Hi. I am fairly certain, like 100 or so-odd percent, that I have ADD. I discovered it wandering around the pop-psy section at the library for (surprise!) depression issues, which have more or less resolved by finding friends, one helpful professional, omega-3's, and some toher strategies, though around this time of year I am a little haunted by my dark winter of several years ago... But back to my story, I was meandering through self-help books, when I noticed a book whose spine read "scattered minds" and thought, hey! I have one of those! I was labeled "turtle" from a very young age for being a dawdler and taking a half hour longer than everyone else to make it home from school. (Too many flowers to smell.) I still dawdle. I have always been absent-minded, a daydreamer, but in a family of daydreamers, it didn't seem so strange. As a matter of fact, my brother with his motor skills troubles and gifted-but-learning-disabled label got all the attention where academics were concerned. Which was okay with me. Besides, I liked school, and so probably hyper-focused on it. Was a perfectionist and a people pleaser too, which probably helped with the ADD, but not with the anxiety. I was a good student, though I realise now that the older I got, the more my learning strategies reflected my attention problems. I slept or daydreamed through most of my classes in university and self taught from classmates notes and texts and managed to pull off good grades from smarts and an impressive capacity to perform under pressure, though always at the very last minute.

Back to my story though. So I picked up the book and flipped through, almost put it back again when I saw what it was about. I don't have ADHD, I thought. I'm not a hyperactive 11 year old boy. And then I started reading.

Whoa.

This is my life. Not just a little. To a tee. Spaciness, hours spent weekly looking for lost items, general chaos, missed appointments, chronic lateness, social weirdness and anxiety, difficulty focusing in so many aspects of life, impulsive shopping, etc. I read some more, and the more I read, the more I identified. And the more I understood.

I guess you could call me high-functioning, though, meaning I have a career that I'm good at partly despite and partly because of my ADD, as a physiotherapist. A disorganised one who sometimes forgets her patients behind a curtain, but is almost always forgiven for her empassioned, dedicated, and conscientious style when it comes to teaching and healing. I have other, parallel careers which I have yet to develop fully, change often due to boredom (all jobs have a two year shelf life), and have always worked in settings that allowed maximum control over my hours and a lot of freedom to do things my own way. 9 to 5 stresses me out beyond coping, and makes me sleep deprived, which helps nothing. Outside work, my life is a gong show. The friends I keep are the real ones. I once had a piece of fabric for curtains sitting on the same chair waiting to be measured and sewn for almost four years. I have lost umpteen wallets, backpacks, keys, bank and credit cards, you name it, I have misplaced it, never to be retrieved. Except for the hundreds of times that it has come back on its own, kindness of strangers, you know.

Okay, get to the point. After this revelation (which I found to be mostly a relief, and an explanation for so much, giving me a chuckle, for as much as my add-ic tendencies are a pain in the ass, they are also (maybe unhealthily) how I define myself, a source of amusement as much as frustration, and up until recently, only mildly debilitating) I pretty much put it on a shelf, except to talk about it to some family members and friends who said - yeah, that makes sense. But what're you gonna do about it. I guess I didn't see it as a problem so much as a set of difficulties that I had always dealt with or compensated for in one way or another, and would continue to do so. I was used to it and comfortable with it.

....

Enter scene: super creative genius with addictive tendencies and serious case of ADHD emphasis on the "H" love-of-my-life. Didn't notice right away that so many of the reasons we connect and understand eachother are related to our ADD attributes. First boyfriend who doesn't get excessively impatient while waiting for me to be ready to leave the house, and who understands my messy apartment, can even find his way around in it, who can rouse me out of my spaciness with his ENERGY, who forgives my lateness (is late himself) is on the same rediculous sleep schedule that is in no way compatible with this society place where we live, is better than I am at losing his stuff (I even find it for him!) and click, click, click. Finally someone who understands me. Doesn't want me to apologize for who I am. On way more levels than our pathological ones, we see eachother, and we are soft, and we let stuff go. We inspire eachother, and gently make fun of eachother's big plans to get organised, and then make big plans together, most of which never get past the drawing board. Credit where due though, on some levels I have never been so together, and some days we are more a help to eachother than a hindrance. Until.....

Enter scene: BABY!!! 9 months ago I gave birth to the most wonderful, beautiful, fantastical, heart-stoppingly gorgeous gift to a mother whom I love more than the whole rest of the world put together.

AND... hubby has gone back to school as he should have 20 years ago to realise his full potential as a teacher (he is a very good one already, but doesn't have the piece of paper to prove it) and I am on maternity leave and we are all stretched to the maximum of our organizational capacities and beyond, and in our couple I am ha!!! the more organized one (though it depends on the life area we are talking about...but especially when it comes to organizing the household and social planning).

The result: me, person who was already having moderate difficulty organizing one person, finds herself (very poorly mind you) trying to organize three!! And though I commend myself every (well almost) day for the efforts and every so often feel like I am moving forward, mostly, the curtains for my son's bedroom are still not made, I have one large junk room that is getting more and more cluttered every week and threatening to take over the rest of the house as I spend most of my day just trying to hold it together, get dressed, get a shower, meet my son's needs, and get out of the house, if only to walk around the block, for the sake of my sanity. Most days I still won't invite anyone I don't feel very comfortable with over for shame, even though it is reasonably clean under the clutter. My to do list is taking up so much mental space that there is no room to accomplish any of the tasks on it, and so they keep multiplying, late fees abound, dust collects, dishes pile up, y'all get the picture. Tailspin situation where only emergency items are accomplished, day to day activities overwhelming us to an unprecedented level of chaos, or so it seems, as my tolerance level for said chaos has dramatically decreased since the birth of my son, and again since he started crawling and putting every bit of paper and ball of dust with a little hair wrapped 'round it in his mouth...

And so I have been reminded of my ADD auto-diagnosis a couple of years ago. sitting on that shelf. metaphorically and literally, and am thinking about now would be the time to do something about this thing, try to regain control of this ship...

But what to do... I am reading and reading so many different techniques and suggestions and know I need more sleep, but how, with a breastfeeding baby and insomnia, and I know I need more help, but cash is limited with mat leave and hubby student, we do what we can, and I know I should adopt this and that and that strategy, but it all feels like someone giving me advice I've already heard, already berated myself to try to implement hundreds of times with little success, except those tricks that work and that are already integrated of course, and it all just feels like more demands, more items for my to do list. And to boot, hubby is stretched to his max also with school and work and daddy-ing, and our systems aren't the same necessarily, and sometimes I come in and screw up his system and he screws up mine, and sometimes understanding = enabling, but we are doing the best we can, and I am so proud of him for doing this and for abstaining from the really harmful stimulants. But Aaack! Which brings me back to my original question: is there any real benefit to getting diagnosed? If I don't want to take medication, and I don't, is there any benefit to going official with this thing? (I hate taking medication, and already have to take some that I don't want to for a kidney problem and with hubby's addictive tendencies we just stay away from all things potentially habit forming sort of reflexively.) Anyway I am just here to vent, really, and express myself in the sort of egocentric long-winded monologue that I almost never get the chance to perform, except for my mom. : ) Thanks Mom. Hope it doesn't sound whiny and negative, just looking for support and understanding, and a place to start, not too many you-should-this, or you-should-that's. I love my family, and I love my life, (it has taken a lot of years to get here) and I want to make sure that we can manage to keep on keeping on... easier to prevent a meltdown than to live through one.

Thanks, in advance. Toodle-oo

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