Adult ADHD Blog

Archives: April 2009

Lessons from a Toxic Friend

Increasingly, and in my typical ADHD fashion, I saw a pattern that I was falling for people—friends, bosses, and potential suitors—who ordered me around and treated me like a child.

Continuing on part one, my blog post from Monday:

We had moments ago finished the 24-miler, and my swim partner, (the Ph.D. to my ADHD), left me. Just like that. I wanted to ask him about the race, about our performance. Instead, I celebrated with other swimmers and my home-stay hosts.

The swim partner is one of the few people who I have told about my diagnosis of attention deficit disorder. He knows a lot about me, so I've always felt naked and vulnerable before him.

Relationships and friendships are a bit like a dish. Sometimes you taste one, and maybe it’s the color, the day, or the company you are with that leaves a good or bad impression. I admired and respected everything about the partner, except what seemed like a lack of heart. The mind does not easily forget.

So the next day I wrote to him. I hemmed and hawed about it, but did it anyway, and what I got back made me sad. I certainly did not want a friendship to come so abruptly to an end. Should I apologize? Am I hypersensitive? Friends say to leave it alone and move on.

The future does not exist—this comes as second nature to those who share my condition—but, you see, the past does. And I find myself mourning because, ADHD or not, I am only human.

Here it is.

....

Hi Jane,
Thanks for your thoughts on Saturday's swim. I honestly believe you should be commended for your effort and achievement this weekend. It was a long swim, made only more challenging by nature's elements. Through it all, you stuck through and pleasantly surprised me.

Given the elements on the bay (e.g. chop on the water and tide), the sheer joy of completing the last leg of the swim precluded any selfless notion of sharing the moment with you at the same time. And for that, I'm truly sorry. Also, I apologize for not counting your swim strokes. Frankly, I have learned that the number of strokes one swims per minute does not necessarily equate to a certain "success" or "failure." It's what you do under water that makes the difference.

Here are approximate times spent in the water on Saturday (they should not be used to gauge actual distance):

And with the close of this email I thank you for joining me for the Tampa Bay Marathon Swim this year. I believe the time is right for both of us to part ways now, and I wish you every success in all your future endeavors.

Goodbye, Jane,
Mr. Ph.D.

....

Hi Mr. Ph.D.,
I hope that you had a nice flight back and got some rest from the long race. I want to thank your mother again for her hospitality (the shrimp pasta meal was a perfect pre-race meal), and I really appreciate your help with the transportation and that trip to Publix :-) To be sure, I was happy that we finished under such rough conditions. It is an accomplishment for both of us. What do you think of the swim?

That said, I tried my best and gave the swim my all but also felt empty and kind of hurt afterwards. It is an overall feeling in the aftermath of it all. Being that this is a team effort, it would have been nice if you had waited for me to get into the water and cross the finish line too. I was happy to save the last leg for you, and made sure that the Snickers bars were not totally consumed by the boater's girlfriend. I recorded an estimate of your strokes per minute, and I understood that you would do the same too. In the big picture, these details are seemingly small and I know that one should not have expectations of others, but it would be dishonest to not share how I feel.

Also I've said this to most friends before and may have forgotten to mention it to you, but please don't text me if I call, since it's hard for me to text entire conversations and messages, and my phone isn't equipped for that :-( I have always honored your preference for communication, and trust that you'll do the same :-)

That said, I did have fun and I strongly believe that two is usually better than one, especially in rough waters! It was a worthwhile swim and well deserved since you swam 8-plus hours of it.

Best,
Jane

....

In the meantime I celebrate my completion of the race and the sweet taste of success and follow through, things that seemed all but unreachable since the layoff. This much the partner has taught me—the importance of focus and sticking with it.

At the Finish Line. What Now?

Adults with ADHD know to celebrate every accomplishment. Well, I crossed the finish line, literally and figuratively.

I know that, for the past several months, I've been a bit of a wet towel, a sour puss, writing constantly about what is wrong with my life, and what is wrong with me. But here now is a turn of sorts.

I have been in Gatorland, aka Florida, for the past week, soaking up the sun. I arrived to swim a 24-mile race as a two-person relay with the Type A Ph.D. friend, who I had a serious crush on. It started with a dialogue last September, and with the hope that this partnership would bring us closer. Instead it did just the opposite.

I increasingly felt as if I were partnering with my harshest critic. It ate into my self-confidence. He graded me on my workouts, and he seemed rather cold in telling me what I should and should not do. As an adult with attention deficit disorder, I've been attracted to people who "tell it as it is," since I seem to lack the common sense that most adults without ADHD have. (And, frankly, Mr. Ph.D. had all of the things that I lacked.) But I'd already signed up and paid for the swim, so in many ways I had to do it.

The partner and I braved rough waves and conditions and almost did not finish. We swam for 13 hours and 25 minutes, starting in the dark and ending in the dark. But the event seemed soured by his coldness. I had saved the last leg of the race for him, and knew that this might be his last race.

And yet he did not wait for me to climb into the water as he dashed onto shore and to the cheer of the crowds. Even then he did not say, "Good job, good effort, nice swim." He was as quiet as a sphinx and went up to the bar grill to meet his family and relatives. And in sitting there he turned his shoulder to me.

There was a time when I would not have spoken up, and in some ways I still wonder if I should have early on. This time, however, things would take a very different turn. Stay tuned for part two.

Dressing Down the ADDer

Say what you will about people with ADHD, young and old. But in times of adversity, we can still always kill them with kindness.

I spoke with my Type A Ph.D. friend again, my swim partner for the upcoming open-water swimming relay race—and, frankly, every conversation with him is critical or depressing. Maybe this is just the way he is, but he must have very low self-esteem if he feels a need to lecture me.

When will the non ADHD folks learn that droning lectures and speeches don’t work for people battling their attention deficits? Offer advice, lend a helping hand, sure, but if you’re going to treat us poorly, we will drift off and tune you out, intentionally.

The bottom line is Mr. Type A thinks I should leave New York. I am not suited for the city. It is too crazy and competitive for me. The market is not viable. The journalism profession is dead. Why would I want to stay in it. Why don't I leave the city to do other things. Why don't I try my hand at radio or video or TV and forget about seeking things I may never get.

This is a guy that is all head and little heart. Yes, Type A is practical, but I beg to differ because, well, the truth hurts. I like life-guarding here in NYC. He does not understand that I will always return, that I am a city girl, but he says that he is just being practical. Really Meanwhile, I've been kind enough to not tell him what others think of him.

And so it is with people with ADHD: the second-guessing. I am always questioning if I should be the one confessing and apologizing when, in fact, there are others with issues, too. I just may be more obvious about it.

I contemplated his answer and then asked him a funny question: “In the two years you’ve known me, when did I seem the happiest?” and then, “No, no. Forget it, it’s too broad a question.”

He stopped me. “Let me think, I have an answer for it.... The fall of 2007 to the winter of that year, you seemed happiest. Since then you’ve seemed more sarcastic and cynical, and, well, it took a tumble after the economy collapsed.”

I didn’t respond to that. I didn't feel like I should apologize, but rather tackle the issue head on. Maybe he’s right in some way. I need to go elsewhere to gain sanity and a sense of peace, and leave this behind. Stay tuned....

ADHD and the Fear Factor

Each and every day, I am in constant fear that these symptoms of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder will cost me my job. It's happened before.

The symptoms of adult ADHD are back again, fighting the clock, being late. Last night the two roommates and I drank wine and made a toast to the belated birthday of the one who just turned 30. Thirty sounds so young now. I can say this as I inch towards 35.

I recall a passage in Peggy Noonan’s book, What I Saw at the Revolution, where she wrote about experiencing "poorism" in her childhood. One example is this: For a child, homemade popsicles frozen from Hawaiian Punch may sound delicious and fun, but really it’s the romanticizing of it, thanks to the creativity of a parent or guardian. I see this in this new chapter of my life with these two roommates.

Some things don't change though, like the challenges in getting to work on time—despite having much of the morning to myself. Today for instance I ended up winging it with a cabbie, only he took a wrong turn and we landed in traffic. I sweated bullets as we waited. Then, with three minutes remaining, I called the boss and told him I would be late. There was a sigh. Now he'd have to get in the pool with the kids, and start the class for me, he said, his voice lined with annoyance.

What is wrong with me? If I trick myself and set a false time, would I be able to make it? Probably not. In the back of my mind I always fear getting pink-slipped or reprimanded. I've almost become used to it. I was lucky in that the kids had a great time this morning, and simply loved to play. The four-year-olds can always make my day with their smiles and laughter.

The boss and I then chatted for a while about his upcoming trip away. I will run the pool for a week on my own, and the feeling is both frightening and liberating. I vow that I will be on time—something seemingly small but huge in the ADD world.

Can I Get a Dating Do-Over?

Coping with a breakup is never easy, but neither is getting involved with an attention-deficit adult.

The Italian Stallion and I broke up. He was one of the promising guys, but it was a failed romance. I’ll be the first to tell you, nothing is easy about dating a woman with attention deficit disorder. We are (okay, I am) chronically late, prone to overreact, and poor at listening. Dating an ADDer is just not for everyone.

While most women wouldn’t take it personally, I do, because I am usually left wondering whether the derailment was due to my behavior. Was I too impatient? Had I finished off too many of his sentences?

Except this time, I do know. Feedback from the Italian Stallion proves it. The night of the breakup, he told me he didn’t like that I did not listen and that I always interrupted him. I replied that we were not compatible and blew him off after that. He didn’t chase after me.

I cried and called Shona, my fellow ADHD friend who I had met at one of the guinea pig meetings about a year ago. Since the meetup, she and I have turned to each other for support in rough times like this.

“You need to let it go. If someone truly loves you, they will accept you for who you are. They may think your scattered brain is cute and quirky, or that your leaving the keys in the refrigerator is cute,” Shona says. “You’re too hard on yourself. Give yourself credit for surviving the storm so far.” She’s right.

I’m realizing that this is an destructive pattern I need to break—this is a train wreck approaching, but how do I stop it?

Tax Season for ADHD Adults: What Can Go Wrong?

Run late. Put it off. Start and don't finish. Lose the forms. Forget to mail. Anything that can possibly go wrong for the ADHD filer, does.

It’s April 15, tax deadline day. I haven’t forgotten or left this task half-finished. Rather I am reminded of my attention deficit disorder (ADD/ADHD) when tax season rolls around. The mess of W2 forms, the 1099 forms, the bank statements: all indications of how deep my procrastination runs.

Indeed, tax season has been hanging over my head like a bell jar for the past two months. The father started the reminder around Christmas, saying, “Don't forget that taxes are soon." Then there are the second and third reminders, and finally I feel the pressure when I flip the calendar from March to April.

Yesterday morning I finally took the train back to the family's home in the 'burbs, because it is there that I know that doing my taxes finally needs to happen. I have the tax forms with me, the calculator, the pencil, all of the tools necessary to battle the taxes. To be clear, this is a task I consider more unpleasant than a root canal.

After lunch with the father, stepmother, and sister, I finally tackled the mound of paper. There were forms everywhere, and there were holes everywhere. Missing bank statements, missing invoices.

The father stood behind me as I waited on hold for a phone banker to save me from my predicament. Clearly he had a lecture hanging at the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it and stayed quiet. Why did I not get the information earlier, why couldn't I remember if I had contributed to a Roth IRA? I could not remember.

The father reminded me to please pay attention to details this year, since I forgot to sign the forms last year. I wanted to burst into tears from the frustration, but in the end I let out a laugh. "It's a good thing I don't work for H&R Block," I said. I cracked the tension briefly before taking the plunge.

The Best ADHD Traits

I am told it gets better: teaching kids, the stock market, the economic cycles, and even love. I have a tough time believing it, but that doesn’t mean I'll stop trying.

I am stubborn. This has always been a trait of mine, a very positive ADD trait. I don't give up easily, and—like many other adults with attention deficit disorder I know—when I have a passion, I go for it.

Despite losing my voice and fighting a cold, I decided to go to work on Monday. I was going to call out sick, but instead I called in late. (I had slept in, trying to fight off the strep throat with over-the-counter drugs and vitamins.) The one thing I am good at? Perfect attendance. That much I can bring to the table.

One of the hardest things about being scattered is that I know that I have all the ability in the world. Yet, without structure, I am toast and continue to sit on the fence.

Despite the struggle to cope with ADHD symptoms and to find a job, I have not lost my passion for helping others. I want to help these kids learn. When I worked under the She-Boss (not to mention the litany of bosses before her), I never felt adequate. Now, to some extent, I do. The pay cut, I think, may well be worth it. Maybe in this transition, I will slowly but steadily gain confidence back.

Scattered in the Pool

The job and my life are like Groundhog Day. The toxic thinking, that old feeling of being a failure: It’s creeping up.

I never thought that I would be surrounded with people whose attention spans are worse than mine until I began working with three- to six-year-olds at the pool, where I've been relegated to earning my survival money.

On the job, I am forced to deal with screaming, tantrums, and an audience that reminds me of the monkeys that I feared when I was a girl and went to the zoo. Lately, I tend to daydream. Other adults with attention deficit disorder (ADHD) have been there, out of boredom and lack of focus, perhaps.

In daydreaming, my mind slips into life before the layoff. I would be under the wrath of a tough-as-nails editor, who would IM me notes, like "What's the deal?" or "Where's the bacon?" and send me Don Rickel-style one-liners ("The early bird gets the word") to whip me in shape. The "look" and cold shoulder worked. I shaped up. Little did I know that little kids don't respond to the threats.

I should say, in all fairness, most of these children suffer from what I have: major attention-deficit problems. They are dummies when it comes to listening and taking a step back.

I blow the whistle and all heads turn. It captures their attention for a split second. I raise my hands and ask them what "shhhh" means. I am tempted to tell them to "shut the hell up." They are asking questions as I give out instructions, and I am talking over them. Somehow they are an odd reflection of me. How many times have I conversation-crashed?

I jokingly boast that I have a colorful life. But I'd rather have a stable life and live the life of my peers – whose developmental phases match that of the sociologists' Bibles – rather than the convoluted kaleidoscope of my existence. I know the economy sucks in general but with ADD as an umbrella, it is a fate that follows me in good and bad times.

ADHD Sleep Deprivation

When you're an unemployed adult with attention deficit disorder, any efforts to reinvent yourself are never that simple.

It is 2 a.m. and I am sleepless. I wonder if it’s the post-swimming dinner of Argentinean empanadas, courtesy of a good friend—or if it is the worry over the taxes, the symptoms of adult attention deficit disorder (ADD/ADHD), and the life search that looms over me, day and night.

In the past two weeks, I learned that two former colleagues, part of the layoff entourage, have found work in our field again. I wonder if they beat me to the punch because they were more focused on the job search.

There is a line in the movie Revolutionary Road that sticks with me. Leonardo DiCaprio’s character wrestles over whether to take a promotion versus searching for what he really wants to do. “What you have, what you need, what you can do without, that’s inventory control,” says the tortured DiCaprio.

And that is what I struggle with, too: inventory control. Right now things are slightly above water, but there is the feeling that another wave of storm is approaching. I am bracing myself for the worst.

There are plenty of days when I don’t want to surface from sleep and only want to sink deeper into the sheets. I battle not only the layoff, but also the questions and challenges that come with having ADHD and being laid off. My confidence, already as fragile as a china glass bowl, has been shattered.

The one thing that has changed is that I have been dating more. I have decided that in good times and bad, one needs love and a sense of being loved—even if the feelings are false. I continue to juggle a trio of men, two of them potential husbands.

One is the Intellectual, a fellow in his mid 40s, an Ivy League graduate who is unhappy with his job, and keeps texting me about vacationing in a hotel in New York for a night.

The other is the Italian Stallion, who I met via an online dating service in late December. Dating is indeed an escape from the reality that I now face.

I'm an ADHD Lifetime Original Movie

My life might be ideal television for the attention-impaired, but for the rest of you: Watching me on TV may lead to an increased risk for ADHD.

My very odd relationship with the 60-year-old suitor makes me think about my diagnosis of attention deficit disorder (adult ADHD). Am I insecure, are my poor relationship choices due to low self-esteem from ADD—or do I just like old men? I joked with another friend that when we walk down the street, some passerby might mistake me for being his caretaker, or “live-in companion.” The father says my search for the “daddy” comes from a broken childhood.

The old fox certainly has put up with a lot of my crap though. I think back to the day when I arrived at the wrong airport. It didn’t just end there. I had ordered lunch at McDonald’s—iced coffee and two chicken wraps. I swiftly grabbed the iced coffee and ran through the terminal to the gate only to forget the rest of the lunch. It is funny yet scary. When I told a friend about my predicament, she said that my life sounded like a “Lifetime Special" or reality TV.

Okay, onto the roommate report...

The new roommates and I have some things in common. One is Colombian (I’ll call her Marie), a cute girl in her late 20s looking to get her masters in environmental architecture. The other is a native Southerner, “Abby,” early 30s maybe, tall and lanky like a runway model, a single mom of a little boy. The father gets the boy on weekends.

At times our conversations sound more like plotting an escape from poorism. There was the chat about the food stamps, and it started when I mentioned a journalist friend who applied for food stamps. The next thing I know, Abby applies for stamps and gets $300 a month. We are living on the rich, and drinking the poor girl's pina colada (pineapple, shards of old fruit, coconut milk, a bit of rum).

In some ways the makeshift lives we have feel liberating, because at least it is our own. It is better to work together and be together on a journey than to acquire an AARP guy.