Bad Hippie, No Patchouli!

Those of you who pop in from time to time know I like to babble about soccer, post anecdotes about the Beavis, and wow you with cute photos of the furry felines who live in the Hippie Household. On other occasions, I like to go off on tangents about strawberry picking and/or discuss my battles with depression, food allergies, and the medication I take for said maladies. Yeah. Sometimes I like to talk about the crazy. But lately the crazy has been taking over my life, and not letting me enjoy much else -- cats and soccer included. And the crazy has been driving other people crazy. So I decided to visit a new doctor -- an honest to goodness psychiatrist who could calibrate medicine to my particular biochemistry -- and get a definitive diagnosis.

It wasn’t what I expected, that’s for sure. I was prepared for a diagnosis of depression. Bipolar disorder. Batshit crazy. Something along those lines. But when the doctor put down his pencil, peered over the tops of his glasses, and announced "ADHD," I was taken aback. Floored, really. ADHD. Me? That’s impossible!

I mean, I can focus on tasks. I can study. I can read. I can (usually) sit still. How can I have ADHD?

After letting me vent and stew, the doctor pointed out that my talking is a symptom of hyperactivity. Now, I talk fast. I know that. My brain moves fast. I just figured that was how I was wired. I am so used to jumping from subject to subject (in my head) and keeping up with myself, that I’ve never considered how difficult it could be for other people to follow me. (HWSRN can vouch for this. My intensity is a sore point in our relationship.) As for the jiggling foot and wandering brain in meetings -- well, I just figured that most people had trouble sitting still meetings, too. Right?

Everyone has a stereotype of ADHD in their head, I think. You know what I mean -- that kid you knew in fourth grade? The one who wouldn’t sit still and couldn’t do his work and basically drove the teacher nuts? Bad grades, class clown, the whole nine yards? That was never me. Instead, I was quiet, shy, a bookworm, had excellent grades, and was often a teacher’s pet. Except for the talking. I always had my seat moved because I would talk to my neighbor(s). And the day dreaming. If the subject didn’t interest me (math), I would daydream. Still, my grades were awesome. I got myself through college while raising a toddler and working 20 hours a week. How can I have ADHD?

It turns out my ADHD manifests itself through hyper-focus. If I like something, I focus on it. And I practice it until I can do it well. If I don’t like it, it’s off my radar and "not my thing." I make excuses, and say: "That’s not me. I don’t do ‘math.’"

Weird, huh? The doctor also thinks that I’ve been trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to "fix" myself. Or, at least my brain has. All those soccer highs and the rush of adrenaline I get from running? It’s exactly what I need. My brain is trying desperately to produce the chemicals that will even it out. And all those anti-depressants I’ve been taking? They make me worse. Giving an ADHD person serotonin is a bad thing. It makes us crash, I guess.

Not that I totally understand ADHD yet. It’s too new. I’m not even sure I can wrap my mind around it. At first, I was happy to have a diagnosis. The doctor (who is pretty highly recommended) gave me an answer, and that means I can begin treating the problem. That was good news. But now, I sort of feel depressed. I mean -- I knew how to "deal" with depression. I accepted that it was a part of me. I didn’t necessarily like it, but I had learned to live with it. But ADHD? That’s a disorder. A disability, even. I don’t want to be disabled! I’ve always thought that I could rely on my intelligence and my ability to solve problems creatively to get through life. To find out that my brain isn’t exactly functioning the way I thought it was? Well, it’s a cosmic shift, to say the least.

It’s not the end of the world, I know. But still -- I’m not sure what to think. I’m used to thinking about myself in a particular way, and this diagnosis tosses all my of ideas about myself out the window. What exactly am I? Who am I? Has my particular brand of crazy been running my life and hiding the authentic me, or has the authentic me been coping with ADHD? It’s a mystery.

It’s funny, really. The few people I’ve told think the doctor is nuts. "You don’t have ADHD!" HWSRN met the diagnosis with initial skepticism (based largely, in part, on the huge number of misdiagnosis I’ve had over the years), as did my mother. My dad just about dropped the phone laughing. And The Beavis snorted, saying: "What? You’re not like those kids in my class. Well, you do talk a lot."

In two months, I’m going to be 35. For at least 20 of those years, I’ve been reading about and trying to cope with depression. It’s a bit earth-shattering to realize that what I really should have been addressing this whole time is something completely different. Something that could cause depression, I guess, but something much more than depression. I’m not sure how to think about it.

I can only hope that wrapping my head around this latest development doesn’t take another 35 years. That’s a lot of time to waste being misdiagnosed and misunderstood. Plus, it would be nice to finally learn how to get the crazy under control. Seems like it’s about damn time, you know?