to her, except, "You're doing well under the circumstances…You're doing OK." When people tell me that I handle unemployment well, I can feel that they're lying.

People think job loss is about the money, but the problem is that work was an identity, and the office was like a marker. Having a job affords you a destination, a map to steer you from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. (provided the ADD self doesn’t make you run late). Without a place to go, everything loses meaning. Time—which has always been more foe than friend to the ADHDer—becomes deadly.

Every night at 9 p.m., the father calls, and the conversations are a broken record. "Yes, I'm cleaning my room. Yes, I was planning to email a C.V. for that position. Yes, I am thinking about writing Obama." (The father keeps telling me to write to Barack Obama, as if Obama were Santa Claus.)

Today concludes the second week of unemployment. Despite the faux structures I put into place, nothing is working. I'm convinced that my options are to slog through the rough waters in Gotham City, or take a long and extended vacation, one that I did not ask for.

ADHD and the Downsizing Effect

Your job is your identity. I've lost both, and health insurance for attention deficit medication might be next.

In the land of job layoffs, there is no structure for the typical adult with attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADD or ADHD). Time seemingly loses its meaning. The alarm on the cell phone goes off, and I roll over and slip back under the covers. The nightmare of a roommate is gone for now, and I am engulfed in much-needed silence.

At the end of the first full week of unemployment, there are two things that mark this new chapter of my life: time has slowed to a near halt, and I feel as if I have been stripped of my status. The fashionable fur coat that I wear is from two winters ago, and half of the winter clothes are courtesy of my fashionable ex-roommate. who would have had the Salvation Army pick it up.

While I am unsure of this, I feel as if the new scent I carry is called "Negativity." I can sense it when I talk to others. They shake their heads when I tell them of my fate, then they do a cluck-cluck and say, "I'm so sorry." I try to smile and put on a happy face, but saying "it is okay" sounds ridiculous.

It is not okay. I have until February to find affordable health care, a looming deadline that keeps me in Gotham City. In a few days, I will have run short of the stimulant medication I've been taking, Adderall. I should have been nicer to the jerks who I had dated. Maybe I might have married one of them and benefited from his health care. Too late for a sugar daddy.

In the past week, I read a passage from Psalms, a passage from The Alchemist, and most of the Oprah cult must-read, The Secret, but positivity is fleeting. Maybe I am suffering from depression or seasonal affective disorder (also known as winter depression or winter blues). Whatever the health professionals label it, it's all a result of too much city air and too little natural light.

Sometimes in a moment of darkness, I think that maybe God was testing me as he did Job. Being unemployed is the ultimate test for the ADD self, a Houdini that waits to be untangled. I am left to structure the day, and it sucks. I am responsible for the drive and the fuel that so many ADDers lack.

I ask the father for the Word documents with the tables that he created for projects and daily schedules, I ask the sister how she organizes her finances, I ask the stepmother what guru taught her patience. I envy how the basic skills of surviving adulthood seem so second hand to them.

In the job search I am forced to face my list of strengths and weaknesses. The positive traits—the colorful and sparky personality, the out-of-box ideas, the romantic and idealist.

Then there are habits that are either personality or ADD driven, or maybe both (which came first, the chicken or the egg?)—disorganized, impulsive, impatient, forgetful, and terrible at details. It won't change, I know.

The father spit out a statistic. "Twenty percent of people ages 25 to 35 have attention deficit disorder," he says. "Most children are diagnosed with ADHD and suffer behavior problems or learning disorders, but they grow out of it." [See "Can Children Outgrow ADHD?"]

The words are a slap in the face. It is insulting when people say that to me, that I suffer from some childhood disease like being cross-eyed or having lice. If it is a childhood disorder, then why does the brain respond to Adderall and other ADHD stimulants? I give up. Maybe I should go into denial too, and pretend that ADD and ADHD don't exist.

Most of the time I feel like cutting the cord from my current connections, the friends, the ex-boyfriends. The family: the mother who abandoned me in formative years; a sick sister, which meant that my ADD—or whatever it is—slipped through the cracks; a father who buried himself in work, as escape perhaps. What I needed most was a disciplinarian. The father knows this and reminders of the past make him sad, so the truth is unspoken. Something did slip through the cracks, and I feel as if it is too late. "It is water under the bridge," a voice in my head says.

There are people without arms and legs, those who have been raped by loved ones. There are people dying in cancer wards, and what am I complaining about? At least I can still swim—that black line on the bottom of the pool is the only certainty that I have.

A Distraction from the Day-to-Day Stress of ADHD

To break from the anguish of unemployment and untreated attention deficit disorder, I turned to another misery: dating.

In a halfhearted shot at diversion, I went out on date two with the guy from church. He's in his late 30s, estranged from his mother, and he doesn’t have a job. (Can't really hold that one against him, having joined the breadline myself.)

He's been avalanching me with emails and calls. While some might interpret his exuberance as passion, I, an impatient and easily bored person with attention deficit disorder (ADD/ADHD), regard it, and him, as an annoyance and can barely listen without spacing out.

He asked me why I didn't immediately answer his emails, and I felt my cheeks twitch and the nerves return. He sends me a barrage of emails and text messages a day—and expects me to answer them. "I'm flattered to receive your emails, but I just can't answer them immediately," I said. He looked like a puppy that had his toy taken away from him.

He pushed again. “If I can’t see you more than once a week, what’s wrong with consistent email communication?” he asked.

"I'll answer them, but I may not be able to do it ASAP," I responded. My voice was tightening, and I was losing my cool.

"I get it. You've made it very clear that relationships aren't your priority right now," he said. Guilt trip.

"It's not that, but I have a hard time managing all of these emails. I mean I have a touch of attention deficit disorder, so I'm trying my best," I said.

I caught a glimmer of shock in his expression. (Uh, uninformed much? I fought the urge to tell him that ADHD in both children AND adults is much more common than you think.) He was trying to discern if I was bluffing. Either way—ADD, ADHD, or not—it didn't matter. He could sense that something was off all along. He quietly paid the bill, and we parted ways.

I am officially burned out on dating. Not again.

Treat ADHD with a Delete Button

I resolve to be productive. How about a do-over delete button to make the goal reachable for people with attention deficit disorder?

Dire times require drastic measures. I am not sure if that is what I should believe, but it certainly feels that way. I feel like the people who I'd been close with have run their course, and that relationships that had once meant something have fizzled. I am not sure if it is a behavior common to adults with attention deficit disorder (ADHD/ADD), but I feel a need to discard things in black and white. Life is so much easier to manage with "Keep" and "Discard” piles.

Last night I returned home again to have dinner with family and the relatives, and what I discovered was I am not the happy person I’d thought I was. I am prone to misery and seeing the glass half empty, and when bad times hit, I am prone to being impulsive and feeling overwhelmed, spacey. (You’ll see what I mean in this checklist of symptoms most common to adult women with attention deficit disorder.)

I have the temptation to rung away, and not return. In some ways, being laid off seems like an excuse to do just that. Go do something different like be a deckhand in Alaska or work for a cruise ship. Those are merely my typical ADHD thoughts because in the end, the misery follows me, a feeling of doom and gloom.

The father thinks he can solve the problem of unemployment and ADHD and my depressed mood with money. He actually offered $1,000 to entice me to get a job within two months. The stepmother thinks she can solve it with food ("Here eat more, have more...").

There was once a time when I would wake up and think I could solve things by running away. But there is a realization now that the problems run beyond work, maybe even beyond having been diagnosed with the attention deficit. The root of the problem is within me.

I am back at the apartment today, back in the stinking city. The air is heavy with the threat of rain, and everywhere I still see couples lugging suitcases from the bowels of taxis, fresh from holiday vacation.

I have an ugly task list ahead—unemployment to file, two months of rent checks to write out, the assignment for a freelance writing gig that is long overdue. The father and I made a schedule as regimented as one in the Army. Awake at 7 a.m., job search for two hours, swim at noon.

I know my ADHD self craves a reliable routine to get back on track, and I know study after study shows the swimming, any exercise really, can battle the blues and boost brain function, but ultimately, I’m afraid because I wonder if I can do this for even a few days. It will be tough, very tough. It is trying to fit a size eight foot into a size six shoe and running a marathon.

The sister turned around before I left and asked the father what was the point of having kids. "I don't know," he said, and I think he meant it. On that note, what is the point of life. I don't know.

Sorrow for the Unemployed ADHD Woman

Everyone pities you when you're jobless, even more so when you're diagnosed with attention deficit disorder (ADHD).

On the surface I am the same woman—fashionable, smiles, laughter. But since the layoff, I feel like inside I’ve been cut from the lifeboat, and am floating further away from civilization. What happens when a woman with attention deficit disorder doesn't have a man or a job? And what happens when that woman can no longer afford her ADHD medication?

Now with zero structure, I've been getting up closer to lunchtime than breakfast. I've been checking email and text messages as if technology were cocaine. I have been surfing through job boards, wondering what’s next, what's the best career for an adult with ADHD? There are several directions I could take, and I am as indecisive as a kid at a candy store.

The father pities me, as does the sister. I can see it in their eyes. Maybe they see something in me—panic, a weariness, and fear. I wonder if they can see through my soul, and I draw back, throwing up a defensive wall. Woe is me, at 33, I have no man and no job. Why don't I go into a convent?

The greater worry is how to make next month's rent and then how to finance health care. I will soon have to pay out of pocket for medications treating anxiety and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADD / ADHD). I am dying for a low-cost generic alternative, for medications like the stimulant Adderall, not the fancy brand-name drugs that I've gotten under the current health plan.

Last night, I lay in bed sleepless because I had overdosed on sleep the nights before, and I stared at the ceiling, wondering when I would ever find peace—peace of heart, peace of mind.

During the family dinners this holiday season, the father said that I needed to focus. I needed to stop checking emails, and to stop all of these random ideas and thoughts.

"I can't," I told him. "It's not as if I want these thoughts, they just come to me." I did not choose to have thick hair, to have broad shoulders, to be Asian, I did not choose these things.

If I had a choice I would want to be self-disciplined, contained, and normal. I don't want to be sparky, colorful, or quirky. I wish I could stop jumping from thought to thought, from conversation to conversation. The attention deficit disorder self is who I am. Don't they understand this, that I didn’t choose to have ADHD and all the symptoms of inattentiveness and forgetfulness that come with it? Argh. In a quiet moment after a recent dinner with relatives, I asked the father if there was something wrong with me, something noticeably different since the layoff. "Am I more anxious or nervous, do I look OK?" I asked, my voice uncertain.

"You look OK, not bad under the circumstances, and you've always been anxious and nervous," he said.

Somehow it sounded like a white lie. Maybe I was worse off than I thought I was.

Going Home for the Holidays with ADHD

The chronic reality of anxiety and depression from the job loss sets in, and the holiday cheer disappears.

Managing symptoms of attention deficit disorder (ADD/ADHD) seemed to have lost its immediacy and focus during the holidays. With the turning of another birthday, another year, another season, and with the sudden loss of a job, life suddenly becomes black and white.

It is as if the lens zoomed into the most pressing things—finding a job, finding direction, and being forced to go after what is most important to me. The men who I loved and lusted after, who did not love me back, don't seem as pressing.

I spent the last week moping, crying, pouting about the layoff and life, as I knew it. I'd go from being okay to feeling like complete crap. The usual festivity and the stress of gift wrapping and tree trimming disappeared, and the noise and static of the season morphed from loud to total silence.

The city, too, seemed to lose the spark that usually comes with the holidays. The tourist throngs and Rockefeller Christmas tree were still there, but the icy weather became depressing, and the headlines and talk are all about unemployment, and job cuts and layoffs.

Since losing the job, I’ve taken the ADHD stimulant medication on and off. I woke up at 9 a.m. (or was it 10) and kind of rolled out of bed, always in a stupor. What was the meaning of life? Had I acquired these degrees and worked like a dog since I was 20 to join the breadline of unemployed? Indeed, everything has seemed very dark.

A friend once told me that a woman's success hinges on a great job or a great man. I never really had the first, and most certainly never had the later, and over the course of a week I was certain that I had neither. And I am not sure if I will ever have one or the other. At the age of 33, I don't have a job and I don't have a man. I went home on Christmas Eve and tried to put on a smile for the sister, stepmother, and father, who are frustrated at the turn of events, too. Everyone is having a tough time this year, even the wealthy have had their billions cut in half.

Behind the tanking economy is the chronic reality of ADHD. I dragged myself to the weekly group pow wow the other night, and discovered that half the group was gone. A couple weren't here because they had gone home for the holidays, but I learned that one member had lost her job; she was either fired or the victim of a layoff, too. Another member of the group had her hours cut back by half. It is certainly the economy, but at the same time I always wonder if ADD has played even a small part of these unfortunate circumstances. If I were more organized and focused, might I have survived another year or been spared? Only God knows.

This is the first time that I will truly live life on my own, by my own rules, my own structure, and the first time that I will be driven by the strength of my own dreams. Overnight I have been thrown from co-pilot seat into pilot seat. It is refreshing but also frightening.

Perhaps the best Christmas card I received this year is, "Merry Christmas, and remember a free mind cannot be held captive." It was from the geeky guy who I met at church about two months ago. I believe he has ADD, too.