Rewriting the narrative in four letters
Nov. 21st, 2014 10:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
slipjig3Monday morning was my second appointment with the new therapist, which looks like it'll work out well: comfortable rapport, a good active listener, walking distance from home, health insurance-friendly (thank gods). We were going through hour 2 of a lengthy background info-gathering process, rifling through family health and sexual history and all that, until we hit the let's-stop-there moment. It was then that she said what I'd come to hear, slipping it into conversation almost casually: "By the way, I'm diagnosing you with ADHD."
And there it was. I was waiting for it, hoping for it. I'd come in both that day and the previous week firing the brightest thought-rays I could: "Please hear me on this." She heard me. She heard![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rain_herself, who had filled out a questionnaire about her observations of me that confirmed what my therapist had pretty much already decided. The ADHD diagnosis was expected, and nothing I wasn't already pretty damned sure of by that point.
It changes everything. Everything.
There's a tradition of jokes in our culture about dating a shrink, and why you shouldn't. There are benefits, though, to being partnered with a student of psychology, someone who gets to see all your habits and tendencies in vivid detail and start to piece them together. The things that have aggravated and angered Andrea over the years are the same things that have aggravated and angered other partners and relatives and friends and coworkers and teachers over the years: the forgetfulness, the lack of attention, the flakiness. And yes, she'd get angry, but somewhere in that anger she'd ask, "Why?" Why didn't you pay that bill even though you had the money? Why did you do this part of the task but not these parts? Why did you stop listening when I was telling that story that was important to me? Why has the mess been accumulating in your car even though you hate living in squalor?
She wasn't the first to ask "Why?" I'd been asked thousands of times before, and I'd loathed every iteration, because the answer was almost always, "I don't know." Well and truly, I didn't know. And if I'd try to talk out the answer, it invariably came out as a weird rationalization that made no sense even to me. What Andrea did, though, was chase it down, ask follow-up questions, insist without judgement that we keep looking. There's always a reason, even if you don't know what it is. And it was in these follow-ups that I actually sat down and considered what it feels like to forget, and realized that it's really as simple as the thought being there one minute and gone the next. The reason I'd think, "Oh, I should do X" and then not do X was that there was no path in my head between should-do and actually doing. "I should do X" is born and dies in the same moment, never connecting to Step 2. The focus and the connecting thought Just. Aren't. There.
To the best of my recollection, she was the first to seriously suggest ADHD (shocking, considering that I can trace this stuff at least back to second grade), and the more we discussed it, the more I thought she was onto something. There's medication for that, of course, which I thought was worthy of discussion as well. But I didn't act on any of this no matter how often we discussed it (because, well, see above about focus and moving onto Step 2), and I think I might have eventually shrugged it off indefinitely if she hadn't asked me a question one day: "Can you imagine what it would be like to not have to live with this anymore?"
I didn't expect my reaction to that. I started sobbing, uncontrollably, face in my hands, shoulders shaking. I hadn't realized how exhausting it was trying to stay on the path, any path. We're talking about a growth with tendrils in every part of my life: Every class I ever failed or almost failed for failure to turn in assignments. Every job hunt that took months longer than it had to because I couldn't keep up with it without homelessness looming overhead to drive me. Every traffic accident that happened when I wasn't watching the road. Every lover that got hurt because I wasn't putting in the amount of attention that was needed of me. Every time my kids missed me even though I was right there. Every bill that went unpaid. Every letter that went unwritten. Every project that went unfinished. Every good thing I ever drifted away from. All of it. And I could have just taken a damn pill.
It seems absurdly obvious, looking at it now. I can't help but think that is was obvious to everyone except me, that everyone reading this is shouting, "Well, DUH" at their monitors in unison, that people have tried to tell me time and time again and I've forgotten every time because every epiphany has to come in four or five rotations before it sticks. But do you know what it's like to have a litany of things that you hate about yourself, things that make you look around and wonder what the hell went wrong, and then one day be told by people who love you and people you've never met alike that there's a reason, and it doesn't have to be this way? Like I said, it changes everything.
Everything.
So now I'm back in therapy, and we're talking about what needs to happen to get me on meds, a process that'll involve more hoops and more waiting. It's been a struggle to get to this point even after all the wake-up calls, and continues to be one—the most sadistic thing you can do to someone with focus problems is make them navigate the US mental health care system. But I'm moving forward, a bit at a time. I have no idea what drugs they'll be prescribing first, or what effects those drugs will have, positive or negative. I sometimes worry that I'm piling too much hope on medication to fix things (maybe I can finally start reading novels!), or that I'm setting myself up for disappointment. But goddamn, just getting the chance to rewrite myself? It comes with the sort of hope that even my perpetual layer of goofy optimism hasn't touched before.
Cross your fingers. I'm crossing mine. It'll be a pleasure to meet you.
And there it was. I was waiting for it, hoping for it. I'd come in both that day and the previous week firing the brightest thought-rays I could: "Please hear me on this." She heard me. She heard
rain_herself, who had filled out a questionnaire about her observations of me that confirmed what my therapist had pretty much already decided. The ADHD diagnosis was expected, and nothing I wasn't already pretty damned sure of by that point.It changes everything. Everything.
There's a tradition of jokes in our culture about dating a shrink, and why you shouldn't. There are benefits, though, to being partnered with a student of psychology, someone who gets to see all your habits and tendencies in vivid detail and start to piece them together. The things that have aggravated and angered Andrea over the years are the same things that have aggravated and angered other partners and relatives and friends and coworkers and teachers over the years: the forgetfulness, the lack of attention, the flakiness. And yes, she'd get angry, but somewhere in that anger she'd ask, "Why?" Why didn't you pay that bill even though you had the money? Why did you do this part of the task but not these parts? Why did you stop listening when I was telling that story that was important to me? Why has the mess been accumulating in your car even though you hate living in squalor?
She wasn't the first to ask "Why?" I'd been asked thousands of times before, and I'd loathed every iteration, because the answer was almost always, "I don't know." Well and truly, I didn't know. And if I'd try to talk out the answer, it invariably came out as a weird rationalization that made no sense even to me. What Andrea did, though, was chase it down, ask follow-up questions, insist without judgement that we keep looking. There's always a reason, even if you don't know what it is. And it was in these follow-ups that I actually sat down and considered what it feels like to forget, and realized that it's really as simple as the thought being there one minute and gone the next. The reason I'd think, "Oh, I should do X" and then not do X was that there was no path in my head between should-do and actually doing. "I should do X" is born and dies in the same moment, never connecting to Step 2. The focus and the connecting thought Just. Aren't. There.
To the best of my recollection, she was the first to seriously suggest ADHD (shocking, considering that I can trace this stuff at least back to second grade), and the more we discussed it, the more I thought she was onto something. There's medication for that, of course, which I thought was worthy of discussion as well. But I didn't act on any of this no matter how often we discussed it (because, well, see above about focus and moving onto Step 2), and I think I might have eventually shrugged it off indefinitely if she hadn't asked me a question one day: "Can you imagine what it would be like to not have to live with this anymore?"
I didn't expect my reaction to that. I started sobbing, uncontrollably, face in my hands, shoulders shaking. I hadn't realized how exhausting it was trying to stay on the path, any path. We're talking about a growth with tendrils in every part of my life: Every class I ever failed or almost failed for failure to turn in assignments. Every job hunt that took months longer than it had to because I couldn't keep up with it without homelessness looming overhead to drive me. Every traffic accident that happened when I wasn't watching the road. Every lover that got hurt because I wasn't putting in the amount of attention that was needed of me. Every time my kids missed me even though I was right there. Every bill that went unpaid. Every letter that went unwritten. Every project that went unfinished. Every good thing I ever drifted away from. All of it. And I could have just taken a damn pill.
It seems absurdly obvious, looking at it now. I can't help but think that is was obvious to everyone except me, that everyone reading this is shouting, "Well, DUH" at their monitors in unison, that people have tried to tell me time and time again and I've forgotten every time because every epiphany has to come in four or five rotations before it sticks. But do you know what it's like to have a litany of things that you hate about yourself, things that make you look around and wonder what the hell went wrong, and then one day be told by people who love you and people you've never met alike that there's a reason, and it doesn't have to be this way? Like I said, it changes everything.
Everything.
So now I'm back in therapy, and we're talking about what needs to happen to get me on meds, a process that'll involve more hoops and more waiting. It's been a struggle to get to this point even after all the wake-up calls, and continues to be one—the most sadistic thing you can do to someone with focus problems is make them navigate the US mental health care system. But I'm moving forward, a bit at a time. I have no idea what drugs they'll be prescribing first, or what effects those drugs will have, positive or negative. I sometimes worry that I'm piling too much hope on medication to fix things (maybe I can finally start reading novels!), or that I'm setting myself up for disappointment. But goddamn, just getting the chance to rewrite myself? It comes with the sort of hope that even my perpetual layer of goofy optimism hasn't touched before.
Cross your fingers. I'm crossing mine. It'll be a pleasure to meet you.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2014-11-21 03:40 pm (UTC)My therapist diagnosed me with ADHD as well. But my psychdoc wouldn't put me on meds, because it might cause my bipolar to jump out of control. I sincerely hope you are able to find something that helps you.
(no subject)
Date: 2014-11-21 04:44 pm (UTC)Best of luck with the continued navigation of all things medical and paperwork-y. Aie. But I hope it works out very well in the end! :)
(no subject)
Date: 2014-11-21 05:56 pm (UTC)This. A thousand times this.
*Fingers crossed* and wishing you the best possible outcome. *Big Hugs*
(no subject)
Date: 2014-11-21 07:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2014-11-22 12:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2014-11-22 05:37 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2014-11-23 09:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2014-11-24 06:33 pm (UTC)I highly recommend these websites:
www.adhdmarriage.com
www.additudemag.com
It's so important to uncover new ways to improve our relationships as we grow to understand each other!!
I've learned that lifestyle and time-management habits are incredibly important for managing ADHD. Eating regularly, with good food that includes protein... Getting a good amount of quality sleep each night... Even regular exercise has been shown to have a positive effect, improving attentiveness and focus.
I have learned many things about supporting people with ADHD-style thinking.... My son has evidently inherited this cognitive style from his Dad, so I'm training him early in keeping daily routines, staying physically active, and eating wholesome food. I want him to avoid the heartache that DH suffered for years, believing he was just lazy or defective.
(no subject)
Date: 2014-11-24 07:02 pm (UTC)I was diagnosed with Inattentive-Type ADHD a few years ago, and while taking the meds hasn't solved everything it has made a big difference. To use your image of a path between should-do and doing, the meds don't make the path for me. But they make it easier for me to make the path myself.
(Minor edit for clarity.)
(no subject)
Date: 2014-11-26 02:25 pm (UTC)One thing, though...I thought you were already diagnosed with ADHD? And that you took Concerta for it? Or am I thinking of one of your kids?