I recently had a kid who totally got what I was saying in the moment. He understood me. He saw me. I was touched by his earnest, honest question: “Do you have ADHD? I have that. And I get it.” At the time, I had two little girls piping up—constantly interrupting. I was trying to get my thought out yet their constant yelling out was legit making me crazy. Not only because it was seriously disrespectful, but because it made me GLITCH. Like a robot who got a little water in their circuit board. Suddenly I lost all thoughts, and all I could hear was my brain frying like an egg on a hot rock and my physical body slump in disappointment and despair. I was quick to be mad at the girls. “Why are they so disrespectful?” But the real thing was me. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?
Troy often looks at me like I’m a total freak when I tell him how I think. Over the weekend I tried to break it down for him. How I have no less than 10-20 thoughts during one conversation and of those maybe 2-3 have to do with the conversation at hand. It’s more like this (see if you can follow. If you can, I owe you a sticker.)
Troy: tells something that happens at work while we are driving to Richmond.
Me: tries to follow but then sees a bird on the power line. I wonder what kind of bird that is? Hmmm. Maybe a robin. Maybe a mockingbird. I wonder what the coolest bird I’ve seen this week is? I think I saw a hawk yesterday. Ooo! What is that cool tree I just saw? It had prickly gum balls. I saw plants with prickles once. Omg. It’s gonna be spring soon. Last spring I saw neat plants. What is this fucking song on the radio? Why do we always listen to this stuff? Oh yeah. Troy doesn’t love Tpain and Taytay like me. That’s ok. I get that. At least this isn’t fucking metal. I hate metal. Hey babe—what’s your top 5 road trip songs? We proceed to have this convo for a bit and Troy tells me tales of George Harrison. I then remember he always says Ringo is the worst Beatle and that makes me sad for Ringo. Mama always loved Paul but everyone loves Paul. Then I see a house that is pretty and I say so and in my mind I start dreaming about houses, land, and life not in the city. I don’t like the city but it’s practical. This goes on for the 2 hour trip to Richmond going and coming home the next day.
Did I mention that about 90% of this is in my brain and is never said? I also didn’t include everything because I don’t want all my loyal, loving readers to think I need a grippy sock vacation at Centra. It’s a wild ride in my brain that’s for sure.
This way of thinking, distraction, disarray has always been me. I only recently began to think about it more. Part of me wants to blame old age, menopause, anxiety or depression. I honest to god think I need a little adderall to make the thinking slow down and give my mind and psyche a fucking break. But I’m 49 and a diagnosis at this age? Really?
It could explain a lot. My lack of executive functioning skills at times. My sense of overwhelm. My phenomenal skills at starting things I don’t follow thru with or finish. The dreams I dream up and can’t quite start on because of the overwhelm. The doodles I draw, the overstimulation, the self doubt, the inability to listen to bullshit. The questioning of most every authority figure ever. Oh and the imposter syndrome. Holy shit that one is a beast. And now I’m down a rabbit hole I’ll never find my way out of.
That said, I have come to realize that my unique abilities and set of skills has allowed me to understand my most challenging kids. I have come to understand them in a way that a lot of people haven’t. I see myself in them. Not the hyperactivity. We all know I’m usually a slug except when I’m shaking ass to TPain, but the brain. That thing is going 120 mph every waking hour of every day. I understand our distracted students. I am that kid. I understand the anxiety and stress that comes from not fully understanding whyyyyyy. Whyyyy am I like this? Why can’t I focus? Why is everyone but me annoying? Whyyy do I have to do that? Why can’t I do what I want, learn what I want, be what I want? Societal, professional, cultural norms are hard. Southern classical norms…good lord.
Nevertheless, I find myself a perfect person to be able to reach some of our more….shall we say…. attention fluid (?) kids. Those of us who have this fluidity of thought can connect to each other in a truly meaningful way. That’s not to say that there isn’t frustration on both sides of this equation. I find myself equally frustrated with my attention-ally challenged friends and myself (because I know more and better). I guess there’s always more to learn and more creative solutions to find for both myself and our kids at school. Luckily I’m in a position I can do that.
My (maybe) final thoughts are wide and varied but I did think about this one particular thing that will likely lead me to have more questions than answers which is par for the course of my brain: if I were to find that the root cause of my very active mind, would I even want to try to treat that and calm it down? Would it be a relief or would I feel like I’m betraying who I am? I know for our school age kids, we treat this attention spiciness so that they can learn easier, so they can be socially accepted, successful, attract and maintain friendships, and legit not pluck everyone’s nerves that live in their circle. I have argued for years that that treatment is just as needed as blood pressure meds or insulin. But when the script is flipped I waver. I am 49 years old. Maybe in the 80’s I maybe would have benefitted? Idk. I don’t know that I care to know what my life would have been like if I was treated. But now? I really don’t want to know. I’m comfortable. Anxiety ridden? Yes. But I know how to cope. I’m happy most all of the time. Why change it now?
I think that perhaps, maybe, mayyyyybe, this little spicy brain of mine is a blessing. A plucky blessing? Maybe. Idk. I have more questions. And more thoughts.
Stay tuned for the next installment of my random (RANDOM) thoughts sure to pique your interest or solidify your assertions that I am in fact, a weirdo.
As always, my people, I love your face. Go love on your spicy brained friends for me, will ya?
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