Adult ADHD Blog

Archives: February 2009

The ADDer's Drop-Off at the Pharmacy

A medication mix up becomes a new chore on the long and useless task list.

Every person who’s been diagnosed with adult attention deficit disorder—or who suspects ADHD symptoms—has felt that feeling. The feeling of failure, the near certainty of it, serving as a red flag that "you. are. different.”

Maybe you're prone to forget, likely to lose things, likely to not listen, or otherwise getting things wrong that other adults without the disorder seem to get right.

Why so grim? Well, a(nother) slip-up this week at the new part-time job reminded me that I needed to pick up the Adderall at the local pharmacy.

But today when I arrived, the pharmacist looked clueless and told me that they had shelved the order (again!), because it had been two weeks since I dropped off the prescription order.

I sighed and let out a depressing exhale. I must have looked like near-collapse, because the pharmacist—a kind man with warm brown eyes—reassured me that he'd refill the order asap.

“Please wait a second,” he says. Then he walks out with a bottle of Adderall.

A 30 day supply. The right dosage. But... what is this? "Total charge: $92." How could it be? Wasn't my pharmacy co-pay for name-brand medications $50?

No idea, call the insurance company, replies the pharmacist.

I sighed. Add that to the already endless To Do list.

Desperately Seeking Stimulants

Health-care reform that helps an uninsured, unemployed adult with attention deficit disorder (read: me) foot the bill for COBRA? A small relief for what ails the ADDer.

It's been almost two months since I've been pink slipped from the full-time job. The health benefits will be expiring soon, and I am fretting!

The cost of continuing health insurance coverage on COBRA is going to cost me an arm and a leg. There are many days I’ve wished that adult attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) was considered severe enough a disorder that I could claim Medicaid and afford the treatments I need. Until then, I make do.

Lately I've been trying to ration the medications by cutting the Lexapros (an antidepressant) in half, and by taking the Adderall every other day. The psychiatrist, AKA the Buddhaman, would kill me if he knew, but he'll never know. :)

Without medication though, my spark surfaces. On a recent icy New York night, the sister pointed to a young woman in tights and a thin jacket, and asked how some people could wear so little in this weather.

"She's an equestrian," I said, matter of fact. The girl’s taut and lithe legs reminded me of the equestrian girls in the Hamptons.

The sister burst into laughter. "That's funny," she said. "And brilliant."

I cracked a smile.

To be or not to be on medication, that is the question.

How Not to Lose Your Job When You’ve Got ADHD

Balance work, the hobbies, the symptoms of adult attention deficit. Simple as that. I think.

My life as I envisioned it, a high-flying foreign correspondent, a Devil Wears Prada-like editor, flashed and crashed yesterday before my eyes.

Yesterday was a chlorine-packed day of work at the new part-time job, where I spent a record nine hours at the pool screaming to nine- and 10-year-olds.

"Come on, kick harder."

"Keep your legs together!"

"High elbow when you stroke!"

Even that was night and day to the horrendous class the day before, with the adults. In the deep end—20 yards and 6 feet deep—two of them freaked out. One looked like she was hyperventilating as she clung to the wall. She stared at me suspiciously when I told her it would all be fine.

Little did I know that it was also progress report day. No one had mentioned it to me! (Shoot, next time I should read my emails at work.) Once again I was reminded of the nagging symptoms of my adult attention deficit disorder (ADD/ADHD).

In the water, the ongoing problems of ADHD escape me. The forgetfulness, the doubt, the chorus of apology.

Now, with my passions tied to a paying gig, I knew I needed to learn to manage the “disorder” if I wanted to stick around for a while.

Luckily, this assistant teacher who helps me out in the class quickly filled them out and handed me a batch. But I've been suffering from senility lately, and can't seem to remember any of the names of the students.

I have seven kids in one class, three in the other, and four in the third class, and after a while they all look the same to me. (I know that's a horrible thing to say.) But the kids are young enough where I can ask them numerous times what their names are, without having them look at me as if I am an idiot.

It is easier dealing with children than with, say, the colleagues at the last workplace, because they actually fear me and listen to me. I feel like I am in control here. I don't need to constantly apologize or make excuses for ADHD behaviors.

Finally, after a long day of teaching, I met with Priscella, a woman on the swim team who is a hardcore fitness buff. She runs, bikes, swims, and does like 1,000 push-ups a day. We met at the pool to do a "hardcore workout" today.

Priscella had the entire workout written down. At one point, I was exhausted and tried to cheat by lopping off two laps out of a 200 fast free, and she scolded me and made me make up the laps.

I do well with co-workers and people like Priscella, who are straightforward, who light the fire under me and set me moving forward.

Inside the Mind of the Thirtysomething with ADHD

What are single women with attention deficit disorder really chasing?

I’ve been avoiding writing about Valentine’s Day, because this year’s occasion is the first where I have felt so, well, shitty. All around me, friends are married and on their first or second child. And here I am: single, jobless, and nearly homeless.

I chatted recently with a woman with attention deficit disorder (ADD/ADHD), who said that, at the age of 34, she still falls for the bad boys. There is a thrill in the chase that adult ADDers seem to crave.

That same day, the sister asked loud and clear if I was interested only in men who frankly were not interested in me.

And why, she said, do I always find fault in the men who are interested? There is something wrong with this picture. I didn’t disagree with her.

I wonder if the greater handicap is fear of intimacy or the diagnosis itself. I am constantly reminded of coming out of the closet about the disorder late last year, to the ex-boyfriend and to the guy who could potentially have been a boyfriend.

Even after talking about the diagnosis, I still feel guilty, like why did I do that? Every message should have a purpose. Maybe I am just naive by revealing myself. Was I looking for sympathy, or was I testing out the guy?

It feels odd looking someone in the eye and saying, "I have ADHD." I am not that courageous. What exactly is bad about this, we all suffer from disorganization to a degree, and creativity has a place in society, the ex-boyfriend had said.

It's bad, I told him, because I'm a well-meaning person with all of the right intentions, but the result and the message come out all wrong. I can't execute unless I am threatened, and my habits—talking fast, interrupting others, and fast-forwarding gazillions of ideas to friends and potential boyfriends—are taken wrong.

Maybe I am coming on too strong? And the second guy, the potential boyfriend, had all but wiped his hands of me a week after I told him about the meds and such.

I feel like the men in my life drift away, like a raft at sea that I'd held on to for so long. Why, I will never know.

A Passion for Water, Through Attention Deficit Disorder

It is not enough to stay afloat and to rest. A job loss, an adult ADHD diagnosis, a failed relationship: There is one life to live, so fly.

Congratulations are in order today, despite the icy, Polar bear-like weather, despite the potholes on the asphalt, and despite the unemployment numbers that keep rising.

I got a job today. No, not in the corporate world; there are no paychecks or obvious benefits here (but more on that later). I got a gig teaching swimming—a sport that has morphed from personal passion into livelihood—at a charter school for underprivileged youth.

The pay is $12 an hour, but after chatting with the aquatics head and telling him about all the writing I've done, from pieces on Michael Phelps to covering the Olympics, he changed his mind. Okay, he said, $16 an hour plus a tiny, little space to park my swim suit, goggles, and maybe a travel-sized shampoo. Perfect, thank you. I flashed a famous smile. It was genuine.

I'm not sure if I'm in the right mindset, but I am happy and proud. The new pool is a 20-yarder, the water the color of topaz, all the shinier because it is on the dingy sixth floor of what was once an orphanage at the turn of the century. It is night and day compared to the Olympic-sized pool that I teach at on the alternate days, and the students here are underprivileged youth, mostly Hispanic and black, but I am happy. Finally, freedom, a chance to teach what I know to those who don't know as much.

My fellow Ivy League friends were silent when I told them about the gig, my voice all bubbly. "Oh, well, it's an interim," one said. "It brings some chump change," another said, flatly. There was a time when their responses would have triggered uncertainty and maybe a change of mind, when I would be reminded suddenly that adults with attention deficit disorder (ADD/ADHD) don’t fit in with the crowd—but no longer.

I've spent 33 years of my life trying to fit into a size 8 world when I am a size 10. It is painful, and I have the calluses to show for it. The moment of realization came a few weeks ago, when a student of mine handed me an envelope and reminded me to not forget to open it. It was a note of thanks and a gift certificate for a new bathing suit. It is a rare bonus that money can't buy.

In the past, I've earned a lot more for churning out words for corporations. I could make a lot more writing copy for banks, but this was priceless. At the pool, no one yells at me, "try harder, you're stupid" or "what do you know?" And when I'm not in my natural environment, I am like a fish out of water.

Tonight is a new night, and after a month of roller-coastering emotions, of tears, frustration, of broken promises, and self-doubt, I am finally unapologetic. There are no rules in life. There is one life to live, so fly with your passions. Today there were no apologies, simply a pat on the back, along with a reward of red wine. Well done.

Sylvia Plath Fantasies Laced with ADHD and Irony

What does a person do when they’ve hit bottom?

The Nigerian Nightmare of a roommate returned with fury today.

“This place is a pig sty,” she says. No Duh.

She expects me to follow up with everything—paying the bills on time, chasing her for rent, scheduling the maid. (Why would anyone ask these things of an adult with attention deficit disorder [ADD/ADHD] in the first place?) But when I’ve attempted communication, she’ll turn into a raging tornado of insanity. “I’ll pay whenever I want to pay, I’ll cash your check whenever I want…”

Blah, Blah, Blah. I’m so sick of the noise. Rather than attempt to out-stink a skunk, I’ve reverted to the Ghandi-like method of silence. I figured when the place gets filthy enough, she’ll speak up—and she did.

“Why didn’t you tell me there were bills?” she asks.

I tell her the bills and late notices were clearly out on the dining room table, and she didn’t notice. She goes into a rampage, demands an apology.

There’s only so much garbage a person can take before exploding, and even someone tough can be broken down. This time I just burst into tears. What can I say? Sometimes the sorrow, anger, and frustration build up to a point of no return.

I thought back to Langston Hughes’ A Dream Deferred…

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

The one escape is the pool, water, the only thing that has not betrayed me, the only comfort I have at a time when doors are closing.

What does a person do when they’ve hit bottom? I need to be honest in that I’ve occasionally thought about taking the Sylvia Plath route and put my head in the oven, or maybe accidentally overdosing on the Adderall. Then I’d risk getting my stomach pumped.

The irony here is that I can’t even swallow pills, and I am a chicken. Or maybe I have a survival extinct: As rough as things get, I want to live.

I talked with Doug, the friend and musician, today. He lived underground in the subways for a year, suffers from bipolar disease, and now things are turning around for the better.

I’ve come to see the irony of human beings, how sometimes the most kindhearted people are also the ones who are the underprivileged and downtrodden. I have a heart to help people like that or people like myself.

Attention Deficits That Hold Up the Job Hunt

Most adults with ADD can spend the day doing nothing, simply because that’s how the mind with ADD works: it dithers, it drifts.

I'm about ready to pick up the bags and a one-way ticket and head to Florida or some faraway island that constitutes an escape. Somewhere at the tip of my tongue lies the words, "I've had enough, enough is enough." This entire winter and my life feel like boot camp, and the worst of its kind.

It has been nearly two months since becoming unemployed, and I can't say that things have gotten better. Some friends have disappeared, the family regards me with pity, and, frankly, my motivation is going down the tubes. The only good news this week is that the federal stimulus bailout is picking up half the bill for Cobra health benefits. It is a slight victory in grimness. Maybe I'll be able to afford the Adderall medication after all.

The ADD continues to be an overlying cloud. It is impossible to explain to friends that it's not that I don't want a job, but rather that I have no idea where to begin the job search. This is the nature of adult attention deficit (ADD/ADHD). I can easily flounder around and piss the day away, simply because my mind is like scattered marbles.

I thought that maybe I should write the convents and see if they might have any openings. Maybe I could do PR for them, churn out press releases. I'll do anything for free housing and a meal. It's not the money; it is the structure and a sense of worth. The bottom line of being pink-slipped is this: "You are no longer needed anymore. Thank you very much for your services."

In desperation, I've turned to any aid available, including my 60-year-old date. I told myself I would turn a cold shoulder to him as a romantic prospect, but in this dismal winter I am tempted to just accept the favors. I am anxious for some kind of stability.

I told a friend today that I find this economic crisis an insult to the well-educated middle class. I am too poor to qualify for section 8 housing or food stamps, too qualified for the $12-an-hour jobs, and too poor to ride out the storm with the trust fund. When I interview, I am told that there are no positions, but what about volunteering, they ask.

There is a crazy ring to my laugh now when I receive the volunteer schpeal, but then again, volunteer work fills the loneliness, the heartache. It may very well allow me to briefly forget the current predicament, which even follows me to sleep. The convent doesn't look so bad after all.

Love Recession

Adult ADHD, trouble sleeping, winter blues. There are no excuses, and, sometimes, you have to stick to your gut.

I think I am slumping into a bad case of the jobless blues. I struggle to get up, and have been getting to bed rather late. Maybe it's the whole living with adult attention deficit thing again (ADD/ADHD). Trouble going to bed, trouble putting boundaries in my life. I don't know, but it doesn't feel right anymore.

The 60-year-old lawyer, who has a romantic liking for me, continues his chase, and it's making me feel uncomfortable. I don't see him that way. Last night at a dinner date with his "friends," he asked me why I was so nervous around him. He knows why—people always know why, so why do they need to ask?

It isn't just the 26-year age gap. It's that I don't see myself sleeping with him. I do not want to see him naked. I feel like I always end up in sticky situations where I am caught between a man I don't want and survival. He can treat me to meals and give me contacts for potential job opportunities. But at the end of the day, how realistic and healthy is this?

And what does that say if I am maintaining a relationship with a man simply for these things? My intuition tells me to stop over-analyzing details, as they say adults with ADHD are apt to do, and just focus on the positives instead. I just don't see myself with him.

I want to do what is right, and it is so hard. He looked at me after the meal, and said he just didn't want me to be nervous around him. Well, it's too late for that. He said if I want to be friends, we can be friends, but I captured a slight change in his tone.

I captured a change in character as well. I am sure that he finds me attractive and interesting, but I'm not at the point to settle, to "hang in there" with a partner who doesn't really leave me happy and fulfilled. And for god's sake, he is 26 years older than me, and I don't find him that attractive. Is anything in life fair?

Jobless, and Slipping From Reality

Being laid off means entering a new world and starting over. Is this how ordinary people—with or without adult ADHD—live?

The weather in the Big Apple reminds me of my days in New York’s rustbelt. The 24 inches of snow and the blanket of depression that came with it. I’m sorry that I can’t be more chipper. I’ve never been diagnosed with a terminal disease (knock on wood), and indeed the diagnosis of adult attention deficit disorder is not hopeless. I know, wasted time, wasted energy, but this is how I feel.

I blame the physical symptoms on stress. I’m tired, my muscles ache. I’ve lost the ability to swallow pills. With the nerves on red alert, I’m drinking two bottles of Gatorade to get a Nyquil capsule down. What’s the deal?

I went to the hospital yesterday to get a physical for a volunteer gig. I used to be scared of needles, but the pinch of getting blood drawn and a TB shot no longer fazes me. The pain doesn’t compare to the emotional roller coaster of unemployment and the ADD/ADHD left untreated. No health insurance, no low-cost Adderall, not even a generic version of a stimulant medication.

Afterward I left for Queens to look at an apartment, a downsized version of what I’ve grown accustomed to on the Upper East Side. Between the #7 train and the mosh-pit packed streets of Main Street in Flushing, it hit me that New York is a tough city to be unemployed. To get from point A to B—point B, a hole in the wall that rents for $570—I need to take two trains and two buses, and walk up and down the bowels of the subway.

The landlord was a middle-aged guy who asked me what I was doing for work. I said I am exploring new career directions. This, along with "freelance” and “consultant," means I don’t have a job.

He said the fellow renters included a Spanish guy who works at a bakery and studies ESL at night, and a young Chinese couple who work at a restaurant. Is this how ordinary people survive? He seemed stunned when I said I have a degree from Columbia. I too wondered how I landed in the predicament of looking here for a place to live.

By the time I left, I felt the knot in the throat return. I am the victim of my own idealism. I stayed in the industry too long, and never knew when or how to switch careers. Sometimes the person who backs out of the dead-end street first is the one who survives.

”Why do bad things happen to good people?” I asked my Bible-banger friend.

“God is not punishing you. He is seeing how strong one of his flock is. You may be hurt, but you are strong and you have the entire flock close to you,” he said.

I want to believe it, but I’m not sure I can stomach much more.

Online Dating and the ADD Buddy System

I made the most of being jobless in January. Dated, drafted a resume, and partnered with a woman who has ADHD.

I'm lucky. In my newly laid-off life, I am still getting dates. I've been asked out by a string of guys who I've met or kept in contact with from the Internet dating days. I've been rather enjoying the free meals and the company. It breaks up the monotony of the day—which would otherwise be spent sleeping in late, worrying about health insurance for the attention deficit disorder medication (ADD/ADHD), and briefing the boss, aka the Dad, on the jobs I’ve applied to.

The latest guy was the wealthy lawyer with a big ego. We shared sushi and laughs. He has a wry sense of humor, a bit of a potty mouth. I feel inadequate next to him though. I am overshadowed by his undergrad Ivy League status and this Alpha job that he has.

Two weeks ago though, I took a great leap forward and paired up with this girl from the ADHD support group I attended a year ago. The guinea pig group.

The new ADHD buddy—who I will call Sarah—is around my age, early 30s, an artist, like me, and after the New Year, she decided that she wanted to give the ADHD buddy system a go. I say this with a bit of sarcasm because I've had fitness buddies before and made a million New Year’s resolutions, only to find that each one fizzles as quickly as the idea emerges.

Sarah and I made a pact that we would meet or connect once a week, compare weekly goals with each other, and give each other affirmations. We met for coffee the first time and ended up spending two hours covering ground from our shaky confidences to our penchant for dating bad boys (or men who are stimulating).

I told her about this book, A.D.D and Romance book that I found at the Barnes and Nobles. It is by Jonathan Scott Halverstadt, and how I thought it pretty much describes all of the roadblocks that ADDers face with Cupid—a need for constant stimulation, lack of impulse control, inattention to detail...the laundry list runs on.

Today, Sarah and I connected by phone, and I told her that in the past two weeks I'd taken a few steps forward and a few steps back. I completed a solid draft of a resume for the job hunt, and I found an ace CV writer in the case that my own resume doesn't work. I took a few steps back because I continue to sleep in, and continue in my night-owl mode.

On the bright side, I said, I retain a sharp sense of humor. On the date Friday night, I made the pompous lawyer laugh when I told him about my pelican story.

The pelican story goes like this: I will be swimming a marathon swim in Florida come April with a relay partner. The partner shared a story about a woman who did the swim last year, but suffered 300 stitches on her face after a pelican mistook her for a fish and dove on her face. I suggested to the partner that one of us should have a warning signal for the other, in case we saw a pelican come our way, or perhaps bring along a gun and shoot the bird if it did a nose dive on us. "I can't do that," the partner said. "It is illegal to shoot a pelican." The lawyer loves the wit. (Not every social gathering is a success, of course. Read these tips on how to stop impulsive speech and unwelcome spontaneity.)

There is something a bit loopy and offbeat about the ADD sense of humor. At one point he told me about a restaurant called "Canyon Ranch," and I remembered it as "Cactus Ranch." "Hey that's not a bad name either," he said.

"It sounds like the title for a horror movie," I quipped. He burst into laughter. "It's brilliant," he said. Sometimes the brilliance shines through.