To Admire

I also have just learned that INFP-ers are overly represented in the populations of people suffering from depression and people with ADD. Curious!

Seriously.

I’ve got a plan for how to rearrange furniture in my bedroom, but first I need to do SO MUCH.

I would appreciate a band of groupies with whom I share my vision(s) and they’re like, “Okay, boss! Let’s make this happen!” and they crank up some sweet jams and get to work as I make final corrections and and tweakings. Not just for moving stuff around my bedroom. For everything.

Today I am having an awful time prioritizing and planning and I really feel crappy.

There is just one “Let’s DO THIS!”-type person in my family—my older sister—and she is not known for her patience, generosity or, uh, thoughtfulness. I also don’t like her moving my stuff around. What’s a girl to do?!

I am getting re-freaked out about my ADD diagnosis and Big Pharma and psychiatry and self-knowledge and etc etc. And great, I took my meds late today (my body needed to sleep until after 11; it was nice.) So, what do I do? More meds? No meds? I hate hitting this cyclical mental health cause/treatment paranoia.

I had my first real day at work on Monday. During the lunch shift, it was pouring rain. It was suggested that I may not get any tables at all, if it were really slow. Luckily, I guess, I did get three. It went fine, though I did make a few mistakes: I must remember we have both a turkey cobb salad and sandwich. Also, for whatever reason, I was not entered into the computer order-managing system we use correctly—I still was categorized as a trainee, and as such, I needed a manager to authorize every split check and so forth that I needed. I am asking a lot of questions, but fortunately, these questions are spread around to a lot of different people. I am a wee bit paranoid about asking too many questions, but as of now, everyone has been fairly happy to help.

In the evening, even though the rain had subsided, I had a whopping TWO tables. Fortunately, I was cut early, and was able to take the new bar menu test, take my time checking out for the night, and chat with my older sister, who was there with a large party that was seating on the patio. I was thankful, as I was feeling pretty awful during my afternoon break, and I knew that I would be glad to be home before 10:30.

Something I appreciate about being a server is that it will really help me hound my attention to the present environment, responding to real, immediate demands right away. It’s practice! It also demands that I memorize new information quickly, for varying periods of time: at table 45 we’ve got a diet coke and a sweet tea; the specialty pizza this week is a lamb hummus pizza with feta, artichokes, and spinach; the new bar menu test I just took (after having studied for it an hour or so) is for this fall and winter, but it hasn’t yet gone into effect, so I must remember the old bar menu. It can be overwhelming. So far, though, I think I’ve done alright.

I need to eat.

My medicine has been making me feel nauseated, but I more accurately describe the feeling as feeling light-headed in my throat. Yesterday, I had really bad stomach pain. I don’t understand how I could feel fine while in D.C. for a week on this same dosage, but when I come home, I am suddenly having appetite problems and all these other uncomfortable, ill-feeling side effects.

My mom, dad, little brother are going to church this morning, of course. I don’t try to reason why I don’t want to go—it is futile, it is tautological, you know, personal/philosophical/theological reasonings. You know, one thing I like the most is the serenity of the morning with my family (or most of them) swept away from the house. I can appreciate the morning light in our front rooms when it is more quiet, less chaotic. My mind is at ease for once in a place that I feel I ought to feel most at ease. Everything is more clear.

Let’s talk about inattentive-type ADD right now.

I think I do indeed have it, because stimulant medication does not make me feel as if I am on speed. I feel much better in the morning, much less hopeless, more tolerant of chaos and competing demands around me (even though it still is hard, and I feel bogged down quickly.)

But the way my ADD manifests itself to others at home definitely makes me seem… uh, selfish? grumpy? lazy? narcissistic?

Like, for example: I’ve never been able to tolerate the sound of our vacuum cleaner. And now that I know that I’m ADD, it makes more sense than just a personal distaste: the sound roars through anything in my mind that I am trying to organize, and I can’t I can’t I can’t function, and the sound is angry. And it makes me angry! I am trapped in the tiny liveable portion of our house by this awful SOUND.

We finished painting my parents’ bedroom yesterday, and so, around 11, my mom has put the furniture back in proper position and begins to vacuum while I am in the room, on her bed. I have to dart out with my fingers in my ears, close the door of Sydney’s room, and trytrytry to hum or something through the noise, fingers still jamming my ears. It is awful.

I go back to Mom’s room when she is finished, to give her my copy of Women with ADD (Sari Solden), and I try to explain that I wish she wouldn’t vacuum with me around. She gets, you know, this queer, you’re-leading-me-on, smirky look and asks what I’ll ever do when, in the future, I need to vacuum.

It’s frustrating. Because, duh, I know it sounds totally dumb that I really, really can’t stand to hear vacuums. And I know I am not very tidy (oh hello there, ADD!) and quotidienne cleaning activities are difficult for me to remember or get motivated to do, and so, look, Erica is clearly making some childish statement about how she will globally dismiss her ability to do chores around the house because she had ADD. No! Not at all.

Please, trust me. I know it sounds silly, but my feelings are true. Please respect them, regardless of how odd it may seem to you.

Because I have a poor sense of time—and I cook a lot—I have gone over kitchen timers on Amazon for the nth time, and lamented that they must all be so ugly and ineffectively designed. What’s so difficult about a kitchen timer? Then, I realized, lucky me, I use my phone to write myself notes, set alarms for myself, schedule appointments. I want a timer for cooking but also for sticking into my pocket when I am working on something, and luckily I found a free, easy app timer. Fantastic.

the day clicks along. I wake up sleepy and uncomfortable and take my medication. In an hour, it has kicked in, and I am eating scrambled eggs, toast, and the tempeh bacon I marinated overnight. I repot a tomato plant. I run downstairs to interrupt Dad talking with the termite guys to thank him for the new visor he ordered for my car that was indeed the correct interior color (grey), not black. I sit with a kitten on my lap, and take the kitten to Robby’s bed so that it will not be sad that I am leaving to take a shower and I have given it a new place to snuggle. I notice that it seems I press my jaw together more on this medication.

My cousin is getting married in late August, and I am making the wedding cake. We’ve got a price, and I will be paid soon. I must source some larger bags of cake flour—I will check the King Arthur website to see if they offer a larger size. I am excited! I hope my family allows me plenty of kitchen space. My mother thinks it is silly, but I will pay someone (Griffin? Robby?) to wash dishes for me.

I feel dazed now. I need to eat before I crash, but I am waiting on tomatoes from the fruit market. Ah, here they are now.

The thing about being on neurobiologically-affective medication is that I constantly analyze my mental feeeelings and attempt to attribute how I feel to how well (or not) the medication is working. This is not the best approach. I am not certain there IS a best approach.

Like, right now, I have kind of a headache. Is it the Vyvanse? I was restless falling asleep last night—maybe I would feel better after a more calm night’s sleep. Perhaps I am a bit dehydrated from canoeing on Saturday and an excessively hot and humid Homearama yesterday. Or hungry. Maybe I’m hungry.

I am curious how I will feel after a week of this medication. Right now, it feels uncannily like I’ve got a new pair of contacts in or glasses on. It’s that type of headache I am describing above, but I do feel as well like I am seeing more. It’s odd, and so long as the headache does not persist, I think I like it. Maybe?

Fact: I talked to Mom on the phone from 9 am to 11:16 am. 

So much talking. It was so. Good. If this is the right diagnosis—and I am increasingly putting my faith in that this is the right diagnosis—it is bringing so much new understanding a communication and healing into my family already. It’s amazing! It explains so many struggles members of my family have faced, and things that frustrated me about my family growing up. It has allowed me to share my dreams and desires with my mom so much more than I’ve been able to—how much I adore Griffin, how much I want to help people and feel a certain tenderness towards women and children, how I feel about my education, how I would approach architecture if I indeed pursued it, and so forth. I talked about my insecurities. I was honest about things I see in my family and in my mom that I used to attribute to a personal failing or character flaw, and now see as potential signs of inattentive-type AD/HD like I have. We talked about my mom’s college experience and her struggles, and how no one in her family had a smooth path through college, and my mom’s thoughts about her career (or lack thereof) and her position as a homemaker. We talked about my father, who I worry about as being troubled with some sort of mental disorder or emotional problem. We talked about friends and relationships and hobbies. She is requesting the Women with ADD book by Sari Solden (I posted a picture of it a bit ago) from the UK library, and I am so glad for her to start reading it. Oh please, please. I hope this is right.

In other news, I think I feel the medication working—or, you know, I am just excited. But I’ve been able to write several emails to friends with more concentration, I feel more awake, more clear than usual; it’s almost even as if my physical vision is improved. It’s subtle—and maybe, maybe, in a couple of months, I will angrily lament that gaaah, none of the medication is working! And maybe this is the wrong diagnosis! And maybe I’m lazy and silly and any number of things, and why can’t I just make things work like other people?

But for now, please, please. I hope this is right.