I could look at my current pile of blog post drafts, or the three notebook pages filled with concepts I want to write about and untangle, the stories I want to tell – but the tight mass in my stomach says no.
It’s a thick, heavy knot of anxiety.
And sheer misery.
[Edited: removed about 650 words explaining all the shit that’s going on right now, because I don’t want to read over this in the future and feel like I was wallowing in self pity]
I went to my GP for a prescription renewal, updated her on some of what’s happening, and she asked if I was okay.
“No,” I said bluntly, as tears started running down my face. “No, I am not okay. I am one hundred percent, absolutely not even remotely okay.”
I’m sorry, guys. This is the only post you’re getting this week. Maybe next week I’ll be able to knock something else up, but the truth is that severe depression and personal horror are actually really bad for creativity, because you can’t do shit. You can’t focus. You can’t think.
You just try to keep swimming, because it’s either that or drown.
You do have a choice. It’s just not a good one.
I have always thought of myself as shy.
People who know me online don’t quite believe this. Even people who know me in person don’t believe this.
So I describe myself as a shy person who just hides it well.
I’ve even described it as social anxiety.
Really, it’s none of these things. Looking back, I’m not shy. I’ve never been shy. I’ve always been outgoing, performative, and generally gregarious. As a small child, I did hide behind my mother when strange adults came around, but I’m beginning to suspect that had more to do with weird attachment issues based on my mother’s emotional instability. With kids my own age, I was fearless – often to my detriment, because I did get mocked and bullied at both my primary schools. At my second school, I often didn’t know whether I’d have friends that day, or whether the girls who had been my friends the day before would turn around and start picking on me.
The first response to an ADHD diagnosis is often relief, excitement, even delight. Having answers, feeling that you might not actually be “lazy, crazy or stupid”, finding out that medication might give you the ability to restructure your life – all that is wonderful. This is especially true for people like me, who are born problem-solvers. We like answers and explanations and solutions.
It’s less clear after that. I’ve read that some experts liken it to a grief process (although I’m not sure where bargaining comes in).
What I did find was that, after the initial excitement and euphoria wore off, I was intensely frustrated and disappointed. Continue Reading
Hello from the distant ends of when-the-fuck-do-I-update-this-thing:
As it says in the “About” section (which I really should update), my brain is churning out a lot of narrative and monologue and opinion and reaction, more or less constantly (turns out: that might be an ADHD thing). I have a lot of opinions and plans and thoughts, and I think I explain things well (regardless, people have told me I do, and even if that sounds like “MY MUMMY SAYS…” from Matilda the Musical*, let’s roll with it).
I sometimes feel that the reason I explain things well is that I take the time to come up with context, and angles, and metaphors, and what that means is that my posts get very long. Settle in with a cuppa when I update this marvellous platform for sarcasm, swears and communication.