Depressing Diagnosis

After my dx, I pretty much became an alcoholic! I was so relieved to finally know that I had a disorder, and that I wasn’t just a complete failure at life!! But I quickly spiralled into a depression bc I realized that my ADHD was never gonna go away, that I was never gonna be a productive part of society! That I was forever gonna be just a walking collection of symptoms!! That I was never gonna get that Bachelors degree, never gonna have a real career, never gonna get a fair shot at success bc I am NOT and NEVER gonna be “normal”!
Life is better now though! I embrace my ADHD dx. I have accepted the fact that I am a hunter in a gatherers world. Learned to love myself, just as I am.❤. After all, what other choice do we have??

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The Story Of A Girl

I think I have finally figured out what is wrong with me; not just the ADHD, not just the mild depression symptoms, not even the occasional bout with anxiety, but what is really wrong with me. I believe I have found the reasons for WHY I behave the way I do, WHY I feel the way I do, even WHY I struggle the way I do. Because isn’t that all we really want; an explanation for our shortcomings, a reason for our bad behavior, or maybe just somewhere to place blame. Regardless, an explanation is long overdue. And digging deep into my past, I just may have found one!

Inconsistent doesn’t even begin to describe my up-bringing. To say that I had NO idea what I was walking into, on a daily basis, would be an understatement! Don’t get me wrong; I grew up in a clean, calm, financially sound environment. And everything tangible was good; plenty of food in the fridge, a new car to ride in, and all the playthings I could ever ask for… BUT, emotionally, I was completely and absolutely neglected. At pivotal points in my childhood, where caring, understanding, an nurturing should have been ever-present, I faced loneliness, heartache, and fear. When I was a very young girl, about 3 or 4, I remember all I ever wanted her to do was wake up. My fragile mind just couldn’t understand why she wasn’t like other moms. I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t stay awake for me, I spent my days watching her sleep, and wondering why I wasn’t important enough to her… Deep feelings of loneliness, fear and insecurities began to develop. Extreme bouts of sadness and crying spells became who I was; an innocent, yet very damaged child. I had no one else to care for me, as my only siblings were much, much older. My father was always gone on business trips, or on a golf outing. As an adult, I realize what he was running from.

Believe me, there were good days, and this is where the inconsistencies really show up. On good days, mom was awake. I’d walk in the door from grammar school and there she’d be, awake, alert and wonderful. The mom I always wanted, we’d talk and laugh and go to the local 5 and dime store. I really cherished the good days and I looked forward to them as they were few and far between. Most days, though, she was in her own world. Her escape from reality was a comfort for her, I suppose. And it wasn’t until I was an adult, that I realized her sleepiness was due to benzodiazipine abuse. When she’d use, she’d pass out, and I’d be left all alone. Fear and emotional neglect is what I faced, constantly. I craved companionship with her, I just wanted her to wake up! As she’d snooze, I’d practice taking her earrings in and out of her ears, she wouldn’t even stir. Those were the days when I’d be locked out of the house, crying on the back porch, because she couldn’t hear me knocking. Those were the days when the prescription of pills would run out, now the only way she can cope is to drink. The thing is…. what couldn’t she cope with? In my childs’ mind I knew it must be my fault. Maybe if i could be a really, really good girl, I’d be worth staying awake for. No such luck, her addiction to alcohol and benzos spanned her whole lifetime; absolutely and definitely affecting mine.

Some days, however, she wasn’t there at all. You see, years and years (even before I was born), of benzodiazapine abuse, had caused irreversible damage to my mothers intestines, and every 4-6 weeks she’d be in the hospital for 5 or so days. It was horrible! Those were the days when I’d come home from school and my older sister would be there at my house waiting for me. As, soon as I’d see her, I’d instantaneously feel my throat close up and my eyes start to tear. I just knew her presence meant that my mom was in the hospital, again and that I’d be staying at her house. Even now, it’s hard for me to describe the feelings I had when she was gone. Neglectful, or not, she was my beloved mommy and she was my world. I would be completely devastated each and every time her health drove her to hospitalization and I had to stay at my sisters house. I would sit for hours, just inside the threshold of her house, with my heavy, winter coat on. I would refuse to take it off cause then that would mean that I was comfortable with staying there, and I absolutely was NOT. The feelings were mutual, I was nothing more than an inconvenience to my sister and her new family. That was evident in the was I was treated. I was a little girl, whose mom was in the hospital. Did I get hugged, held and reassured? Um, no. In fact, I was teased and ridiculed. My feelings were never validated, just brushed off like I was a bratty, crybaby. And so I hoped, in my little head, that if I kept my coat on, I’d be going home soon. My coat and my belongings became my only link to my home and my mom, so I guarded them, viciously. All I wanted was my mommy, and I cried for her relentlessly.

wp-image-772939006

So, in considering all this trauma, and very deep seeded emotional damage, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am incapable of deep, bonded, long lasting relationships. I am forever in self-protect mode. My heart was broken long before I even understood what love was. I was broken, emotionally, by those who were supposed to love me the most. What exactly does that do to a person you ask? Well, it breeds a fear of intimacy, it causes an intense craving for attention and validation, it harbors insecurity, and it destroys any feeling of self worth. How could my only mother intentionally sleep through my entire childhood, and be so oblivious to the pain she was causing her little girl? Why didn’t anyone see what was going on? Why wasn’t I worth more? Why is that the hand life dealt me? Why didn’t you save me? Why didn’t you love me enough?

I could ask questions all day and it doesn’t matter now, the damage has been done. I’m just sorry to all the wonderful people in my life who have tried to love me, yet got nothing in return. My heart is buried somewhere inside me, I don’t wear it on my sleeve. It was broken a long, long time ago and I don’t know if it will ever be whole again. Those who reared me, failed me. I cry for the little girl inside me, and I protect her with all that I am because no one else did.

I never learned how to love, how to show love. A hug, to you, may feel like a warm, loving, reassuring embrace. To me, a hug is an uncomfortable invasion of personal space. Sad, isn’t it? This comes from an adult that wasn’t loved on or hugged as a child. This also comes from an adult that is tired of all the failed relationships in her life and tired of not feeling worthy. I have learned to live in self-protect mode, and that is a very shallow existence. It’s a very lonely place to be. Thanks for your interest. God Bless!

The Story Of A Girl

I think I have finally figured out what is wrong with me;  not just the ADHD, not just the mild depression symptoms, not even the occasional bout with anxiety, but what is really wrong with me.  I believe I have found the reasons for WHY I behave the way I do, WHY I feel the way I do, even WHY I struggle the way I do.  Because isn’t that all we really want;  an explanation for our shortcomings, a reason for our bad behavior, or maybe just somewhere to place blame.  Regardless, an explanation is long overdue.  And digging deep into my past, I just may have found one!

Inconsistent doesn’t even begin to describe my up-bringing.  To say that I had NO idea what I was walking into, on a daily basis, would be an understatement!  Don’t get me wrong;  I grew up in a clean, calm, financially sound environment. And everything tangible was good;  plenty of food in the fridge, a new car to ride in, and all the playthings I could ever ask for… BUT, emotionally, I was completely and absolutely neglected.  At pivotal points in my childhood, where caring, understanding, an nurturing should have been ever-present, I faced loneliness, heartache, and fear.  When I was a  very young girl, about 3 or 4,  I remember all I ever wanted her to do was wake up.  My fragile mind just couldn’t understand why she wasn’t like other moms.  I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t stay awake for me, I spent my days watching her sleep, and wondering why I wasn’t important enough to her… Deep feelings of loneliness, fear and insecurities began to develop.  Extreme bouts of sadness and crying spells became who I was;  an innocent, yet very damaged child.   I had no one else to care for me, as my only siblings were much, much older.   My father was always gone on business trips, or on a golf outing.  As an adult, I realize what he was running from.

Believe me, there were good days, and this is where the inconsistencies really show up.  On good days, mom was awake.  I’d walk in the door from grammar school and there she’d be, awake, alert and wonderful.  The mom I always wanted, we’d talk and laugh and go to the local 5 and dime store.  I really cherished the good days and I  looked forward to them as they were few and far between.  Most days, though, she was in her own world.  Her escape from reality was a comfort for her, I suppose.  And it wasn’t until I was an adult, that I realized her sleepiness was due to benzodiazipine abuse.  When she’d use, she’d  pass out, and I’d be left all alone.  Fear and emotional neglect is what I faced, constantly.  I craved companionship with her, I just wanted her to wake up!  As she’d snooze, I’d practice taking her earrings in and out of her ears, she wouldn’t even stir.  Those were the days when I’d be locked out of the house, crying on the back porch, because she couldn’t hear me knocking.  Those were the days when the prescription of pills would run out, now the only way she can cope is to drink.  The thing is…. what couldn’t she cope with?  In my childs’ mind I knew it must be my fault.  Maybe if i could be a really, really good girlI’d be worth staying awake for.  No such luck, her addiction to alcohol and benzos spanned her whole lifetime; absolutely and definitely affecting mine.

Some days, however, she wasn’t there at all. You see, years and years (even before I was born) had caused irreversible damage to my mothers intestines, and every 4-6 weeks she’d be in the hospital for 5 or so days.  It was horrible!  Those were the days when I’d come home from school and my older sister would be there at my house waiting for me. As, soon as I’d see her, I’d instantaneously feel my throat close up and my eyes start to tear.  I just knew her presence meant that my mom was in the hospital, again and that I’d be staying at her house.  Even now, it’s hard for me to describe the feelings I had when she was gone.  Neglectful, or not, she was my beloved mommy and  she was my world.  I would be completely devastated each and every time her health drove her to hospitalization and I had to stay at my sisters house. I would sit for hours, just inside the threshold of her house, with my heavy, winter coat on.  I would refuse to take it off cause then that would mean that I was comfortable with staying there, and I absolutely was NOT.  The feelings were mutual, I was nothing more than an inconvenience to my sister and her new family. That was evident in the was I was treated.  I was a little girl, whose mom was in the hospital.  Did I get hugged, held and reassured?  Um, no.  In fact, I was teased and ridiculed.  My feelings were never validated, just brushed off like I was a bratty, crybaby.   And so I hoped, in my little head, that if I kept my coat on, I’d be going home soon.  My coat and my belongings became my only link to my home and my mom, so I guarded them, viciously.  All I wanted was my mommy, and I  cried for her relentlessly.  wp-image-772939006

So, in considering all this trauma, and very deep seeded emotional damage, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am incapable of deep, bonded, long lasting relationships.  I am forever in self-protect mode. My heart was broken long before I even understood what love was.  I was broken, emotionally, by those who were supposed to love me the most.  What exactly does that do to a person you ask?  Well, it breeds a fear of intimacy, it causes an intense craving for attention and validation, it harbors insecurity, and it destroys any feeling of self worth.  How could my only mother intentionally sleep through my entire childhood, and be so oblivious to the pain she was causing her little girl?  Why didn’t anyone see what was going on? Why wasn’t I worth more? Why is that the hand life dealt me? Why didn’t you save me? Why didn’t you love me enough?

I could ask questions all day and it doesn’t matter now, the damage has been done.  I’m just sorry to all the wonderful people in my life who have tried to love me, yet got nothing in return.  My heart is buried somewhere inside me, I don’t wear it on my sleeve.  It was broken a long, long time ago and I don’t know if it will ever be whole again. Those who reared me, failed me.  I cry for the little girl inside me, and I protect her with all that I am because no one else did.

I never learned how to love, how to show love.  A hug, to you,  may feel like a warm, loving, reassuring embrace.  To me, a hug is an uncomfortable invasion of personal space.  Sad, isn’t it?  This comes from an adult that wasn’t loved on or hugged as a child. This also comes from an adult that is tired of all the failed relationships in her life and tired of not feeling worthy.  I have learned to live in self-protect mode, and that is a very shallow existence. It’s a very lonely place to be.    Thanks for your interest. God Bless!

Hello Readers, I’m Still Here 

…even though I’m inconsistent as hell, I still seem get something down in this blog every now and then. A few new developments have arose since the last time I wrote; first of all, I’m seeking a new diagnosis. I truly believe there is more to me than meets the eye. My ADHD is a constant struggle, but I have other issues I haven’t dealt with in a healthy manner. Secondly, my third eldest son (he just turned 17) had been diagnosed with ADHD. That makes 2 of my 6 sons, so far,  to be “just like mommy”. Much to their fathers’ dispair, I’m  sure. Lol

All in all,  things are peachy! 

Love to all… 

Well Hello Stranger

I feel like I  have a love/hate relationship with this blog. I’m sorry, yet,  again, for my long absence.  But my inconsistent ways have, once again, gotten the best if me. I really do think about writing and that’s as far as it goes. 

But what I really want to thank everyone who has taken the time to visit my blog! Thank you very much! 

Writing Woes

I’ve been absent from here for a bit because I’m in a writing rut again.  I was very excited about my last post, but since then, I’m having writers block again.  So, I just thought I’d start typing and just see what comes out.  I have been really struggling with anxiety lately.  It is horrible, it reminds me of that quote that says, “depression is when you care about nothing, anxiety is where you care too much about everything, and having both is hell”.  I feel as if I am writing in a diary for everyone too see, maybe that is why it is hard for me to get my feelings out effectively.  Or maybe its because I’m misunderstood so often that I’ve decided to clam up.  Regardless, I know that it is better for me to talk and write about my feelings than to keep them bottled up. This blog should be my therapy. I should just start pouring my heart out.  If I only knew where to start…

What It’s Really Like

This is a brilliant rendering of what having ADHD is really like. I cannot take credit for writing it, but I had to share it.

ADHD is about having broken filters on your perception.

Normal people have a sort of mental secretary that takes the 99% of irrelevant crap that crosses their mind, and simply deletes it before they become consciously aware of it. As such, their mental workspace is like a huge clean whiteboard, ready to hold and organize useful information.

ADHD people… have no such luxury. Every single thing that comes in the front door gets written directly on the whiteboard in bold, underlined red letters, no matter what it is, and no matter what has to be erased in order for it to fit.

As such, if we’re in the middle of some particularly important mental task, and our eye should happen to light upon… a doorknob, for instance, it’s like someone burst into the room, clad in pink feathers and heralded by trumpets, screaming HEY LOOK EVERYONE, IT’S A DOORKNOB! LOOK AT IT! LOOK! IT OPENS THE DOOR IF YOU TURN IT! ISN’T THAT NEAT? I WONDER HOW THAT ACTUALLY WORKS DO YOU SUPPOSE THERE’S A CAM OR WHAT? MAYBE ITS SOME KIND OF SPRING WINCH AFFAIR ALTHOUGH THAT SEEMS KIND OF UNWORKABLE.

It’s like living in a soft rain of post-it notes.

This happens every single waking moment, and we have to manually examine each thought, check for relevance, and try desperately to remember what the thing was we were thinking before it came along, if not. Most often we forget, and if we aren’t caught up in the intricacies of doorknob engineering, we cast wildly about for context, trying to guess what the hell we were up to from the clues available.

On the other hand, we’re extremely good at working out the context of random remarks, as we’re effectively doing that all the time anyway.

We rely heavily on routine, and 90% of the time get by on autopilot. You can’t get distracted from a sufficiently ingrained habit, no matter what useless crap is going on inside your head… unless someone goes and actually disrupts your routine. I’ve actually been distracted out of taking my lunch to work, on several occasions, by my wife reminding me to take my lunch to work. What the? Who? Oh, yeah, will do. Where was I? um… briefcase! Got it. Now keys.. okay, see you honey!

Also, there’s a diminishing-returns thing going on when trying to concentrate on what you might call a non-interactive task. Entering a big block of numbers into a spreadsheet, for instance. Keeping focused on the task takes exponentially more effort each minute, for less and less result. If you’ve ever held a brick out at arm’s length for an extended period, you’ll know the feeling. That’s why the internet, for instance, is like crack to us – it’s a non-stop influx of constantly-new things, so we can flick from one to the next after only seconds. Its better/worse than pistachios.

The exception to this is a thing we get called hyper focus. Occasionally, when something just clicks with us, we can get ridiculously deeply drawn into it, and NOTHING can distract us. We’ve locked our metaphorical office door, and we’re not coming out for anything short of a tornado.

Medication takes the edge off. It reduces the input, it tones down the fluster, it makes it easier to ignore trivial stuff, and it increases the maximum focus-time. Imagine steadicam for your skull. It also happens to make my vision go a little weird and loomy occasionally, and can reduce appetite a bit.

Hope this helps and please do share this so that more people can learn what its really like to have ADHD. -Unknown

Medication Dilemma

The one thing about taking a controlled  substance for ADHD symptom management is that filling a script for such a medication is not always easy.
I just picked up my script for Vyvanse yesterday around 3 o’clock and took it straight to the pharmacy. Luckily, I decided to wait for it to get filled,  because just as the pharmacist was going to fill it, she noticed that the Dr had not signed the prescription.
I quickly ran the script back to the Dr  office to get it signed. Well, of course, there was not a Dr available to sign the script, so I have to go this weekend unmedicated.  At least I  can look forward to getting back on track Monday morning.
Take Care All!

Finding My Magic Pill

   I have an appointment today with a new doctor; or at least the person who prescribes my medicine. I’m optimistic about this visit, I’m hoping to have my medication adjusted. I have been on the same three meds for years and they don’t seem to be working as effectively as they once did. I’ve heard this is common with my types of meds. One for ADHD, and two for depression.
  My anxiety and lack of concentration have almost become debilitating. I guess I’m hoping for a new magic pill to cure all my emotional ailments.   I can deal with this mental stuff,  thank God for my good physical health.
  I pray today for all suffering from physical and/or mental illness; that we all find our magic pill.
Have a great day!

My Closest ‘Enemies’?

Finally getting an accurate diagnosis of adult add at 27 years old was a welcomed blessing; I finally had a name for my seemingly impossible persona. To say my life was a little crazy would be an understatement; I bounced around like a high-flying superball. I am a literal poster-child for this disorder. After my diagnosis, I tried to learn everything I could about ADD, so I could have a better understanding of how I ticked.
Revealing my diagnosis to those closest to me was actually pretty devastating. No one was surprised, they reacted as if they had known all along; I honestly felt like the but of some kind of cruel joke. If my issues were so obvious, than why didn’t someone, at some point in my life, suggest that I seek a diagnosis of some sort! It seems they all just sat back and watched me make mistake after mistake, bad decision after bad decision; and come completely unravelled by the age of  27. I had been drowning in my own self-created ocean of disappointment and failure, totally aware, yet to weak to pull myself ashore. Why wasn’t I thrown a lifeline? Was my life not worth saving; or was it just easier for people to watch me struggle.
I still struggle today with that realization. Where do I find self-worth when those I loved found me so unworthy.
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