Life Inside My Brain

Think particle accelerator meets Bugs Bunny

At the suggestion of my therapist friend, I went searching for an ADHD diagnosis. Think Diogenes only on a search for a hyper man. Or in my case, a hyper woman.

“I think you may have ADHD,” she said. I laughed. The longtime joke in my family was that my was-band contributed the ADD to my kids, but I added the H.

Now she’s suggesting the rest of the letters? Seriously now! I wrote a short BOOK on ADHD, fer-cryin’-out-loud and am well familiar with the diagnostic criteria.

For most of my life, I wake up spring loaded with clouds of thoughts so dense and numerous, my brain often feels hurricane-force winds.

But, hey! I am an organizer! Not one of those ADHD’ers — always late and disorganized. I’m not a knee jiggler, nor an impulsive decision maker. Those tendencies may have been there, but I suspect Sister Catherine Ann, a battle axe in a wimple, whipped those tendencies into submission in 2nd grade. (My hyperactive/class clown ass was dragged to the principal’s office a time or two.)

My 3rd grade teacher noted on my report card, “Theresa has a hard time taking things seriously.” What a killjoy. I found the comment hilarious.

These are some of the breadcrumbs, hell, there’s full loaves on this path, as I reflect upon the possibility of ADHD.

I consider the different stages of my life.

As a young adult, I distinguished myself academically by dropping out of four different universities. I managed to earning a practical nursing diploma. I wanted to drop out of that too, but the uniform was cute and I felt important with a stethoscope around my neck, so I hung in there.

Other observations surface. Read four books at a time? Yes, please. Rearrange furniture in the wee hours of the morning. Guilty. And my poor then-husband. I went through one spell where he never knew what color the kitchen wall might be when he got home from work.

Sit through a TV program? (Insert maniacal laughter here.) Before I’m 30 minutes into a movie, I’ve looked up the actor bios, pondered their childhoods and made fun discoveries.

Oh look! He speaks Greek! Let’s take a tour of Greece! Awwwwww, this actor supports a kitty rescue! Let’s read about spay and neuter programs. Does that nonprofit have a good rating with Charity Navigator? What? Only 50% of their funds actually go to the purchase of kitty litter?

Meanwhile, I’ve lost the key plot, but that’s okay because now I’m admiring the cute dress the main character-or is it the main character? -is wearing. Now I’m on Amazon to see if I can find it.

Jesus, help me!

I admit it: I am f’ing annoying to watch a movie with. Frankly, I annoy myself.

And while my hyper brain, which I never considered hyper because, well, uh, it’s just me, continued to be hyper, there were a few more things unfolding over the years.

Depression and anxiety.

This began creeping into my world in my early 30s. Big surprise given my tumultuous childhood. Those childhood wounds don’t just go quietly into the night.

In and out of therapy I went.

A typical day for me went something like this.

The morning: OH BOY! A brand-new day! I have more ambition than should be allowed a person! Let’s look at the to-do list! (A ridiculously unrealistic list that will mostly be a to-don’t list within a few short hours.) Carpe diem!

Lunch: WHERE did the morning go? Let’s see. I’ve got the paper clips organized and dinner is in the crock-pot. Yay, me. I stared at my blank computer screen for several minutes. Those fun topics aren’t going to write themselves; you know. Maybe I can salvage some of the day. Carpe afternoon?

Oh wait! I have another idea. Let’s Google!

Dinner: I look at my list and there is precisely one item checked off. But I was SOOOOOO busy! Carpe Jack Shit Done.

Now the “you’re such a fuck up” script rolls in my head. I never get anything done. Here we go again. Another month-year-EPOCH, has passed, ffs, and I still haven’t finished the book…launched the coaching program… or gotten even the most basic fluency in Spanish.

Hello, horrid self-talk and depression.

Since my divorce and breast cancer, the anxiety stemming out of this got worse. Waaaaaay worse.

For most of our marriage, my was-band was the main breadwinner. My earning contributions were supplemental and the results of short bursts of entrepreneurial efforts. But nothing ever lasted and grew to the success I believe they could have been.

But now, I no longer have the luxury. I must support myself. (Cue to this script: Oh my god, I’m going to end up on the street and die alone under a bridge. Yeah. It’s fun being me.)

No longer can I dabble. And dammit, I KNOW I can make good money in my own business! I even have a track record of happy clients who attest to my organizing and coaching prowess.

So just work on your plan, T. You can do this! I consult with my Trello board. Yep. There’s the plan!

More sputtering starts, fizzled plans and despair.

And these are the musings the ADHD conversation kicked off.

I started reading more books on ADHD. But specific books. Books on ADHD in women, especially postmenopausal women.

My god. They are describing me. As I read and listen, tears flow. I jot notes, highlight the books. I learn depression and anxiety are often masked for ADHD.

I begin to think some daring thoughts. Maybe I’m NOT a fuck up.

Nah, you’re just a lazy ass. My inner snark bats the ball back over the net.

Should I try medication?

A good friend gives me a few of her Adderalls. I stared at them on the counter for several days. Does someone who’s already wound up inside really need to take a STIMULENT? Would my heart explode?

I broke one in half. After 30 minutes, my heart did not explode and I felt some sort of weirdness. What is this strange sensation?

Clarity. Blessed clarity.

The ping-pong balls in my head were still bouncing, but they were bouncing in unison. I didn’t leap up out of my chair because that asshole was running his diesel truck down the street. (The extreme noise sensitivity has been my undoing over the years.)

The drive to work didn’t feel like a Pink Floyd Laser Light show. (Is that even still a thing?)

I monitored my pulse. Totally fine. No racing pulse. Heart still intact.

Just blessed clarity and a sense of peace.

I cried. And then I cried later after the medication wore off because the difference was astounding. I felt like one of those TikTok videos where a deaf toddler gets his first hearing aid and hears his mother’s voice for the same time.

Over the next few days, I experimented with the dose and got curious about how it would affect me with different activities.

Most shocking was the difference doing Zumba. I am a new instructor and struggle mightily with memorizing the choreography. The meds made this a game changer because I could focus.

Writing? OMG. I cranked out 1,000 words without once compulsively checking my email.

Even though I could feel the return of the chaos in my brain after the meds wore off, I could look back on the day’s accomplishment. Instead of going emotionally dark, I was pleased.

Might this be the path out of anxiety and depression? Might this be the path to new confidence and a growing successful business?

Why, yes, I believe so.

I knew I needed to get an official diagnosis. I want Adderral.

This would prove to be another feat of endurance. No small thing for a brain that struggles with focus. The fun was just beginning.

To be continued…

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