UPDATE: A Missive on My Misfiring Brain


Oh, what a difference a few weeks makes. Last we left each other, I was looking forward (??) to finding out if I had ADHD or not. Based on its genetic tendencies (my mom was diagnosed when she was just a few years older than me) and a thorough review of the literature (every frickin article I could suction my eyes to), I was pretty certain I’d also been visited by the attention bandit.

Turns out my hunch was correct—I have it, no question. Although, given the emotions churning inside of me since I received the diagnosis, maybe bipolar disorder might be more accurate: I’m relieved and grateful, and am experiencing one epiphany after another. But at the same time it’s like I’m in mourning, second guessing a life that “could have been.” I’ve bounced between “Aha!” and “Oh, shit!” so many times I might have a concussion.

Relief is the overarching emotion. I was terrified of what “it” might be if not ADHD—this is where my curiosity and love of research is not helpful. Instead, I’m lucky—there a number of effective treatments for ADHD, usually a combination of medication, and new learned behaviors and skills. I’m in the middle of a trapeze act of balancing symptoms with side effects; I’ll gain my footing soon, I’m sure.

I’m grateful my doctor identified “it” immediately: “Do you realize you answered ‘yes’ to every ADHD item on this symptom checklist?” he asked me. Yup…I sure did. “Do you realize that because your mom has ADHD and smoked while pregnant with you, and you were a low-birth-weight baby you were almost guaranteed to have ADHD?” Nope…I sure didn’t, but my dad will be relieved to know he’s not the cause of all my problems. Mom’s finally taking one for the team.

There have been so many light bulb moments since the diagnosis I’m glowing like a human Christmas tree. For instance, so many parts of my life have seemed random and disjointed:

Wanting to be no place other than where you are, physically or mentally, but finding it impossible to stay put and present.
Believing you’re getting so much accomplished thanks to your superhuman “ability” to multitask only to realize you’re no further along with any of it than when you started.
Embarking on a new project with a manic, hyper-focused energy, only to walk away a short time later like you’re leaving a bowl of lukewarm, canned peas on the table.

But in the context of an undiagnosed ADHD brain driving my life’s bus, it all makes sense.

The hardest part of getting this diagnosis at forty-six instead of sixteen is fighting the urge to “what if” my life. I’ve been surveying some of the choices I’ve made, many of them impulsive and short-sighted, and the choices I didn’t make because I had no self-confidence or concept of perseverance. Sometimes the sadness and regret is a tad too much. It’s bad enough I’ve told myself for years that I’m lazy and flighty, and lack stick-to-itiveness. But there have been many times I’ve willingly put my health and safety, my relationships, and finances in jeopardy, even though doing so never fit the idea of who I believed I was at my core.

I know we can love the person while still despising what they do (or don’t do). But I have never been able to reconcile why I deliberately, often eagerly, choose to act in a despicable way when I know my actions will make it exceedingly difficult for others to love me.

As I learn more about ADHD, I find myself wondering if my actions or inactions could have been, in some small way, a blind struggle to right my chemical ship. For instance, dopamine is the neurotransmitter in the brain in charge of motivation, focus, impulse control, and our pleasure/reward center, among many other functions. It’s the lack of which that is believed to contribute to some ADHD symptoms. Is it possible I’ve been unconsciously trying to top off my dopamine levels?

This is the part I don’t talk about…the shameful and embarrassing bits, the roads I disregarded and the ones I trampled on, the ones I’d give anything for a “do-over.”

I hesitate to bring this up, to speak about it through the filter of ADHD because it feels…cowardly and like I’m trying to shift the blame.

I’m not—the blame for my choices, all of them, lies solely with me. I’m not trying to hide behind this diagnosis or use it as a convenient excuse. Anyone who knows me well knows that personal responsibility is my credo. It infuriates me when people don’t take accountability for their actions. It’s why I’ve avoided managerial positions in my day jobs and why, given a different child than the one I gave birth to, I’d most likely be a tyrannical parent.

So I’ve stood in front of the people impacted by my abysmal choices, including the person in the mirror, and have accepted responsibility and apologized for them. I own them…every single one. But I can’t shake this niggling feeling, wondering if this could be a partial explanation for choices I’ve made I know aren’t me. Could it be a fragmentary answer to the question for which there’s never been a rational response: “Why?”

Okay, enough, already! Time to drag myself out of this pitiful “what if” swamp.

Here’s what else I’m feeling: fucking excited! Overall I’ve lived an amazing life and have enjoyed a measure of success regardless of going undiagnosed until now. But when I imagine what else I might be able to accomplish once I have my symptoms under control and implement new strategies, I’m practically giddy.

I picture conversations with people who are important to me in which I hear what they say, so they no longer question if they are important to me.
I dream of finishing what I start (my two novels, for instance). I imagine feeling confident that when I begin something new, it’s emblematic of who I am, not some aberration, and an endeavor that will make me and my family proud, not disillusioned.
I envision silencing, or at least muffling, the hundreds of simultaneous thoughts demanding my attention, except for the ones I choose to listen to.
I imagine finally living up to my potential and banishing the persistent sense that I’m not doing enough or could do better if only I “tried harder.”

After years of hiking up an invisible mountain and not being able to figure out why I was winded all the time…

After delaying the hike because I knew I’d never finish it or I’d get distracted by the sparkling pond at its base and all the pretty fishes swimming in it…

After charging up that motherfucker with phenomenal speed and purpose…and then reversing course about a quarter of the way through the climb after I got bored…

I now see the mountain for what it is, and I can’t wait to get to the top.

A Missive on My Misfiring Brain

Nothing can ever prepare you for it—that moment when you realize you’ve become your mother or father, or both. I had one of those moments a few weeks ago, driving with my husband and daughter. I commented on another car I saw (technically I called out a “slug bug”…yes, we still do that). Then not more than a couple of minutes later, I made the same comment…with absolutely no recollection of having already made it.

“You just said that,” they said to me, to which I responded, “No, I didn’t.” It took some convincing, and even after I cajoled myself into believing them, I still didn’t remember those words coming out of my mouth.

Then the ribbing started: “It’s bad enough you don’t listen to us when we talk to you. Now you’re not even listening to yourself.”

As I began to apologize (for the millionth time for this very transgression), I had a flashback to conversations I had with my mom when she was about my age.

They usually went something like this:

Her: “When do you work this week?”

Me: [telling her the days and times.]

Her [just minutes later]: “When do you work this week?”

Me: “You already asked me that. God, Mom, don’t you ever listen to me? It’s like you don’t care about what I have to say…”

I’ve experienced a version of that amnesiac round-robin with my husband and daughter more times than I can remember (literally). It was during the one in the car that my brain made what could be one of the most sanity-saving connections of my life.

When my mom was about the same age as I am now (mid-forties), she was diagnosed with ADHD. I still remember the day she got the news: She cried with relief because, as she told me, “My whole life I thought I was stupid. Now I know what it really was.”

And I’m beginning to wonder if it’s the same with me.

Keep reading for more awesomeness…

I’m Getting Fat…On Purpose

Self-deprecating humor is the condom of feelings: It prevents all sorts of emotional diseases and preempts unintended surprises. And there’s nothing more surprising than feeling good about yourself and then receiving comments from people with mouth syphilis who feel it’s necessary to state the obvious.

I’m going to beat everyone to the punch so I don’t have to experience what Kathy Sebright did when she overheard an acquaintance comment on her size. Here it is:

I’m getting fat.

Yup. I said it. I’m packing on some poundage. I’m channeling the chub. I’m racing toward rotund.

Not only that, I’m doing it consciously.

To understand where this is coming from, we have to go back to adolescence…because isn’t that where most of our shit starts?

Keep reading for more awesomeness…

Over Coffee

Photo Credit: marfis75 via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: marfis75 via Compfight cc

Damn, it’s been a long time since we chatted. That’s mostly my fault. I kind of abandoned you, and I feel bad about that. Especially because of the reason—the dreaded ‘B’ word.


Yup, I’ve been busy. Too busy to write or catch up over a cup of coffee or even think about anything but the Kickstarter for my husband’s and my comic book storage solution, the Comic Boox Box. I talked about it here. Every moment I wasn’t working my day job I was project managing the shit out of our Kickstarter campaign. And about two weeks before we were supposed to launch, we got some devastating news that made us hit the brakes with a squeal, leaving skid marks like those at the Indy 500—or my father-in-law’s underpanties on almost any given day.

And then I plummeted into this weird no-man’s land of, “What the hell do I do now?” You know, kind of like what happens to Bridezillas once their weddings are over and they have to actually do the marriage thing.

I felt like I was in the middle of one of my favorite movies, “Sliding Doors.” I was experiencing a bunch of those seemingly inconsequential moments that push you over the threshold into your alternate realities.

Keep reading for more awesomeness…