The Beginning

Yesterday I had therapy. I have been in therapy on and off for several years with the same therapist--a lovely, helpful woman--for anxiety and depression. Yesterday I was pleased to announce that I felt I was on the road back to health after spending several weeks in the tar pit of a depression in part brought on by stopping my antidepressants, but in part, brought on, by the fact that I am about to turn 35 and fell that i have no personal, professional or romantic direction. For the past few weeks we've been in triage mode, waiting for the meds to kick in. But yesterday we were ready to get back to business, to identify the real problems (as opposed to the crazy ruminations) and some real solutions. We had established that a big part of my discontent was that I was working on a job where I didn't feel satisfied, where I wasn't challenged creatively, and where I didn't have any real aspirations. I announce that rather than finding a job, I needed to find out what makes me happy. Because I sure as fuck didn't know. And in order to find that out, I needed to better manage my time because my spirals into mental distress were often triggered by feeling like things were out of control of work, that i was losing track of the pieces, that I would be outed as a complete incompetent. As someone constantly afraid of being pegged as incompetent, how could I ever pursue something I really cared about? Better to fail at some crappy job where i didn't give a shit. I needed to stop checking my email. Once I started checking my email my work schedule would go out the window. I'd lose 30 minutes at a go, checking email that had no messages, refreshing the browser. Then I'd start work and check email again. I needed help managing my time so I could have the energy to do things I cared about, to even consider what it was I might enjoy.

"You know, I always assumed the email checking had to do with social anxiety," Patty said. "But have you ever looked into ADD?"

I thought: I've been coming to you for 7 years and only now you suggest ADD? And then i said it out loud.

"Hang out, I've got a diagnostic tool," Patty said. She pulled open a drawer, rummaged through a folder and pulled out a piece of paper. Was i considered a spaceshot as a kid? Yes. Did I have trouble finishing what i started? Yes. She gave me the full diagnostic test and said I ranked high on the characteristics for inattention, low on the characteristics for hyperactivity, risk taking and acting out that I'd always associated with ADHD. Didn't that mean I was just depressed? Maybe said Patty. But maybe not. I started painting a picture for her of myself as a child, clothes always rumpled, socks falling down, hair uncombed, my room a dump, my bookbag a cess pool, my locker a place where fruit went to turn into penicillin, where old sandwiches turned black, where books I got in September would remain buried until May, often replaced by additional copies I requested. I couldn't finish books. I got distracted easily. I stared out the window. I'd been mocked by kids who claimed I was on drugs more times than I cared to count. I would often play by myself for hours at a time, doing virtually nothing, digging with a stick or humming or starting at the trees. I did little to distract myself.

"Wow," said Patty. "We should look into this."

I went from therapy to Borders and bought a book on ADHD called Driven to Distraction by a psychiatrist called Edward Hallowell. I plunged into on the subway. It about half sounded like me. The spacey stuff, sure. The hyperactivity stuff, no way. Most of the people the doctor described were boys, class clowns, party animal types who had trouble concentrating, who were well liked but often unsuccessful. This wasn't me. That had never been me. I'd been shy and worked my ass off and doubted myself the entire way.

Then I looked up ADHD for women. Inattentive-type ADHD.

• Often does not give close attention to details or makes careless mistakes in schoolwork, work, or other activities.
• Often has trouble keeping attention on tasks or play activities.
• Often does not seem to listen when spoken to directly.
• Often does not follow instructions and fails to finish schoolwork, chores, or duties in the workplace (not due to oppositional behavior or failure to understand instructions).
• Often has trouble organizing activities.
• Often avoids, dislikes, or doesn't want to do things that take a lot of mental effort for a long period (such as schoolwork or homework).
• Often loses things needed for tasks and activities (e.g. toys, school assignments, pencils, books, or tools).
• Is often easily distracted.
• Is often forgetful in daily activities.

Often misdiagnosed because it manifests not as acting out but as quietness; girls who can't pay attention don't talk for fear of being ridiculed for saying something ridiculous. If they're smart enough, no one notices they're not paying attention unti they're faced with a task they have to pay attention to. For me this task was word problems, which I encountered in fifth grade and to my great embarassment, caused me to recieve my first C. Now not only was I quiet and an outcast. But the one thing I'd been hanging on to as my standout feature--my intelligence--was no longer solid. As it turned out I was dumb. And I thought I was dumb for years. And unable to focus. And lame. And without interest or ambition.

And all this time I just thought I was just a depressive girl. ADHD? Really? Really?

Now I'm going to look into this.