When it's ADHD, but You Don't Find Out Until Your Mid-Thirties

 So, diagnosis update. I have been formally diagnosed with ADHD, inattentive type. It's been a long journey to get this diagnosis, both before and after I suspected I had it. It really sucks that I had to realize it myself before I could try to get formally diagnosed because it's something you have for your whole life and is usually diagnosed in childhood. But, because I wasn't a 'behavior problem' when I was young, and I got good grades, no one saw any reason to test me. I'm not sure that they completely understood ADHD in girls when I was young. My mom says I could never sit still, but I could sit still in class. I think I was always so scared of getting in trouble that I was able to minimize some of the symptoms. But, I wasn't really living in the world for a long time. I would daydream and stare into space a majority of the time but I was smart enough to not need to pay attention in class and I read books every chance I could get, so I was intuitively good at english and spelling. My mom worked with me on many concepts outside of school and made her own worksheets and lesson plans. I think the tendency to daydream was not only a result of ADHD but because I was being bullied in school and my dad was struggling with his own issues and would get really mad sometimes. I learned to be quiet and to not set people off. And I learned to be in my own little world and just endure what was happening in the real world. So, briefly I will say that I also have been diagnosed with PTSD, because of my childhood and then abusive romantic relationships as well as several assaults in my adult life. I think I also have PTSD from dealing with undiagnosed ADHD. I have had these symptoms all my life and have been asking for help with them for over a decade.

•  My struggle with being on time
• starting tasks
• completing tasks
• being very sensitive to any sign of rejection from other people
• strong, overwhelming emotions
• not being able to understand people when they speak at first - sometimes it seems like they are speaking another language and then if I'm given a few seconds, I can process what was said and suddenly I understand it. 
  

    These have been very scary to deal with and I always just thought there was something particularly wrong with me. I thought I must be lazy because everyone was telling me that I just needed more self-control, more will-power. I was told by a therapist that "you'll be on time when you want to be on time." It was always assumed that my struggle with being on time was because I didn't want to go to that particular place, even though I've insisted that it wasn't true and that I wanted to be on time. No one believed me. Even my own mother thought I was lying to get out of doing things when I said that I forgot to do them. Both my parents thought I was extremely passive-aggressive and that being late to family things was some sort of manipulation tactic.

     Especially the auditory processing disorder. I have always thought that I was just stupid. Or that it was anxiety. I say "what?" a lot. So much that I get embarrassed that I haven't heard someone and I just pretend that I did hear them and I try to guess what they said. That doesn't always work and it gets really awkward. Sometimes they repeat themselves several times and I still don't have any clue what they're saying. Sometimes I just give up and get quiet. Just go back to my fallback of enduring the situation until it's over.

    My current theory is that ADHD and PTSD are at the root of my other diagnoses. I think I get depressed because I can't do things that other people can do so easily, and I didn't know why until now. It's hard for me to relate to other people, because I don't just do things because I want to and when I think of them, and I have trouble participating in conversations because I can't understand what's being said and sometimes the conversations move too fast for me to process, especially if there are a lot of people involved. It's so alienating, and I've developed social anxiety because of that and because I wasn't a normal kid and spent so much time in my head. I've always been anxious about sharing too much with people about my daily experience because they will reject me. My boyfriend in college lost a lot of respect for me when I said that I watch TV to shut off my brain. He told me he couldn't believe that I would admit that, because he just didn't understand why you would want to shut off your thoughts, and he thought that was something only lazy people would do. I have too many thoughts. Sometimes I get into a thought loop and it just repeats the same thing over and over and over.... Sometimes I think about something in my past that is really upsetting, actually for much of my life that type of thought has been almost constant. It's really hard for me to get on a different track cognitively, and switch to thinking about something else once I start thinking about negative things, and TV is a great tool to help me shut things down and get into a different headspace.

    I just want to feel ok. Like I'm not a failure and a screw-up. When I don't have to do things right away, I watch TV and I get on my phone and cuddle with my cats and just revel in the feeling of not having things due and not having anyone demanding anything from me. I do that every chance I get and the result is unfortunately that I end up not getting things done. 

    I don't think I deserve condemnation for using TV to medicate. Or for using sugary foods and binge-eating to help with my emotions and then gaining a ton of weight, or for developing OCD to compensate for forgetting things all the time, or for developing dermatillomania because I'm restless and anxious, or for developing a strong freeze response when I feel threatened, or for being a really quiet person because I want to avoid upsetting other people and/or making them angry at me, or for developing this weird thing where the expression on my face doesn't match what I'm feeling - which is an effect of trauma.

    I am frustrated that I was not diagnosed earlier, and that I was misdiagnosed with bipolar and took lithium for so long which I didn't need to be taking. I'm frustrated that my symptoms were ignored by so many people including my parents and several different mental health professionals. I am frustrated that I feel like I still can't talk to people about this in a way that will make them actually believe me that I'm struggling with these symptoms and not being lazy or trying to manipulate someone. 

    I am happy that my parents finally believe me and are finally beginning to understand me better. I am glad that I have this diagnosis now so that I can try to get treatment and so I can finally understand myself and work toward a solution to what is the root of my problems.

That Serial Killer I Dated, Part III (TW-assault)

In therapy today we talked a lot about past relationships and how they made me feel about myself. The Serial Killer came up and my therapist told me that he does a lot of work with people who have trauma and PTSD and that actually in most cases the first instinct is to freeze. He told me I don't need to feel bad about that or own it as a part of me that is defective because it's a biological response that happens in a lot of animals. They may end up running but at first they freeze.

To some extent I already knew that, but I also took it as a sign that I am passive and defective. I wrote the first part of this in 2014 and I know the incident happened before that, but I'm not sure exactly when. I just now skimmed what I wrote and it's hard to read. I had forgotten most of what happened, especially his name. I don't remember some of the things I wrote actually happening, and maybe that's a good thing. I'm not sure I would recognize him if I saw him. But then again, I'm sure I would recognize his mannerisms like his posture and the way he talked, that was definitely distinctive. And his thin, light blonde/brown hair. Definitely similar to Trump's toupee. I've thought a few times about what I would do if I saw him again, especially since now I'm working in a similar field to what he was. I've always tended to think I would threaten him, and tell him that I would never be alone with him and that if I saw him doing ANYTHING inappropriate with a patient that I would end his career. Or just tell his boss what he did to me, and try to get him fired. I've fantasized about him coming in to the therapy department, seeing me and then just walking out again because he would know that he wouldn't be able to work there. Or, that I would reference the movie we watched to see if he remembered and then watch the color drain from his face as he realizes that I OWN his career and I can sink it with just a few words to coworkers and bosses. 

My therapist said that we brought up a bunch of things I haven't thought of in a long time and it might make me have some uncomfortable emotions, and I guess we'll continue to talk about this next week. It's nice to feel heard and feel like I can be honest with someone without it going badly. In the end, this series of posts is not about the Serial Killer, it's about me. I would like it to be about me moving forward and improving and learning to trust people - but not putting my trust in the wrong people. There are some really terrible people out there and they don't deserve my trust or my time. 

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That Serial Killer I Dated, Part II (TW-assault)

             A while ago I wrote a post about a man who assaulted me on a date. I had a hard time finishing Part Two, but here it is;

Part Two:

             Obviously I have some things I need to work on personally and looking back it’s easy to see the red flags and the many opportunities I had to cut this guy loose before it got to any kind of threatening situation. Maybe it’s a symptom of the depression, but I think that deep down I just don’t see myself as a person who has value. It’s not like I’m thinking in the moment, “I deserved that,” it’s just a general feeling and a habitual way of responding to the world. And day to day, there are times when I think, “Hey, I’m awesome! I’m kick-ass! I’m a strong, independent woman who will never be taken advantage of by a man!” But those are surface thoughts.

 

 

                It tells me that other people can do whatever they want but I am always to remain polite, calm, courteous and agreeable. 

                And yes, apparently it means whatever they want.

                I could say if it ever happens again I’ll punch that loser right in the nose! But I know I wouldn’t. I’ll make up a polite excuse and leave. I’ll freeze up and do nothing and wait for it to be over. 

                But maybe I shouldn’t be too hard on myself. This is a legitimate survival instinct, isn’t it? If I can’t fight him and he’s got me trapped, then it’s best to pretend nothing weird is happening so that it’s more likely I’ll get an opportunity to get away. If I fought, he might have just held me down harder or even hurt me. 

                It just made me feel a little bit like I was contributing to the problem, making him think I condoned his actions. But in the moment, I shouldn’t feel bad about being only concerned about my safety and getting out of there without further incident. I did whatever it took and that happened to be being compliant and courteous. 

                But it’s true that in general, I have a problem using this defense mechanism ALL the time. I think it’s because when growing up, my dad was angry a lot. It’s not like he beat us, but he would rant and rave and I would have to walk on eggshells. He would get very mad at me if I got the A not the A+, and would force me to ask the teacher what I could do to ‘make up for it.’ I learned that if I was quiet and just sat there until the raging was over and I could run up to my room then that was the best and quickest way out of the situation. 

                In summary; knowing all this about myself makes me want to pay more attention to those red flags in the beginning. Because they were there, and I ignored them because sometimes I don’t feel like I deserve to be treated like a person. And, I think I started this post feeling a bit sorry for myself because I freeze-up and I am polite and courteous to people who are trying to hurt me but I am going to tell myself to refuse to feel that way (hopefully this will work) because I am just trying to protect myself the best way that I know how.  















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That Serial Killer I Dated, Part I (TW-assault)

                 It was our third date if you count the speed-dating event where we met. He was a doctor of physical therapy with a nice condo in the city and he had asked me over to cook dinner for me. His place was clean and very bachelor-y with the only décor being his framed degree hung up on the wall next to a bookcase full of binders of school notes and anatomy and physiology books. His furniture was all brown or black pieces; not fashionable or modern, but it was clean and tidy. Big TV, naturally. When I got there he was still cooking the meal, fiddling with the stuff on the stove and vegetables in the microwave. He poured a couple glasses of wine while we waited and it was nice, really. I had some reservations about him because of our last date but I was being put at ease. 

                On our second date, we went to a museum and it was really awkward trying to hold a conversation with him there. He was soft-spoken and would walk behind me or away from me in the middle of a conversation so that I couldn’t hear him anymore and I would have to follow him around or twist myself around to keep talking. That got old as soon as it started. Besides that, he was literally pushy. I think he was trying to joke around and he just randomly shoved me while I was on the steps at the museum. Looking back now I know to think: WTF??!! But at the time I was just annoyed and took it like I always take things like that: pissed off inside but not really clicking that it’s wrong for someone to do that to me. I pushed the feelings down, said nothing and kept walking. He pushed me a few times. I thought about taking the elevator to be sure that I wouldn’t fall down the stairs in the parking garage.

                Back to our third date; dinner was nice. We had a much livelier conversation than on the previous date and the food was pretty good. The steak was a little too overdone but he had still cooked for me and that’s bound to win you 3,000 points unless it’s absolutely inedible. I was enjoying myself but then somehow we got on the topic of Disney fairy tales versus the original stories. I say something about how sleeping beauty was not kissed but actually raped awake (remember we are having a good conversation and I am feeling at ease at this point). Then he comes back with, “Yeah, but he married her afterward,” with an absolutely serious face.

                “What?”

                “He raped her but he married her afterwards.”

                “That doesn’t make it not rape. That doesn’t make it any better.”

                He didn’t answer me, just took a drink of wine. 

    “I need to know that you know rape isn’t cancelled out by marriage.”

    “No, of course it’s not.”

                After dinner he offered me more wine and even though I said no, he went on to pour me a very large glass, finishing off the bottle. After our exchange, I was set on not drinking it to make sure I was sober enough to leave. I was looking for a polite way out when he suggested we watch a movie. 

                “Ok, maybe I can stay for half a movie.”

                He put on an old, obscure movie that I had never seen before but one that he insisted was a ‘classic’ and I ‘had to see it.’ He sat down on one side of the sectional sofa and I placed myself on the far side of the L shape, away from him. 

                “You haven’t been drinking your wine.”

                “I told you I didn’t want any more. It keeps me up at night.”

                “Come sit over here.” I didn’t really want to, but he insisted so I sat down next to him. He inched a bit closer. After a while, he put his arm around my shoulders. I was still a bit tense and the movie was from the 90’s and boring. I watched the clock and wondered when would be a good time to make my exit. Then, without any kind of warning, he scooted himself down and laid his head in my lap.

                I was in shock. 

               “Will you pat my hair?”

               “What?”

               “I want you to pat my hair,” he picked up my hand and laid it on his head, moving it up and down in patting motions.

               “No, that’s ok.” I took my hand away. He grabbed it back and put it on his head. I tried to take back my hand but he held it firmly on his head. I tried to stand up, but he used his head on my lap to apply pressure and keep me sitting down. My heart was beating at a thousand times a second, I had no idea what to do. I stayed still.

                He made me stroke his hair again for a little while and then he sat up straight again. He was talking to me but I have no idea what he said. I was panicking. But I stayed still.

                He put his hand on my head and pushed me down into his lap. I think I actually felt a piece of my mind snapping. He held me down there with his arm and wouldn’t let me up. I think he continued to talk. I struggled but he was too strong. So I stopped and waited.

                He let me up and I stood/rolled off the couch and onto my feet, sliding my coat from the chair onto my back like I’d practiced it a million times and grabbed my purse. 

               “I have to get up early in the morning so I’d better go.”

              “Why do you have to go all of a sudden? We haven’t finished the movie,” he reminded me of a snake, poised and dangerous.

               “I really have to go.” I walked calmly towards his door, “Maybe we can finish it next time.”

               He got up and walked to the door as well, joining me in the doorway. I wondered if I screamed, if any of the neighbors would notice. I remembered my mother always told me to shout ‘fire!’ because that’s what gets people’s attention.

               I said, “Have a good night,” and I gave him a short hug. I walked away briskly to my car. I have never driven away from a place so fast in my life.

Do I Care Who Knows My Secrets?

I was reading this article this morning - http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/09/18/bipolar-disorder-ellen-forney_n_5823138.html, and it triggered some thoughts for me.

First, how many people have I told about my mental illness and what percentage of negative versus positive reactions have I gotten from them (not including medical professionals)? 

Let’s explore;

SC – mixed, tried to help but didn’t really understand. When her help didn’t ‘work,’ she gave up.

AA – apathy

Support group online – positive, helpful

AM – positive, empathetic

JC – mixed, tried to help but didn’t understand, often very disrespectful. Same thing as SC, when his help didn’t ‘work,’ he would get very frustrated.

Father – somewhat empathetic but told me I would have to ‘go it alone,’ because therapists are not to be trusted and they just want your money. He hasn’t said a word to me about it since then.

Sister – empathetic, helpful. I’m not sure she understands totally, but I only just told her this summer.

Bitchy mcTraitor – freaked out, tried to get me fired

GS – empathetic and understanding when I told her but when I tried to talk to her about my feelings and things that happened that relate to my disorder, I couldn't get empathy at all from her. She was very good at giving emotionless advice…

So; three purely positive responses, four mixed and two purely negative.

I’m counting apathy as a negative, especially since he and I were supposedly ‘in love’ and he never tried to help with my illness or mentioned it at all even though I was clearly suffering.

TRIGGER WARNING

Also, when I asked him if I should commit suicide, he told me he couldn’t think of a reason why not. So; definitely negative.

END TRIGGER

I’ve always kept the information that I have a mental illness very close, and obviously have only told a very few people. I always suspected something was wrong, but I didn’t get help until college when I went to my school counseling center. I didn’t even tell my father, he actually found out because he was trying to buy insurance for me and the insurance companies came back and said they wouldn’t cover me because of my depression (my dx at the time, also this was before the ACA made it illegal to deny coverage based on pre-existing conditions). So he called me up to his office area in the master bedroom when I was visiting and asked me if it were true, did I have depression?

                There wasn’t anything else for me to say at that point but yes. And we talked a bit about it, it was good, I think, to have finally let him know about it because up to that point I had been seeing a therapist and psychiatrist in secret. I was so afraid of my father finding out about it that I lied about being on his insurance plan and told my school counseling center that I didn’t have insurance. That actually worked out great for a while since they had a sliding scale for appointments, I was only paying $40 for psychiatry appointments and $2 per therapy appointment. I had a part-time job so I could pay for it all myself. I think I was afraid if my dad found out he would demand I live at home again because he would think I wasn’t able to deal with living at school. I spent my two years of college living at home but it was actually my therapist who suggested that I get the hell out of there and live on campus. It made a huge difference for me to not be around my father all the time.

                It’s not that he was abusive or anything. I’m not even sure I can explain it and have anyone understand. He was just angry all the time and I’m a very sensitive person. You know when you’re with a group of people and then one person just gets really angry about something and starts ranting about it, and then everyone gets really quiet and is afraid to speak up or say anything because if they do they know they’ll get shot down by that person and/or have that person’s anger suddenly directed at them? Like, everyone feels so awkward and afraid that they barely want to move or make a sound? 

                That is what growing up with my father was like. Pretty much every night at dinner would be like that. And he would be angry at everything and everyone. Oh, you have a tattoo? You just sealed your fate as a worthless bum because no one decent will ever employ you. The same goes for men with long hair, people who own motorcycles, and music majors.

                I had also overheard a rant my father was having about me. He seemed to think that the college I had decided to go to would turn me into a burden to the family, because I would never get a job with a degree from there. A burden to the family.

                So; I never told my father about my mental illness and I still haven’t told him about my new diagnosis. If he hadn’t found out about my depression he wouldn’t know now. I still count it as mixed because he didn’t make me live at home, and he didn’t flip out and the world didn’t explode or anything. But, not necessarily positive either. You don’t tell an almost completely isolated, lonely depressed person that they’ll have to deal with it alone. That’s simply irresponsible and ignorant. I needed help, I was desperate for it and I got it, behind his back because I believed I had to. His response confirmed that I was right to do that. 

As he has gotten older, his anger has mellowed out a bit. Also, I’ve gotten stronger and have been able to call him on his bullshit. So, maybe one day I will tell him. I seem to be moving more in that direction by telling my sister – who supports me in waiting to tell my parents until I am ready. I’m also pretty tired of hiding. I have no patience for lying and hiding anymore. 

Especially since he seems more concerned sometimes with pestering me about making sure I have maternity coverage on my insurance (which I now buy myself), than ever even asking me how my mental health is. God forbid he should make sure I have mental health coverage or a proper psychiatrist/psychologist. How it is more pressing in his brain to make sure he will not have to pay for all my illegitimate children from all the wild sex I am supposedly having than to make sure I am being treated for an illness that I will have my entire life and is often fatal, is simply beyond my understanding. Simply…. fucking…. beyond me. So; it’s not easy to not go off on him. But that's not the way I want this conversation to come up.

Anyway, this has gotten off track. The point is I want people to know and I want them to be ok with it and not freak out and complain to management or stop talking to me or talk to me but tell me shitty, ignorant things. But, since I can’t have that ideal situation most of the time I have to keep things under wraps.

-Jane

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