tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70175244869418981072024-02-20T10:33:38.955-08:00ADHDangstandmoodyA diary: tackling ADHD (mine), anxiety, and depression, in the midst of play-dates, hockey practice, and the elementary school circuit. Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-2309638711929118802017-08-01T11:27:00.005-07:002017-08-01T13:01:59.696-07:00Fresh startOK. Time to get down to business. You've got a house full of camping equipment and that's just the tip of the iceberg. You've got a headache and you have to be at the optometrist in 3 hours, in heavy traffic... So, you've got only two freaking hours left to get something done around here! OMFG. You haven't had breakfast yet and it's well past noon. Girl. WOMAN. Person, you have got to get it together. Shit now I'm sad...<br />
Sometimes I realize just how much pain I'm hiding inside. Sometimes. The surface gets scraped away just slightly, unexpectedly. There's a lot of hurt in there. It needs to come out.<br />
In the meantime, though, I really want to accomplish SOMETHING so I can feel a bit better about myself and in my environment (and give my dear husband a wee bit of hope).<br />
Two hours left. Do I hammer out the to do list as I wanted to do? Do I hammer out that day-planning form that I wanted to make? Or do I just go eat breakfast/lunch and then get freaking busy on the biggest, most obvious clutter so my family (and I) can see a difference?<br />
<br />
I want to both list and tidy...<br />
<br />
Go get some food and that hammer out that list.<br />
Give yourself 30 minutes. That will leave 90 minutes to go hard on the house and accomplish a little bit (pick the most visible tasks...😉).<br />
<br />
Okay. It's a plan. Go get food and then write the list. Time is ticking.<br />
<br />
Update: I spent almost two hours making the damn list (and replying to a few texts). I forgot to set a timer and forgot all about my 2 hour deadline. If I leave 30 minutes to get to the optometrist, 15 minutes to get out the door, that gives me 30 minutes to eat and do a mad dash tidy so that I've done SOMETHING with this mess... Go.Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-10123004207514760902017-08-01T11:12:00.001-07:002017-08-01T13:05:57.047-07:00Rambling, stream of consciousness, meanderings. Whatever. I'm here again. Writing is calming. It helps me feel accountable to myself.<br />
It's time for a fresh start. Start what? Start taking care of myself and my family. Put away the camping gear. Choose a new career. Everything else. It's a long list, or it would be long if I wrote it. Mostly it's floating around in my mind and cluttering up my home.<br />
Anyway, where was I or where should I be?<br />
My mental to do list today started with, "Step 1. Find calendar." (Calendar/diary/blank book that would be a bullet journal if I remembered/took the time to use it.) Done, actually, but since I didn't write it down I don't get to check it off. (Damn!)<br />
<ol>
<li>Find calendar. Check.</li>
<li>Water hanging baskets. One done; one to go.</li>
<li>Water plants I bought but haven't yet planted.</li>
<li>Buy Borax. Better yet, start a grocery list. </li>
</ol>
Okay maybe this diarizing in a public forum is just really, really stupid. ... [Attempt to ponder; just stare and eventually realize that my brain is stuck on: "Don't care!"] ... I don't seem to care. I just want to write and it seems to be good for me. Why not make it all private? The only answer I have is the hope that one day someone will say that he/she gets it, or better yet, that someone will feel better by reading what I've written and feeling some common ground.<br />
Anyway, I wandered again, didn't I? F#$&.<br />
Perhaps if I'm going to write stream of consciousness (as in, journal, let it all flow out of me, which is where the healing happens... I think), I shouldn't berate myself when my mind wanders...<br />
I berate myself because no-one would want to read such drivel... which is where I see the conflict in my desire to blog. I want to write for my own benefit... I tend to write stream of consciousness... I think that it helps my ADHD'd brain to sort things out... but I know that it doesn't makes for terrible, verbose, unfocused, boring, writing. Okay, so that tells me something: I have an interest in writing and I care about the craft of writing and its readability. I enjoy the craft of writing. I really do enjoy that process. ...on the other hand, THIS process of just letting it all out is also good for me (and even enjoyable). I mean, that sentence actually told me two things: 1. I enjoy the craft of writing for others. 2. Writing stream of consciousness really does help me to sort things out and learn things about myself. They are two different things but they are both true and valid. So then... Oh yeah: 3. For some reason I really do want to write in an open setting, because I do hope to help and to find common ground. However... [Big sighs and breathing while I ponder and work up to this (why the hell do I have to work up to this???] Do they necessarily have to happen simultaneously? I mean, I can write stream of consciousness for myself, and at some point, if I really want to be a writer, I can SEPARATELY and SUBSEQUENTLY craft a concise, reflected, version for public consumption.<br />
Ah ha! 4. I don't want to do that because then I would have to admit to myself that I'm actually seeking public consumption of my writing. Then I would have to face the fear that my intentional writing is not good enough! If I consciously wrote and edited something for others to read, I would have to admit to myself that I'm trying to do something that seems audacious.<br />
In my imagination, floating between my and my laptop, is an image of my father laughing at me. "You? A writer?" I don't really know where that comes from because he's never said that I'm a bad writer. ...no, but he's said that I shouldn't take chances. He's said that only rich people's kids can be artists, and are writers in that category?<br />
He's definitely said that I should keep things to myself.<br />
I disagree, but maybe, just maybe, the stream of consciousness can be for me alone. I like this format. I like typing, here. I like reading my posts with their pretty barbed wire backdrop. Maybe I do want to hear that I'm not alone... Is that ego? Or loneliness? I don't know. It's probably both, right?<br />
Well whatever, I learned a few things today:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>I like to write. </li>
<li>Writing stream of consciousness helps me find order in my whirling thoughts. </li>
<li>I enjoy the craft of editing, too. </li>
<li>I like the idea of actually figuring out some helpful stuff, crafting it, editing it, and even (big jump over an emotional chasm) publishing it. I can state that. It doesn't mean that I necessarily will do it, or even want to do it enough to choose to do it, but it does at least interest me...</li>
</ul>
<div>
That's as far as that goes. I'm still on the fence about whether to turn this whole thing to a private setting (is that even possible?) or write in Word (probably makes the most sense) or whatever. i.e. It does seem most logical to do my private journalling privately, yet some part of me is resisting to the point that I'm wasting precious time trying to justify it... Ridiculous but also curious. I mean, WHY???? Why do I care so much? I guess...</div>
<ul>
<li>I'm lonely.</li>
<li>It would feel good to help someone. </li>
<li>There's that old fantasy that someone will read my blog and invite me to write that book... Hello Julie, I'm jealous of you... (Yeah mom, I know, it's not all about me...) See THAT cryptic thought is the type of thing that makes me think that private writing should be private. I know what that means and can come back to it later. In a public setting I feel that I should explain it as it suggests, misleadingly, that I resent my mom. On the contrary, it's been a source of guilt. She was right and I knew it immediately, and even more so when it was too late to hear her again. </li>
</ul>
<div>
Life is heavy. </div>
<div>
I think I'm going to call this rant a day (which, yes, imagined critic, makes no sense -- another point in favour of keeping this on the down low -- to hush my inner critic!), and start a new post along the lines of the post that I'd envisioned writing today... Still, I guess this was the stuff that part of me needed to write...??? I don't know why. </div>
<div>
Over to the next post -- all about being productive and motivated and kicking some housekeeping butt. Woo freaking hoo. Yeah I'm trying to motivate myself and so far I'm just rambling as a form of procrastination... which seems like a really big faux pas. I mean, I'm talking to myself here, aren't I?!</div>
<div>
Is that what it's come to? I'm talking to myself? I mean, I'm silent, but I'm writing a conversation with myself... Can't decide if this is totally fucked up and embarrassing, or if that's what writing, or at least diarizing, often is...??? Seriously. Can't figure it out because I'm stuck on the hot, intense, embarrassment... My arms are tense, my chest is tense. Breathe, breathe, breathe... </div>
<div>
Well that's something else to come back and ponder... When I can actually think because right now I just can't... </div>
<div>
Is it the fact that I'm writing that is blocking my thinking? Is it ADHD? Is it just me? Does everyone do this? </div>
<div>
I think it might be, if not the ADHD, the fact I'm writing. For public. </div>
<div>
OK. That's it. Im going to keep this in draft. so forget punctuation etc. what was the damn question? </div>
<div>
Oh, God, it was a stupid fucking question in the first place. </div>
<div>
It's possible that stream of consciousness writing eventually gets in the way of thinking because I'm too busy writing... and unlike writing with a pen and paper, I can see what I write after I've written it...! Not so with paper... not as clearly. </div>
<div>
Hmm. </div>
<br />Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-34719731233584004932017-01-18T09:24:00.000-08:002017-01-18T09:25:15.318-08:00Change isn't easyI'm trying, but it's slow. A few steps in, a lot of steps sideways, many steps back.
<br>Today I was going to go to the gym. I dressed in my gym clothes, but I didn't have time for breakfast before my school run, so I pulled into a coffee shop. Which is near a bargain shop. Where I decided to go since my son lost another glove. Of course I then looked at handbags, sports bras, housewares, and water bottles, and they had no gloves in his size. I bought another pill organizer (bigger than the two I have), a box of votive candle holders, a wallet, and... probably some other stuff I've already forgotten. Nice wallet though.
<br>I wasted over an hour in there.
<br>Now I've got my breakfast/lunch.
<br>I'm tempted to skip the gym since I've wasted so much time (and it's so boring).
<br>No, I have to go. For my brain, for me, for my hubby and my son.
<br>Time to eat, here in my car, and then go life weights. Even though I forgot to pack a towel or a change of clothes.
<br>One step at a time Kady. You can do it. You just have to actually do it. Save yourself little girl. Save yourself.Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-8508409369337137352016-11-23T10:05:00.000-08:002016-11-23T10:24:17.901-08:00Lesson: When I do something small, I feel a bit better. Yesterday I had a little bit of energy and I wanted to make some progress in my life. While I had breakfast I started to write in my journal. I started off like this:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
OK. Let's get started. What's missing? What needs to be done? What needs to change? </blockquote>
A river of indecision followed. Pen up; pen down. I stood up to do something, anything, and, turning, saw the dishes on the counter and sat back down again, struck by confusion, doubt, and the incomprehensible inertia of depression.<br />
At some point I took to the internet to find out whether a particular Ikea product could hold CD's. One thing led to another and somewhere along the way I thought about supper, decided to buy the ingredients at a store that had sent me a coupon, remembered that I need eye cream, and proceeded to spend hours reading reviews of skin care products in preparation for a trip to buy frozen french fries and chicken strips...<br />
Heading out to pick up my son, no time left to shop, I was overwhelmed by the futility of my actions and choices (or lack thereof). Pulling out of the McDonald's drive-thru with supper I wondered, quite seriously, "Have I lost my mind?"<br />
The necessity of parenting being what it is, I rallied to meet the need, focused squarely on my role as homework helper. When my husband came home I looked down and told him that his supper was in the bag on the stove, focusing on our son's homework with steely resolve. My husband is amazing. He thanked me for supper without a hint of malice, chopped up veggies when I asked, and tolerated my tension. I am lucky.<br />
That's not what this was supposed to be about though.<br />
This is the thing: after supper, while the guys were working on a project outside, I started some laundry. <br />
Then I emptied the dishwasher and cleaned up the kitchen.<br />
When our son told me he was sad I listened and I got my husband to come and listen to.<br />
Then I hung up the laundry and started another load.<br />
It was very, very little, but it helped.<br />
It helped me and my family because those tasks got done.<br />
Moreover, it helped my mood.<br />
Just sorting that laundry gave me a tiny lift emotionally, even if my body ached.<br />
I reached out to my sibling, who asks me to stay in touch. That helped too.<br />
Cleaning the kitchen is a victory because I'm building a habit: a daily clean counter and sink habit.<br />
Hanging the laundry felt like completion. I did a little something. It didn't much matter what. But I did it and then I felt better.<br />
Before bed I set up a digital checklist to help me remember if I've taken my meds, and then I added some more tasks, daily and weekly.<br />
When I awoke, I got some reminders. Best of all, I remembered that it feels good to do something, no matter how small.<br />
I got up earlier, I took my medication, I had breakfast, and emptied the dishwasher. Best of all, I have a start of a plan and some peace of mind. That is priceless.<br />
So now off to tackle a bit more... If at times I don't know where to start, I think that I know now, deep in my soul, despite all of the confusion that depression, anxiety, and ADHD can bring, that starting anywhere is much, much better than nothing. 💝Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-13018412010961113872016-11-21T14:22:00.001-08:002016-11-21T14:22:08.438-08:00A step in the right direction: ebooksA couple of hours ago I was in tears, for no reason except that I was sad and tired. I hoped that I might have PMS. No, I don't know, because I don't track my cycle (or anything else). Yes, I should. No, knowing that I should is not enough to make me do it. It's just another thing on my nebulous mental to do list..<br />
Anyway, I came here for the second time in a day(!) to note that today I took a step in the right direction. First I have to step back to two days ago when I quit using Facebook. Wow. I'm not sure that I'm comfortable even writing about that, but, (deep breath) let's be real here. It's 2016 and I know I'm not the only one with an unhealthy attachment to their phone. Remember when they called them smart phones? Right, like smart drugs. My phone might be something, but it's not making me smarter..<br />
Oh my goodness, such a detour.<br />
Where was I going? Right... felt like crap, quit Facebook... possibly another reason why I felt especially overwhelmingly awful today... so, well, I guess I cheated. I read an electronic book. Not the whole book, but several chapters.<br />
Reading! All the Distraction. None of the shame.<br />
Okay, less of the shame. I still got nothing done, except that I read from an interesting and helpful book. The book I'm reading, which I recommend, was written by Dana White and came out last week.<br />
Okay, that's all. Just a tip for the social media addicts out there... After a two day detox, an ebook helps. Hugs.<br />
Oh yeah, maybe also blogging... Is it social media if I'm writing to myself? Anyway, the take away is reading. :)Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-56294749561854828502016-11-21T11:45:00.000-08:002016-11-21T11:47:50.527-08:00One step at a time<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm overwhelmed. Simple questions rush through my brain, unanswered. </span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Is it better to keep a to-do list in the same notebook as my (recent) journal or separate?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Should I use Excel to make myself a daily checklist, or should the first scrap of paper I see suffice?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Should I spend time making my husband a birthday gift, or just catch up on and put away all the laundry, for once?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Should I tackle some laundry, try to declutter, or put on my coat and go get food for supper? I have no desire to leave my home or enter a store. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My kitchen is littered with the debris from last night's homework. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm cold. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I guess I'm kind of a whiner. I'm not here to whine though. I'm here... to begin. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm here to take one step, then another, with the hope that enough little steps will add up to a journey to somewhere... less sad. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Every day there's a flow. Things to do. Things get done. Needless to say, I'm really behind. Yet, if I can do one more thing, then I am making progress. Sometimes the best I can do is to eliminate tasks. Christmas cards, for example, are not on my radar, except for a vague sense of guilt on the horizon. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Okay, let's regroup. Let's pull it together. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This very day, what's ahead. (In no order.)</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- School pickup. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Homework.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Groceries. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Supper. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Bedtime. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Activity drop-off and pickup. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Those are the essentials, though often enough groceries and supper get passed off to another. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Bigger picture, what is there? </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Start a to do list.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Make a daily check list. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What else today?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Plant the bulbs; there's snow in the forecast.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Find my gloves. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Moisturize. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Feed the sourdough starter I got yesterday (like I need another responsibility). </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What else soon?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Pay the bills.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Do the laundry.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- A birthday present.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I feel so down. A week ago I felt optimistic. What's going on? </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Make a plan. Today I will:</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- No. I'm stuck. It all seems too hard. You can do it. Make it easy. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- OK.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Easy supper: there's chicken in the freezer. make rice. buy some vegetables. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Cook it before pickup, so it's ready when he's hungry. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Maybe some caffeine before pickup, and hope that it helps.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Make the bed, but don't wash it. No energy for that. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Wash some clothes, bring some up for the morning. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Feed the damn starter. Or just throw it out. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">How did this happen? I felt hopeful last week. It's nothing new. I just tend to avoid it.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">OK:</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Grocery list: Milk, peppers, </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I need to lie down.</span></div>
Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-58583079371471750442016-03-14T11:17:00.001-07:002016-06-04T12:57:10.089-07:00Mommy is trying to hold it together<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Here is a story. There are two parts.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Part I</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My mom died seven years ago. She was young. I was young. My son was just a baby. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He wasn't yet walking. He was my pride and joy. Still is. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He kind of lost his mommy that summer too. He lost the mommy who had always been 100% his. Suddenly his mommy was gone on a plane, trying to get to a hospital in time to say all the things she wanted to say. So daddy packed up baby and they came on a plane the next day. But then mommy was grieving. Everyone was sad and crying. Mommy was going to funeral parlours and florists. Then mommy was writing a eulogy. Delivering a eulogy. Making small talk with people about death. God it breaks my heart. Baby was with daddy all week. Which isn't all bad. Daddy had never been responsible for baby for a week. But what it must have done to baby's heart to see mommy, here and there, running in and out, happy to see him but busy, busy, busy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then mommy had to go back to work, bringing baby to daycare in the morning, crying, picking him up at the end of the day, and so on. Mommy was angry. Why was mommy's mom dead? And mommy was busy at the job that she hated. Mommy was busy trying to prove that she was good enough, day in and day out. Rushing to the daycare and getting baby into his snowsuit at the end of every day was challenging. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There is an image in mommy's mind of that year and this is it: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The tiles on the floor are terracotta. Smooth squares, burnt orange. Baby's snowsuit is on the floor, spread out like a star. It is bright blue on the outside, silvery on the inside. There in the middle of the star-shaped snowsuit mommy places baby. Baby is mommy's heart and joy. Mommy feels like a mess. Mommy is wearing a dark suit, pantyhose, and high-heeled boots. Actually she has had to remove her boots, because those are the rules. Mommy feels like Bambi, crawling on the floor, long arms, legs, bare feet. Mommy is trying to get baby into the snowsuit, but baby is fighting it. Baby is crying. Mommy is trying to hold it together. Other mommies and daddies walk past, to and fro, while mommy tries to get baby into the snowsuit and baby cries, night after night. Outside, baby refuses to go into his carseat. He resists, rigid. Mommy waits. One day mommy says okay. We can play in the snow. Mommy and baby walk in the snow for an hour. Mommy's feet are numb but she feels good: she is being a good mommy. Finally mommy leads baby back to the car. Baby refuses to go into the carseat. He goes rigid. Mommy is worn out. Mommy is sad. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Part 2</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Little one is now seven. Seven-and-a-half, maybe. That's as far as mommy is prepared to go with that. Because mommy doesn't want to believe that so much time has passed. That her beloved boy is growing up, and his mommy is STILL sad. And beloved, beloved boy seems sad too. Mommy cries hard just writing those words.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mommy has a LOT of sadness and guilt and worry to work through. And whenever she gets close to it she cries and she gets scared, so usually she avoids thinking about it. It's hard to avoid the sadness, because it's inside mommy's body. It's in her brain, supposedly, and she feels it all over her body. It is awful. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The most effective way mommy has to avoid it is social media: distracting mommy's brain with novel ideas and images. The problem is, mommy has a new job now: mommy is a housewife. Mommy got depressed and left her old job, which she hated. She was supposed to get well and get a different job, and she tried going back to school, but it went very badly and mommy even thought that it would feel good to be hit by a train. Finally, mommy said, the only job I ever wanted was to be a mommy. So this is mommy's dream job, but mommy is busy avoiding her thoughts almost all day long. I'll tell you this. It's really, fucking hard to be a successful housewife when you spend most of your time avoiding your sadness. Not a lot gets done around the house. A bit of weeping and curling up in bed. A lot of staring at screens until the funny images and friendly people and interesting stories there grab hold of mommy's brain and hold it tight. Mommy's brain temporarily forgets the pain and sadness. For just a little while (or as long as possible) mommy feels better. Until mommy has to stop staring at the screen. Mommy has to deal with reality, of course, eventually. And the reality is a mix of sadness and despair and fear and shame and guilt and it sucks. It is very, very hard. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mommy knows that she has</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mommy looked away from that sentence for a moment and now mommy has no idea what she was going to say. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Oh yes. Mommy knows that she has to get better. Maybe not 100% "better" (because what is that?), but better than she is. Imagine if mommy could not be depressed and sad and anxious! Mommy has AD/HD or ADD or whatever they're going to call it in the next edition of the DSM, and that is not going to stop, but what if mommy could learn to manage it better. Imagine if mommy could be healthy and happy. Just imagine... Mommy can't imagine it. All she can feel is sadness. Mommy cries hard. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mommy has to try to improve though. Not only because this is awful and mommy feels so much guilt about it, about being a sad and anxious mommy with a messy house, but also, also, because what if mommy got worse? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What if mommy got something life-threatening? This is a new fear for mommy; mommy's cousin has metastatic cancer and mommy knows so many people with cancer right now. It's not right. Mommy has been meaning to meditate and throw out all in the crap in mommy's cluttered cupboard and cook organic food, for more than a year. There is zero doubt that mommy wants to do this, but mommy hasn't made a single step towards that goal. Originally this was about cooking healthy food for little one. Now mommy sees that she has to stop poisoning herself and daddy, too, with the crap they put in so-called food these days. Little one needs mommy and they both need daddy. This thought, about food, is oddly comforting... Why? Because it is a distraction. Because thinking about cleaning out a cupboard and starting to bake is a fucking fantasy, and it's easier (easier!) to worry about GMO's over which mommy has little control, but can feel very worked up, than it is to worry about the fact that mommy is falling apart. Mommy knows how to avoid GMO's. That would be easy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It would be easy, if mommy weren't so fucking sad that she may or may not get dressed or make supper at all, let alone anything that requires a trip to the store and thinking and decisions. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mommy is fucked up and she is scared. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She is scared to feel how she feels. She isn't scared of hurting herself. That's not going to happen. Mommy is loved and she loves her people so much. But she's scared that she won't be able to be a good mommy if she stops avoiding her feelings. That she'll be too sad. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The End</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">......</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">More thoughts...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mommy's psychologist is a wonderful therapist. He pointed out that mommy has been telling him that she wants to clean up her house for about 10 months. He wondered if maybe not cleaning up the house was enabling mommy to avoid something else...This was a very interesting question. The messy house causes mommy anxiety and grief, so why would she do that? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">T</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">here are layers of answers to this question. If mommy avoids the house altogether, or avoids seeing it even though she's in it, she avoids the horror of the messy house. However, mommy knows that when she decides to work on it, she is forced to face the fact that she can't possibly clean it up in one hour or afternoon or one day. It's frightening. It might take... more time than mommy has. It makes mommy feel anxious. Sometimes mommy works on it. It's very hard, she may start to feel less anxious as she works, but she feels sad and worried and scared. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A possible answer came as mommy pondered the question. Mommy doesn't like to host because the house is messy and mommy is ashamed of the house. But maybe the messy house is a protective barricade. Mommy doesn't have to host if the house is a mess? Is mommy avoiding hosting? This doesn't seem to fit. Mommy used to like hosting. Mommy wants a clean house. Mommy does find hosting stressful though, but isn't that because of the messy house, and the distraction, and the sadness and pain... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Does mommy avoid cleaning up the house because she doesn't want to go back to work? This might seem an answer because mommy won't go back to work unless the house is organized. But no, this is not the answer. Mommy feels such clear rejection of this answer that it is a little bit troubling. It seems like an obvious answer, but mommy doesn't think that this is the problem. Why not? Why doesn't this fit? Well, two things. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">First, mommy wouldn't be adverse to going back to work if mommy were healthy and well and the house was organized and she had laundry and grocery and cooking and bill paying and filing and all the other fucking routines (hmm) that mommy would need to cope with life, and if mommy had a job that let her still be an awesome fucking mommy because mommy loves her little one more than the sun itself. It's true! He is her beloved shining star and she wants to be here for him. Which, of course, she doesn't feel that she is adequately now, because although she's in the house all day, or picking him up, or taking him out, her mind and body aren't healthy. She's not all here. Okay where was mommy? Right, it's not work that mommy is avoiding, it's going back to work and having a complete fucking breakdown. Being "here" mentally is what mommy wants. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Second... what was second... it's related, I think... There was another reason why mommy doesn't accept the idea that cleaning up the house is a way to avoid working... Right: getting on top of this house and running it well would actually increase the odds that mommy could continue not working if she chose. If she could get on top of the house, then she would have choices. She could keep kicking butt at being a SAHM, or she could work, or work part-time. It would all be ok. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So, no, mommy does not buy the idea that she's sucking at being a housewife so she can not work. Au contraire, mommy is scared that if she continues to suck at not working, she might be pressured to try working while her home is chaos, and that is scary. So yes, the idea of working does scare mommy. It does. But that's not why she's not making progress on the house. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Rather, mommy feels that this whole why-can't-you-clean-up-the-house topic is a distraction and wants to get back to the real issue. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">......</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Because mommy had an epiphany last week. A scary epiphany. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Mommy realized that she isn't just avoiding looking at <i>the house</i>. It's a lot bigger than that. </b>The house is a red herring really. (Mommy used to be a lawyer and lawyers like red herrings. In analyses. Mommy doesn't eat herring. Mommy's never seen a red herring, but the grey ones look gross enough, oily, pickled things at a Dutch pier or worse, in a big, bland jar in the supermarket.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mommy's distracting herself again. She's fucking annoying that way. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Okay mommy, where did that epiphany go? (Mental flashback to the coffeeshop where this happened, while working on homework for anxiety group therapy...) Just the flash, not the irrelevant distraction. Stop typing and let yourself remember. Even if it hurts. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Right, I don't just distract myself to avoid seeing the clutter (although the clutter is upsetting and overwhelming.) No. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>I distract myself to avoid feeling my pain. The pain isn't (just) about the clutter.</b> (For all I know the clutter is a way to avoid the pain too -- isn't that what they say about hoarding?) See, distracting myself again. No. No. No.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>I (that's me, mommy) distract myself to avoid feeling all my pain and sadness. Not just the stuff around me. The stuff inside me. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>I realized this when I was working on my homework and I had to take off the blinders. I had to look at my feelings. And the pain came and it was scary. </b>The pain is emotional pain. It's sadness. But it's so much more than sadness. It's a lifetime of fear and sad and scared and confusion and trying. Or something like that. I'm not really tapped into it now. Or rather, my door is shut. I'm distracted by typing, etc. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What forced me to open the door was that anxiety group therapy homework, so I guess I should get back to it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was so powerful to me at that moment, so much so that I expressed it in the group 30 minutes later, by which time it sounded trite or fake... it's so easy for it to slip away from me, but it hit me like a tidal wave when I was open to it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Weird. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">......</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm reminded of the day I blurted out in therapy that, "I stare into the computer screen to avoid seeing my life!" and made a little box around my face with my hands. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I took this as an explanation of why I waste time online, but that missed the point, which is that I'm avoiding my life. A friend later asked, "What is it in your life that you're trying to avoid?" It struck me as a profound question, and I couldn't answer it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I think, now, that I'm </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">avoiding my emotional pain. It's that simple and that big.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">......</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The thing I realized last week is that <b>I am full of pain and sadness, and I am afraid of it. I am afraid that if I feel it, I'll go under. I'll fall apart.</b> I put on a happy face and out I go. So much so that sometimes I doubt myself. My depression is being treated, I'll tell myself. My mood is okay. Except that it isn't.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Each day I can worry about my ADHD or my anxiety or my mood or my son or other loved ones or the world (no end of worries there). And just typing that brings up a rush of anxiety. I'm scared, because in my heart I know that those are distractions. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then that next thought comes flying in -- no, no, think positive! Do the opposite thing! Don't wallow. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm not wallowing. I'm avoiding. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>When I look at, really look at, what I've been avoiding, I start crying. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Again, counter thought says, see, if you stop avoiding you start crying! So stop avoiding!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But it doesn't work that way. Even my dear, sweet husband said that. <b>You can't keep avoiding it. You have to get in there and deal with it. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Okay. That's my assignment. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-17025606702997223912016-03-01T09:42:00.003-08:002017-08-01T10:13:33.519-07:00Soccer moms are crabby for a reason, and it's got little to do with soccer. Every parent has his or her own reasons. Here are some of mine.<br />
My son was late for school again and it was all my fault.<br />
I even gave the universe, the school rules, and my own self-esteem, a slap in the face by parking illegally in front of the school in a (failed) attempt to get him into class before the anthem.<br />
I did this in front of my son.<br />
If there's one thing that will make a smart mom crabby, it's letting down her own child.<br />
Hmmm. I shouldn't blog. I should just write, for myself, so I don't start to feel self-conscious, hit delete, or wonder if I should save this as a draft and edit it because that's what bloggers do.<br />
Some part of me wants to write in public though. I guess it's the part of me that doesn't want to be alone. That wants to hear, "Me too!" to be assured that I'm not the only shitty mom (delete), not-good-enough mom (delete?), guilty mom.<br />
Am I the only woman paranoid (or just worried) that my husband will leave me and successfully sue for custody of our son just by pointing to my weaknesses?<br />
I told him to see a psychologist because he was grumpy and stressed. He finally took my advice. Then he told me that the psychologist asked him why his wife is tired all the time and wouldn't he like it if I put our son to bed some nights instead of him? Fuck. You told another human being that you put our son to bed most nights lately? Did you tell her about the year that I put him to bed more than once a day by nursing him, alone, in a dark room? <br />
I digress.<br />
Bottom line, I feel like crap, and no I don't think that I should put this out there for the universe actually...<br />
Soccer moms.<br />
Oh yeah, today I spent an hour that I really didn't have responding to a friend's email that she's in town for the night and would like to get together, and how to fit this into my evening's schedule which is: pick up my child from school; cook and feed him supper and help him with his homework; emotionally and actually prepare for a parent association meeting at his school; transfer him to my husband during the meeting (childcare is provided) who will take him to an arena and get him ready to play hockey; rush from the meeting to the game; sit and watch my beloved boy block shots and try to block other shots; go home, get us ready for bed, and fall into bed.<br />
Did I mention that I'm depressed and anxious and the last thing I want to add to this picture is responsibility to host an adult? That I'm teetering on the edge of hoarding and dread the thought of a visitor, let alone an accomplished, child-free, visitor?<br />
I get over the guilt and suggest that she take a cab from her hotel to the arena and meet me there. She agrees. I feel relieved.<br />
Complicating factor: my friend and her boss want to meet with my husband late this afternoon. So if she meets with him at the end of the day, it would be only reasonable for him to invite her to come home with him and have supper with us before I head to the meeting and they head to the arena... But I, the introverted, anxious, poor-housekeeper, can think of nothing worse. Can not handle this pressure. Well, I could if I HAD to, but with a painful stomach all day and chaos all around and failing to meet all of my other obligations and intentions today...<br />
So I pass this stress on to my husband. Who is now going to a meeting with my friend and her boss at 3:00 p.m. and is going to try to avoid inviting her over for supper, just because his wife is such a basket case. He, the most sociable man in the universe... No wonder I get paranoid (or worried) that he'll leave me or fall out of love with me... I don't feel worthy.<br />
......<br />
Meanwhile, the clock is ticking, the day is shrinking.<br />
Things still to do today, in no particular order:<br />
<ul>
<li>Meet a different friend for lunch at noon. I have to leave in 25 minutes. (Note: This will not be fun. This is another source of anxiety. On the upside, it will also be a source of food, and I am seriously in need of nutrition.)</li>
<li>Buy groceries for my son's (and perhaps my husband's and friend's) supper.</li>
<li>Clean the kitchen -- fortunately I did this last night so it's not too bad. </li>
<li>Print and read the school constitution and other documents in preparation for tonight's meeting. </li>
<li>Wash my son's hockey long underwear, in time for it to dry this afternoon. </li>
<li>Pick up my son at 3:30 p.m.</li>
<li>Gather and return the overdue library books. </li>
<li>Pay the overdue bills.</li>
<li>Write to my cousin who has cancer. (I'm not piling this on to be maudlin. My dear cousin has cancer and lives on the other side of the world, and I'm overdue to write to her. I want to write to her. This takes time and focus and emotional energy that is currently in short supply.)</li>
<li>Do the homework and reading for my anxiety group therapy this Thursday. </li>
<li>Help my son with his homework, make our supper, and eat together. </li>
<li>Try not to feel extremely guilty about the fact that I don't want to invite my friend over for supper. What's she going to do? Eat in a restaurant by herself? Yeah, I feel extremely bad. But which stress is worse -- the stress of hosting on a stressful day, or the stress of avoiding it and making my husband and friend deal with the consequences? </li>
<li>Get my son into his hockey long underwear and ready to go by 4:30. </li>
<li>Go to the 5:00 meeting. (After that point it's all scheduled -- meeting; drive to arena; watch game; visit with friend; drive friend to her hotel; drive home; collapse; feel shitty because I (probably) still haven't written to my cousin; try to put it off another night because I need my sleep. </li>
<li>Enjoy a walk outside in the sunshine. </li>
</ul>
Some of these things are not going to get done today. The most important ones. The ones that involve looking after me.<br />
Well, it's 11:41. Just enough time to throw the long underwear into the washing machine, throw on some moisturizer, pee, and race to the sushi restaurant.<br />
fml<br />
<br />
<br />Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-10588544719112683992016-01-04T10:43:00.003-08:002016-03-01T09:55:04.601-08:00Optimism<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">I’m feeling incredibly
optimistic today. So much so that it’s a little… scary. </span><i style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">Hello, mania?</i><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"> No, that’s just the adrenaline of getting by on very
little sleep, soon to be supplemented with one non-stimulant AD/HD medication,
one antidepressant/antianxiety medication, and a cup of tea. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">I shouldn't get ahead of myself here. It's not like I've paid the bills, nor can I even sit down at my desk.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">However, I do have a bunch of reasons to feel hopeful.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">I got my
son to school early today. Early enough to play outside with his friends.
Without stress. He was so thrilled when I reassured him that we weren’t going
to be late, that he spontaneously threw his arms around my waist, pressed his
happy face against my stomach, and squeezed.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">A friend
emailed me and asked if I want to walk with her at lunch regularly. I’ve barely
been outside in a week and it’s sunny outside.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">I watched
a wild rabbit eating grass in my backyard.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">I read a
comprehensive, succinct, and hopeful post about ADD by a woman who accidentally
posted it to her Facebook page, and decided to leave it there. Inspiring!</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">I’m on a
clutter-busting roll here!</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">Yesterday
I got really down about my slow progress and worried that my husband might
leave me, <i>solely because I felt ashamed
and undeserving</i>, but I made a good decision and went out and bought
groceries and then I came to him in tears and told him that he will get “the
real me” back and he looked at me with love and told me that he knows that and
he sees progress and he wasn’t upset and his smile and words completely
reassured me. He helped me make the supper I bought and we all had a good
evening.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-indent: -0.25in;">On my way
into the grocery store last night I decided that every day I will do something,
<i>no matter how small</i>, towards healing
and moving forward. Something to feel good about, some positive step, no matter
how small, every day. I think that this is about appreciating that small steps
count, and giving myself reasons to be positive, as much as it is about getting
there. </span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Last week
I had the most helpful appointment I’ve ever had with my psychiatrist, thanks
in part to my husband being there. The biggest thing that I took away from it
is to think about and remember what makes me happy and to do more of those
things.</span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I
resolved to use a spiral notebook for ongoing to-do list(s), notes, etc. Credit
to my former coach, I guess: it’s a ‘one-book’, although it’s taken me 11
months to embrace the idea. I started to use it the week before Christmas, when
I was finally shaken into crisis-prevention mode. I have it and now I have to use
it. The first two lists should be things that make me happy and (other) things that
I need to do.</span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I had a wonderful dream the
other day. When I awoke I realized that I’ve been living "in a fog" for a long time. I <span style="font-size: 16pt;">re</span>membered that I used to have more vision and enthusiasm,
particularly regarding my physical surroundings. </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I didn’t always live in
clutter and I wasn’t always fatigued. </span></span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">Oh, yeah – </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">One more thing </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 21px;">– </span></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">...although, at that time, I
had no dependents, little stuff, and only one role (law student or lawyer).
Thinking on it now, the clutter started when I was living with a man who was
very wrong for me, working very long hours in a job I hated. On the other hand, my teen
bedroom was usually a mess... as was my poor mom's, and I know it
bothered her.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Still, awakening from the dream I remembered that I
used to feel more alive, enthusiastic, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">optimistic</i>. Remembering my past optimism strengthens my belief that I can feel
that way again, but better...</span> </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 21px;">In my dream I had creative vision and guts, but then I was shaken by other influences. </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 21px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 21px;">I need to solidify my own ideas and gain the strength to disregard the opinions of others, real and perceived. </span> </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">I used to revel in my little
homes. My first apartment was a tiny sanctuary. It was very spare, furnished with only a few things I chose. There’s a reason that my cluttered house drives
me crazy. I need and deserve to regain a peaceful home. And now that I’m blessed
to share it with two people I love who love me back and are awesome for me,
they need and deserve a peaceful home too, even if the clutter doesn’t affect them
as directly.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 16pt;">Okay, time to go for a walk in the sunny snow. </span> </span></blockquote>
Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-43333420993052391782015-12-10T08:37:00.000-08:002015-12-10T08:41:03.880-08:00Weight-shiftingEarlier this week I was in tears about getting my son to school late, again; meeting my friend for lunch late, again; and generally continuing to suck at life, again. I was walking around with a terrible sense of shame. I felt like one of those cartoon figures walking around under a raincloud, except the raincloud wasn't above me; it was my brain. Yesterday morning was more of the same.<br />
But something started to shift.<br />
Oddly enough I think the change started while I was pulling garbage out of my car in a donut store parking lot. I was late for an appointment at an auto-body shop. It was a pre-repair assessment of an insurance claim that I'd made two years ago, so I was a little nervous that they might balk on the basis that I'd waited so long to get the work done. For no reason, except that it took me two years to get around to it. Some people don't get that. I'd planned to be extra-well dressed and groomed, totally presentable and in no way resembling the sort of shifty person who might be trying to do something... shifty.<br />
I'm not shifty. I am, however, totally disorganized, overwhelmed, and shockingly unmotivated. I guess I nailed <i>that</i> look, since I had bed-head and no make-up, which is not a good look on a forty-something mom.<br />
Any how, in my effort to appear presentable and encourage the collision shop to the repairs that my insurer had agreed to fund two years earlier (and just generally preserve the ragged edges of my self-esteem), I stopped at the donut store parking lot to clear all the garbage out of my car. As I carried multiple handfuls of crumpled cups, snotty Kleenex, and God-knows-what-else from my car to the garbage, under the bored eyes of the drive-thru lane, I was mildly aware of the police car parked behind me. "No, officers," I brain-messaged them, "I'm really not discarding evidence of a crime here... Trespassing maybe, but I promise, I'll be right back here to buy coffee as soon as I can."<br />
Somewhere in that humbling process the fresh air, activity, shameful thoughts, and slightly-less-gross car interior, started to distract me from the shameful thoughts of the past few days.<br />
When I got to the body shop, the long line-up made me feel less-bad about being at least 15 minutes late. The place was full of worried customers and exceptionally calm and friendly service people. Smart business model. No one's happy about needing collision repair. (If it weren't so predatory, opening a bar opposite a collision shop might be a great idea.)<br />
More outside hustle and bustle shuttling to the rental car place and back and then wrestling all the crap in the back of my SUV into the tiny rental car. You know, the dirty dry-cleaning. The two lampshades I've been meaning to drop off at the thrift shop because they're fine, but not fine in my house (and I <i>finally</i> got them off of my dining room table and into my car this week). And the two child car seats I've been hauling around for two years, because they're unusable post-accident but if I can just find my receipts and deliver the car seats to the right government safety agency they'll reimburse me...they say. Seriously, I ask myself -- they'll need to fix the body of my car from the inside? Why wasn't I informed about this? <br />
Finally, 45 minutes later, I'm in an immaculate, tiny rental car, full of my crap, and I'm <i>free</i>! Free except for my crap. Back to the donut shop for breakfast and some calls to figure out where to unload these child car seats. I do have the receipt in my wallet. Google tells me that the automatic reimbursement program was discontinued a year after my accident. Hmm... I sit on hold for a while until my tea is done and then hang up. Because... <i>that's who I am???</i><br />
Whatever, I'm, "on a roll." True, I had accomplished nothing, but that's how I felt. Which is a far more productive feeling than usual, so I'm going with it. I resist the temptation to drive straight to the thrift store and <i>stick with my plan</i> (I know!!! This never happens!!!) to deliver a health-insurance form to my psychiatrist's office. I open the form and realize that I have to complete the first two parts. I make two calls to get info that I need to complete my parts. I complete them, add a note to my doc, and deliver it, three months after receipt. I am relieved. I may be reimbursed for hundreds of dollars in prescription medication sometime this year. I need the money. Badly.<br />
Next stop: thrift shop. It's mid-Chanukah, three weeks before Christmas, there's a light snow, and I'm not the only one at the donation doors. We're all parked at crazy angles, like we rushed there to defuse a bomb or something... and we smile crazily at each other after unloading -- We did it! We unloaded some of our crap! We feel good!<br />
So good that I remembered and did not even avoid dropping off the dry-cleaning.<br />
So, yes, I still had two unusable infant child seats wedged in the rental's hatchback, but my psychic load was a little bit lighter. Exactly two lampshades, one bag of clothes, a form worth several hundred dollars, and the start of an old car repair lighter.<br />
Anyway, then I got home, I got waylaid (that means I lay down and reacted to whatever had arrived in my email inbox), I didn't do the important work that I'd promised my husband I'd do, and the auto-body shop forgot(?) to call me when my car was ready, so I had to drag my son along for the rental-return-and-car-pick-up process, dinner was late, and I was late for the PTA meeting, where I volunteered for yet another task (why the #&*% can't I think before words come out of my mouth)...but, but, but, the good vibe from accomplishing just a few little tasks, it endured, beaten and bruised, but still faintly glowing.<br />
And so today, though my son was late again, and I hang my head in shame about that, and I <i>really </i>want to do the right things, I also wanted to take 5 minutes to note how mood-changing it was to accomplish just a few little things.<br />
That was at least an hour ago, and it's past 10:30 already, so I better get at it. Today, I am cleaning my office. It's a biggie. And buried within it are financial docs that we really, really need. (Involuntary sigh.) Wish me luck. I'm going in there, for a good, long, productive haul. <i>I think i can, I think i can... </i>Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-40976374007809701802015-11-10T09:35:00.001-08:002017-08-01T09:54:41.409-07:00Just a log book on the web with a song 20151110Tuesday. My day started off great. I had a shower! Early! I felt so good I even made up a song in the shower. It went something* like this:<br />
<br />
<i>It's going to be a good day; it's going to be a great day!</i><br />
<i>It's going to be a good day, 'cause I got up early!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I stretched my bones out. Now I'm in the shower. </i><br />
<i>It's going to be a great day, 'cause I'm on top of it. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Whether it's a hot day, or whether it's a cold day,</i><br />
<i>It doesn't matter, 'cause it's a long day.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>If it's a slow day, or if it's crazy, </i><br />
<i>It's going to be a good day. I'm not lazy!**</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Obviously I'm not a poet. More importantly, I haven't exactly lived up to the promise of that moment yet today. Although I did get my son to school early!<br />
Since then, I've cut and filed my nails and cuticles, which was not on my to do list (but did need doing).<br />
Okay, enough of this, I'm off to accomplish good things... which always fills me with the dreaded thought that I'm not going to accomplish <i>all</i> the things(<i>!!!</i>), shudder, but... where the fuck was I? Breathe breathe breathe. I'm going to accomplish a few important things.<br />
I'm going to wash and then hang the cold laundry.<br />
I might do the dishes.<br />
I'm going to deposit a cheque and pay a bill.<br />
I'm going to pay some other bills.<br />
I'm going to the dentist.<br />
I'm going to work on my group therapy homework.<br />
I'm going to pick up my son and make supper.<br />
And I'm going to make tiramisu for my friend's party tonight.<br />
So I better find the recipe and buy the ingredients too.<br />
<br />
[Update: I did not make Tiramisu. I cannot even believe that I thought that I would. I know myself better than that.]<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*Literally, because I really don't remember exactly how it goes.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">**This phrase disturbs me, but I picked lazy because it rhymes with crazy. The point of the verse was that even if I don't get a lot done, it will still be a good day.</span>Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-45212219175025113952015-11-09T08:17:00.000-08:002015-11-10T09:08:25.950-08:00Just a log book on the web 20151109Doing what I can to avoid the lure of the internet. What's so compelling about it anyway? No porn, no gaming, no gambling, whatever. I ditched Facebook (so much interesting information!). Down to Pinterest which is full of dull promoted pins anyway.<br />
<div>
It's avoidance, but it's also compelling. That's the surprising part. Either way, it's best avoided. </div>
<div>
You know you have AD/HD when... you're distracted by the length of your nails on your crappy MacBook Pro (ha) keyboard. </div>
<div>
I pulled up the blog post this morning all pumped up to write to help me focus productively this morning. </div>
<div>
First problem: email notifications. </div>
<div>
I'll probably regret this because my mindless chatter makes me cringe, but at this point I'll try anything. </div>
<div>
OK. It's 10:05. I have to leave for a group therapy appt. at 1:00. I'll pick up my son straight after school and I promised to play Minecraft with him, but I also have to feed him supper by 4:30 so he can make it to a 5:30 activity on time. Apropos of... I should clean up the kitchen this morning. But I also have banking to do (oh yeah), and reading and homework for my group therapy. Crap. Screw it. The banking can wait one more day, most of it anyway. We're so far in the hole; what's a little more interest...</div>
<div>
In future after Thursday's group therapy I'm going to start my reading on Friday morning. <u>Block that off in your weekly schedule: Tuesday and Friday mornings for therapy homework.</u> </div>
<div>
2'45" left. 2'15" after a shower, at most. I should do laundry too, and I still need to work on my calendar, pay the overdue bills, etc. (oh God the office, taxes, cupboards, etc.). </div>
<div>
Exhale. </div>
<div>
Group therapy is the priority. </div>
<div>
Have a shower and get out of here and get to work. That is all. Make french toast for supper (because it's easy). Clean the kitchen later. Clear last night's dishes and pull up the table cloth and the dining room will be good as new, except a few crumbs. </div>
<div>
Just shower and gather and go.<br />
......<br />
Nov. 10<br />
Well, that didn't work so well. I jumped straight from there to googling something about planting beneath cedar trees (no joke), because that was urgent, this being six months from planting season and all. Exhale. I did, however, get showered and do some work before my group and got to the group on time. So that was good. Better than it could have been.</div>
Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-74294373295663220492015-11-09T07:30:00.002-08:002015-11-09T07:30:55.840-08:00Moved to tears by my own clutter[Something I wrote a few weeks ago but didn't post at the time.]<br />
<br />
That happened today. [<i>i.e.</i> I was moved to tears by my own clutter... and the sense that it's not getting any better and the fear that it won't.] Not the first time. Not the last, probably, but trying to do something about it.<br />
I got a burst of energy from an unlikely source: kicked around on the internet until I was running late for the exercise class I'd agreed to start today -- and thought, "f#%* that class; I need to clean this house!"<br />
Apparently if I'm behind in enough areas, I can procrastinate one (or more) to tackle another.<br />
Seized the moment to strip the sheets; load the washer; hang some shirts; and take 2 cans of paint from the deck to the basement.<br />
Aside:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Those 2 cans of paint have been sitting on our deck for about 2 months.<br />
And to think I've been telling myself that I need a POOL because we didn't use our backyard this summer. Face the reality sister (yes, I just addressed my self as a sister, which is a sibling that I don't have, but could really use... anyway, moving on... right... where was I? ...the reality... oh, yeah). The reality is that I didn't use our backyard all summer because I couldn't stand to be out there reminded of my complete inability to put away the crap on my deck, let alone pull the weeds out of the ground. The many, many weeds. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Anyway, I'm rambling on. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
[Yes, but it's interesting how writing for a few minutes can bring to light something obvious that I've overlooked for months. I really should re-read <i>King Lear</i>, least-enjoyed literature of my high school education.]</blockquote>
The point of this post was to track my accomplishments today.<br />
Here's the thing... It might be motivating for me to track my accomplishments. I'm embarrassed by this, but right now I'll try anything to help get me out of this slump. So here goes, starting with what I already did...<br />
<ul>
<li>Stripped the sheets (our bed)</li>
<li>Loaded the washer</li>
<li>Hung two shirts -- threw the rest back into the laundry because they're wrinkly</li>
<li>Took 2 cans of paint from the deck to the basement</li>
<li>Threw out an old duvet cover</li>
<li>Vented to husband re (self-inflicted) chaos and inability to cope with said chaos. Husband vented back, angrily, about his inability to cope with my venting at him. He appeared to be on the verge of a heart attack. </li>
<li>Called my psychiatrist's office, intending to vent at her for a change. She, of course, does not answer her own phone. Made an appointment for tomorrow morning. WROTE IT DOWN(!).</li>
<li>Asked husband to PLEASE stop dropping whatever he brings into our home right at the entryway. Clutter at the entryway is making me fucking crazy, filling me with shame, and prompts me to close the curtains. The shady shame makes me feel worse.</li>
<li>Located psychologist's appointment card and wrote it on my calendar too (the day after tomorrow). </li>
<li>Looked up and wrote down 4 other appointments. </li>
</ul>
Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-57679406640226364672015-11-06T11:52:00.005-08:002015-11-09T07:17:20.840-08:00Keeping it real and stopping the swirlsI plan to write more often, just to spill some of these thoughts out of my brain and onto a page... or screen.<br />
Typical weekday here, which I'll share to invite all those who would bash me. No, no, I'm not actually going to sign this and send it to anyone who knows me... I <i>might</i> be crazy (and who would know, because really, what is crazy?), but I'm not into pain.<br />
But yes... The type of day that I'm trying hard to put behind me!<br />
<ul>
<li>Woke up at 7. </li>
<li>Husband initiated physical activity. (Actually that's not typical.) Weighed options: good wife vs. get up early and be productive. Beloved husband tolerates all sorts of unproductiveness on my part: he wins. </li>
<li>Checked emails and weather (still in bed).</li>
<li>Got up about 8. Made breakfast for my son ("DS") and helped him review words for a spelling test today. </li>
<li>Left the kitchen to shower. 8:10 already. Decided not enough time to shower. Decided to instead go on Pinterest and then make his lunch. (Yes, I scorn my poor decisions.)</li>
<li>8:28 Got up, gathered DS's clothes, and told him that it's almost time to go to school. DS howled in protest, predictably (watching a video). Got him more food, more milk, prompted him to dress, made his lunch, ate a little breakfast myself, prompted him to brush his teeth, etc. </li>
<li>Drove DS to school, arriving just after the first bell. </li>
<li>Broke the school rules by dropping DS off across the street from the school. Observed by another member of the PTA Executive, who gave me a mournful look. </li>
<li>Came in, texted my accountability buddy re my intention to shower in 10 minutes, and started scrolling Pinterest.</li>
<li>Despite my accountability buddy's reply, my good intention, and a lack of fun or inspiring pins in my Pinterest feed (enough already with the suggested pins, Pinterest -- you're ruining your product), more than an hour passed before I got up again. </li>
<li>Unpacked a suitcase and put dirty clothes in the laundry hamper. Carried it part of the way to the basement, and then had second thoughts. (Who does that?)</li>
<li>Medicated. Showered, shaved, brushed, flossed, and removed chipped nail polish. Moisturized. Dressed. </li>
<li>You know it, Pinterest. </li>
<li>Made tea and grabbed a granola bar for lunch.</li>
<li>Sat down at my desk and powered up the laptop. Came to Blogger and read an inspiring and expressive post...and started to write this.</li>
<li>1:30, here I am. </li>
</ul>
<div>
So, why did I want to write all that? Well, I feel calmer now. Less distracted by the piles all around me and throughout my house.<br />
I'm overwhelmed, frankly. The internet is my respite, distraction, but there are much healthier distractions. Meditation, say. Or exercise. </div>
<div>
Okay. My goals today are:</div>
<div>
<ol>
<li>Consolidate all my calendars (fridge, portable, digital), school notes, appointment cards, etc. into one portable, paper calendar. </li>
<li>Make myself a daily & weekly schedule. </li>
</ol>
<div>
Everything else, all the chaos that swirls around me, and the bills, and the reading and exercises for my depression group, and the note to DS's teacher, and rescheduling my hair appointment... you will have to wait. Which is so, so hard. </div>
</div>
<div>
That is, doing any thing knowing that there are so many things (yes, I see you waving there overdue taxes) jumping up and down (yes, you too overflowing kitchen cupboards) and hanging off my back, weighing me down and grappling for my attention... is shockingly difficult. Go away all of you, before I switch gears again. I mean, surely I should pay the overdue bills first... Ugh. No. Calendar, you are first, and in you, a to-do list, because without you I continue to be tossed about, utterly unmoored. You too, note to DS's teacher, she doesn't want you on a Friday afternoon anyway...</div>
<div>
So this is AD/HD and me. This constricting feeling in my throat...</div>
<div>
Ah. A friend texts an invite for coffee. A sweet extension from someone who cares, someone whose father is ill. Someone I'll say no to, again, with regret, because I must do what I must do, despite regret and guilt and concern and the desire to be a friend and to have a friend...</div>
<div>
I hear you now, naysayers -- or is that my inner voice? -- 'stop moping, stop whining, and get a life...' </div>
<div>
Just keeping it real here, trying to get myself on track. Feeling that swollen throat and that knotted stomach. Taking a deep breath and going for the calendar. Let's make this happen, self. </div>
Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-38545860339614915822015-09-29T12:09:00.001-07:002015-09-29T12:09:53.169-07:00This is where I get stuckOkay, this is perhaps one of several places where I get stuck, but for right now, this is the sticking point (and no, I don't mean that in the Shakespearean sense, nor do I know what that means... "Screw your courage to the sticking point..." whatever dude).<br />
<br />
Ah, nothing like an AD/HD opening sentence.<br />
<br />
So where was I? Stuck.<br />
<br />
Oh yeah. I came home 30 minutes ago. I had almost two hours of uninterrupted time ahead of me. Now I'm have 30 minutes less time, and I still haven't decided what to do. WHAT TO DO! <i>WHAT TO DOOOO???????? </i>This is not, obviously (for anyone with AD/HD), due to a lack of things to do. This is due to a glut of already overdue things to do.<br />
<br />
Shall I fold laundry/wash laundry/start supper/work on that project/make my bed/clean my closet/pay that bill (probably)/start using a daily appointment book/make a to do list/or even, yes, clean my office and do my filing so that I can, yes, file my taxes, which were due six months ago. Or finish cleaning out my kitchen cupboards. Read and do the mental health exercises I've received.<br />
<br />
Screw it. Filing for the win. It's so discouraging because I can't finish it in a day, but I <i>do </i>still have an uninterrupted hour so let's see how much I can do in an hour.Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-34287601514924396902015-09-17T13:24:00.004-07:002015-09-17T13:24:52.988-07:00I know it... so don't blow it. I keep remaking the same mistakes. <div>
Is a mistake a lesson if you make it again? How many lessons does one person need? In the interest of not continuing to beat myself up (maybe I am learning something), I'm not going to answer that question. Oh, alright brain, you can't help it, can you? "A lot." "Too many." Got it. That'll do. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Where was I?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Oh, yes. A list of lessons learned. Some things that I <i>know</i>, so I can stop trying. Please, stop. The result is not going to change. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">1. Caffeine makes me feel miserable with my medications. </span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If I take the medications alone, no obvious side effects, at least at my current ineffectively tiny dose of AD/HD Rx. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If I have caffeine, however, even the small amount in a small Steeped Tea, I'll start to feel awful. Visibly shaky. No matter how much you want it, self, just say no to caffeine. It's a choice: medication or a little cup of tea. You know that the medications help, more than the tea, so ditch the tea and stick with the meds. It's okay. You can do this. A caffeine-free existence is totally fine. It's even simple: no caffeine, ever. (Well, except in chocolate.) </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thus: <b>Life rule no. 1: I don't drink caffeinated beverages. Ever. </b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Okay. Good. Going cold turkey on caffeinated beverages. I guess this empty cup to my right was my last Steeped Tea ever. Well that sucks. And the final sip was... cold and bitter. Seems about right.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">2. ....2. What the hell was two?</span></div>
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Man, these jitters are BAD. (See 1., above.) I'm shaking so badly that it's hard to type. I'm eating some lunch in the hope that it helps, but seeing as I had breakfast at the same time as the tea, I'm not optimistic. Remember this feeling, self, and <i>just say no </i>to caffeine.</div>
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Being the stubborn person that I am, I keep thinking, "but maybe it's just <i>tea</i> that's the problem. Maybe it's just <i>this </i>brand of tea. Maybe coffee, at least, is okay." Not bloody likely. Besides, decaf coffee is perfectly fine and widely available. </div>
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The tea, in any event, in combination with my meds, is NOT OKAY. See Life rule no. 1, above, and keep repeating it whenever the temptation saunters by. "I don't drink caffeinated beverages. Ever."</div>
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"I don't drink caffeinated beverages. Ever." </div>
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"I don't drink caffeinated beverages. Ever." </div>
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Once more for good measure: "I don't drink caffeinated beverages. Ever." No, I don't. Not anymore. </div>
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...so what <i>was</i> no. 2? Oh yeah... </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">2. Forget about electronic organizers {a.k.a. demons}, and embrace a paper organizer {a.k.a. a loving God}. </span></div>
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Every time I try a new app that's supposedly the saviour of us AD/HD "types" (for lack of a better term, because we're certainly not "patients" and there isn't even agreement that we're "sufferers"... and yes I should've just said "those with AD/HD" or something like that... How can this not be suffering?!), it doesn't save me. (It, being the highly-rated organizational app <i>de jour</i>.) The would-be saviour app doesn't even help me. It just distracts me, and drags me down a little farther, delays my recovery (or rather, my development) a little more. So, self, remember that. Just say no to electronic calendars, to-do lists, and their ilk. Stick with paper. <i>Maybe</i> even a to-do list made in Word and printed on paper. But nothing on-line, because inserting a checkmark symbol is not the same, and you've never (rarely?) been distracted by picking up a pencil. (Note to Apple: You can keep your iPencil to yourself.) </div>
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<b>Life rule no. 2: Calendars and to-do lists on <i>paper</i>, only. </b></div>
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And on a related but less black-and-white note...</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">3. For the love of all that is good in your life, stay off the internet. </span></div>
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Perhaps I should needlepoint that onto a throw cushion. (That's a joke. I have no time for needlepoint, although I'm sure that needlepointing was a superior past-time, very possibly due for a revival. There it is: I'll give up Facebook for needlepoint. I'll send autobiographical cushions to my distant loved ones by snail mail, once per year. Yes, I know, that could catch on. Don't steal my idea. I see you there. Please.)</div>
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Needlepoint or not, I could seriously use a nice, big sign to this effect. </div>
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<b>Life rule no. 3: <i>For the love of all that is good in your life, stay off the internet</i>, most of the time. </b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">4. You, and everyone else in the world, can only do one thing at a time. </span></div>
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It's true, and I'm not going to waste this time arguing about it. </div>
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<b>Life rule no. 4: You can only do one thing at a time.</b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">5. There are only 24 hours in every day.</span></div>
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...and no matter how much I wish that I could stop time and steal a little more, I can't, and neither can you. Even Facebook and Pinterest don't have that power. Really. It's just sad and even, well, delusional, to hope otherwise. I know. It really is, though. Yeah. Milk chocolate, maybe? Just a little? </div>
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<b>Life rule no. 5: There are only 24 hours in every day. And it's okay.</b></div>
Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-21374280017404320892014-08-18T20:31:00.000-07:002014-08-18T20:32:29.520-07:00The Day<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's been about three weeks since my last post, and nothing has changed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Recently I realized that my husband is apparently able to not think about anything. As someone who's thoughts never stop, this is amazing and even a little bit inspiring. I frequently think about my mistakes, things I shouldn't have said, or done, or should've done. He rarely thinks like that, he said. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today I realized that if I made fewer mistakes, I would spend less time thinking about them. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What is a mistake anyway? If you do something that you know is a bad idea, is it still a mistake, or is it just a bad choice? What if you would've known it was a bad idea if you'd just stopped and thought it through? I do both. Anyway, semantics don't matter (although that sort of hair-splitting is so like me). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">More importantly, and here I picture myself being dragged by the hair back to the point, and just lost my train of thought again. Damn it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Right. The point. Right. Um. (Review what I've just written.) Yes, cutting down on behaviours I regret would reduce time spent regretting my misdeeds. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As if I should really need another reason to do better; as if it matters. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Whatever, something matters and that is changing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today, again, I asked myself, how many times do I have to learn from my mistakes before I stop repeating them?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Two answers came to mind. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First (or it may have been second, but whatever): Maybe I haven't actually </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">been learning from my mistakes. Maybe that's part of the problem. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Second (or first); It doesn't matter how many times it's been. What matters is that there are no more times. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And so I resolved that today is the day. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And yet I've had this kind of realization or determination so many times before that even I don't believe it. It's scary. I've stopped telling my husband I'm going to change, because it sounds so hollow. As my grade eleven English teacher so memorably said, "Don't be sorry; just don't do it." Pithy but ultimately ineffective, although I don't recall being late for her particular class again, which is very odd. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember the year my high school implemented a locked-door policy in an effort to prevent students from being late for class. If you were late for class, you could not come in. I took this as a license to skip a lot of classes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway (the wheels squeal as I turn this baby around again), where the fuck was I?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm starting to wonder if my brain is this forgetful when I'm not writing. As if. It's worse. Yes. A lot worse. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So let's look at thought 1/2. Am I really learning from my mistakes? That's a bit overwhelming and I'm going to come back to it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thought 2/1: no fucking more. Three to four hours ago, this had a lot of conviction. Heaps really, until all my past failings came back to mock me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have to believe that I can do this. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I also realized something more horrifying today. Something controversial. Something, maybe, I hope, a little, small bit, helpful. But more scary. Am I getting worse? Am I just... Focus on the helpful. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Each day can be a step better. Each week can be a better week. Each month a better month. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm scared to write it, because what if I fail again, but some day has to be the day I do the things that I know that I need to do. Tomorrow is that day. The first of those days. The uphill turn. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pray for me, please. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thank you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-66549642403811420332014-07-30T08:52:00.000-07:002014-07-30T10:54:02.626-07:00The second step<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If the first step is admitting I have a problem, the second step is realizing that the first step isn't enough. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have a problem. I pick up my phone, and don't put it down, even when I know I shouldn't/should, even when it's making me late, even when I am already late and getting later. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If the highlight of my Monday was watching my son grin through his swimming lesson, the heartbreak of this day is watching him do the same while knowing that his lesson will be cut short because I made us late. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Earlier this week, arriving 15, no, 20 minutes late for lunch with a friend who's having, "a terrible day and it's only getting worse."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The pain and shame I feel are severe. Yet I've done it before, again and again. This time it feels more excruciating, but I suspect that's an illusion. I'm no longer confident that the present pain and guilt or love I feel is necessarily enough to help me resist knowingly bad choices. It hasn't been in the past. I need to strengthen my willpower. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes, it seems ridiculous to say that I don't have enough willpower -- doesn't everyone have it? Don't I just need to use it? Isn't it frustrating to see a friend or loved one or, to some, even a stranger, who just needs to snap out of it, man up, get a grip, grow a pair, grow up, etc. Yes, I know. That's why I'm so ashamed, feeling utterly unworthy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I mustn't wallow though. I </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">mustn't care what others think. It doesn't help at all.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What I think is strong and clear. I</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> think that I can do better. I know that I must do better. I don't know why I haven't been able to, but maybe that doesn't matter. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have to focus forward, to ask, what can I do that may help? To focus on creating new behaviours, rather than changing old ones. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Deleted the app of choice (and I've already quit one), but that's just a step and easily undone. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ideas?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A reward chart. (Why not.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Everything laid out for me to proceed directly to shower, etc., and out the door in the morning. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Two alarm clocks?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No electronics in the bedroom. Clearly. I want my phone, but that's the problem right? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe this "public" accountability will help. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm thinking that something I enjoy MORE than my iPhone might work. Meditation? Yoga? Something a little more intense? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've never been a morning person, but this is the year I start living the life I want. </span>Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-37525202161253510882014-07-28T07:59:00.000-07:002014-07-28T07:59:16.296-07:00Happiness is... (No. 1)<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">...watching my child smile during swimming lessons. Huge grins. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Watching my child SWIM during swimming lessons (briefly). It's a first. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Interesting is: noticing that my child is not looking at me this time but is instead transfixed by the girl who's just arrived, in a ruffled striped and polka dotted bikini. </span>Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-29957331368663520612014-04-18T11:18:00.001-07:002014-04-18T11:18:33.473-07:00Overstimulation<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Invited friends to come over with their child this morning for a coffee date/play date. Looked forward to it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stayed up too late last night -- in part a consequence of taking my Rx's in early afternoon -- took a sleeping pill at about midnight, and started reading Sari Solden's book about women with ADHD (inattentive type) -- ADHDit? Slept like a baby, but slept in. Then resumed reading when I should've been showering. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was putting in my contacts and washing my face when our friends arrived at 10ish. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After taking Adderall XR, modafinil, and citalopram, I sat down to visit with our friends, drink tea, and ate a croissant. Our boys played with Lego in the same hardwood-floored room, until my husband kindly sent them off to play in a more distant, carpeted part of the house -- the combined effect of our conversation and the kids' conversation was too much for me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After a while I was feeling beyond wired. Our friends had to go after a couple of hours to get to another event. Emotionally I felt anxious -- anxious that I'd been a poor host, a poor friend, a poor conversationalist. This is normal post-social worry for me. These worries were exacerbated by my physical feelings -- and behaviours -- as I worried that I had been disruptive, annoying, or otherwise unpleasant. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I commented that I felt jittery, and said to my husband, and friend, that, "the combined effect of the medication and caffeine may have been too much." She looked at me. I don't want to read anything into her look, lest it be inaccurate. Surprised. She looked, at least, surprised by my comment. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Earlier in the morning I'd expressed a desire to be more open with my friends, about my mental health issues and their effects. My husband thought it was a good idea, to stop hiding. In theory, to reduce fear and shame. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I see, though, that I have more work to do. I have to be prepared, and the environment needs to be quiet, without interruptions. I feel it's particularly difficult to be open with this friend, because she has serious health issues, resulting from a stroke. I suppose I feel that my health issues -- ADHD and depression -- aren't... Valid. I've recently gained a fuller understanding of their pervasive effects on me, my thoughts, my functioning, and on my child and spouse. Yet it's still difficult not to fear criticism -- that's just an excuse; do you want to see a real problem?; whining; lazy; etc. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Still, I'm excited by the prospect of finally breaking through, of beginning to understand, and hopefully to improve in some ways.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have resisted the idea that I may not be able to do as much as others, or as I feel I can or should. However, my health and happiness, and those of my son and husband, will guide me for now. Maybe I can't accomplish what I once ecpected, or what others can. It's okay. I'm so fortunate that my husband is supportive. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My goals for the next few months: to start exercising; to feed my family well; to be an attentive and available mother; to keep our house clean and our finances orderly and understood (to create and maintain a budget system); to catch up on filing; to catch up on a whole host of administrative tasks related to benefits claims, taxes, name changes, educational prerequisites, and so on... In short, to get caught up on, establish, and maintain the kind of orderliness that others manage all the time. Putting it like that I realize that it's actually a pretty big job! Even without seasonal things like gardening... Shudder. Vacations. Camping preparation and... is "reparations" too much of a stretch? (Why isn't there a word for the tasks required after camping?) And all the rest. Hmmm. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the meantime, right now, I'll try to calm my tense body, hope that my quadriceps will relax and my pulse will return to its resting rate, and go be a good mom. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I'll go it mass and pray this afternoon, with gratitude for all my blessings. </span>Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-35971648190686201762014-04-17T10:55:00.000-07:002014-04-17T10:55:48.056-07:00Under cozy lilac covers. <span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The studying went poorly, the houseguests were surprisingly fun, my wireless internet sucks, and it's midday without yet a shower, so this will be brief. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My school is done for the year. Now the hard part starts. Now I have the time to do all my to-do's, to look after myself. Now I have to not waste this precious opportunity. To stay off FB, to avoid online browsing, to stay out of my bed, to actually do what I want to do.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So far today I've done each of those three things I'm not to do, and I've forgotten to take my medicines too. Damn. I really need a checklist. Step 1: get up...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sadly a check-list if daily living would provably help. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Create your own structure," my psychiatrist said. Makes sense. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yesterday I started a to-do list. On my laptop. That's not going to help... This, at least, I can type on my phone, which isn't quiiiiite as much of a bottomless pit as the laptop. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let's try this instead:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1. Use a paper calendar. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2. Gather a 3-ring binder, paper, tabs, and sleeves. Add pens and a 3-hole punch. Put it in a basket. That's a start.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3. Put the calendar in that basket too. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For today, let's start easy:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1. Shower and dress. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2. Drop off and pick up the requested books at the library.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3. Pick up child (that one's non-negotiable). And wonderful. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4. Do the dishes. That's one's surprisingly strongly repellant... Why?... It's boring, I suppose. It's boring... I'm down and I don't want to get out of bed. I'm dirty, which makes me want to hide in bed, but I feel too... lazy to shower. If I could just stay in bed... I actually would. I had hours of sleep, with a sleeping pill, but I would prefer to stay right here in bed... But for the guilt and the desire to be a good mother, a good wife, for me beloved boys, a non-shamed person, for myself. This is honesty. This is... depression. It's heavy and sad. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This sad self better get up now, take 3 prescribed pills waiting in the cupboard 10' away, and GET IN THE SHOWER. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One day at a time girl. One day at a time. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Phone down. Shower. Go. ...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nowhere. :) At least I can laugh at myself. But that's not helping. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Another day. A better day. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You can do this. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can do this. Right now I don't know that I can. Yes, I can start with a shower, add a clean kitchen, and make my boys smile. God I love them. Tears of joy, tears of sadness. Focus on their smiles, and go. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Love yourself. Love yourself even as you are. Especially as you are. You are worthy of love, even as you lie here feeling utterly unloveable. Breathe in love. Then make smiles. Some how. :)</span>Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-32606784675912748762014-04-10T10:01:00.001-07:002014-04-10T10:24:11.372-07:00I made my son late for kindergarten. Again.<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I made my son late for kindergarten today. Again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">8:10 a.m., he's eating cereal and watching Peg plus Cat, I'm heading for the shower. Time is tight but I can do it. I'll just check Facebook quickly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(Insert sound of crashing truck.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My brain knows it's disastrous, "no! no! no...," my conscience protests, feebly, even as my hand reaches for the iPhone. For the first time I notice that my iPhone even looks a little like a drug, all smooth and white and oval-ish. I see that moment over and over in my mind, the phone sitting there, my conscience resisting, my impulse winning, my long arm darting out like a lizard's tongue, grabbing it. Yeah, that's pretty melodramatic, but the results really are awful, aren't they? The results are hurting my son. I have to keep staring at that sentence. Of course I know it's true. So why do I keep repeating the behaviour?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Flop down on the bed, start scrolling...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">[<i>Ed</i>. Okay, so this is embarrassing but I just <i>checked fb</i> and completely lost my train of thought. Where was I? Ah, yes, recounting how my <i>last</i> fb check derailed my morning and did a great disservice to my child. Well, the fun is gone, but in a nutshell...]</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Suddenly, it's 8:27. No time to shower. Speed-pack lunch. Rush him dressed and out the door. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The school is quiet at 9:10. I'm hot and sweaty with dirty hair. He's sweet and innocent and doesn't know yet. Past the office (I'll sign in after), to his class-room, here come's disaster. Hang his bag up, jacket's off. Open the door, NOPE - his wheels are off. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My little one is shy, he won't go in. <i>I </i>don't want to go in because I look like I just got out of bed and I know it. My usual patience isn't there; I'm too preoccupied with my dirty hair. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">[Why I keep thinking in rhymes I don't know. Is it the Adderal XR or am I just in that zone?] [Damn that's annoying.] </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">[Snap out of it! There is something very </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">important</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> to note because you (I) do not want to do this again!]</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">[Yeah, I think I do feel a weird chemical buzz of Adderal XR, citalopram, and my new doc's addition, modafinil, coming on strong... Maybe I need to start taking this stuff much earlier, so it can help me help my child.]</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I guess the story's totally lost, but the bottom line is this. My son doesn't like being late. Who would? He's shy, he's anxious, he deserves my love and support and attention. He doesn't deserve a mom who behaves like this. He deserves the good me. He deserves the me I can be... right? Will be. I have to believe it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm lucky. I'm blessed. I have a wonderful husband and a wonderful son. I'm letting them down, huge. I'm letting myself down too. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't want to do it anymore. I don't want to do the sign-in of shame. I know they recognize me. There's that mom, signing her son in late, it's 9:10 and she just got out of bed? Shift-work? Drunk? Well, no more. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's not about them, or even about me, so much as it is about my little one. I don't drink or abuse. But I don't use my time well. I'm late. Almost always. It's a life of panic for me. Maybe my brain even craves that little dopamine kick. But when it hurts my kid, it really hurts. Today as I drove home, full of shame, I thought (and not for the first time), maybe this is why moms start drinking. Maybe some moms. Maybe some moms know that their (sober) behaviour isn't up to their standards, they feel guilt and shame, they feel a drink would dull that thought. (It is tempting.) Dull that thought... and maybe someday even be an excuse. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's a dark world, this inadequate place. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But no, I'll sip my water, and share my weaknesses here, and try my very, very, very best to be a better version of myself. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First, today, a coffee -- I don't need that buzz but this headache is killing me -- change the laundry -- and hit the books. I have a Human Physiology final in four (four!) </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">days</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and houseguests in two. Damn.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You can do this, you. We can do hard things, says Glenna. </span></div>
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Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7017524486941898107.post-75044024936981143442014-04-09T07:42:00.004-07:002014-04-10T09:23:22.443-07:00ADHDANGST&moodyWTF is up w me <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm so irritable I can't stand myself! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That is all. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And yet, in the process of setting up this blog, and maybe it's the Mendelssohn piece that the radio was playing in the background, or the pharmaceutical cocktail kicking in, or even possibly the fact that I've dropped of my little one at school, and he was almost even on time(!)... I seem to be marginally calmer. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm going to go with it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Deep breaths. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">More later. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Hugs to all who need them. You know, virtual hugs, because I know that some people who need them are covered in old pee, old clothes, old alcohol breath, and who-knows-what, and I'm not that giving. Not today. Maybe someday. No idea really. Someday. Someday. WTF is up with someday. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"You're alive today. Remember that," I heard two days ago. True. I also have a final exam in 5 days, my house is a chaotic mess, my five-year-old deserves and wants more of my attention and best-self than I've been giving him lately... and we'll have house guests in 3 days. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Good times. So, yeah, seize the day and all, but today's got to be all about physiology, and then all about my beloved boy, and then to sleep and repeat. And try to ignore the chaos around me. And if my beloved hubby to whom I'm immensely grateful doesn't like it, well, I hope he'll stick around anyway. I've only got a few more days to learn this stuff. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, not much of an intro but there I go... Mom, wife, newly (okay coming up on a year) diagnosed with ADHD (inattentive subtype), long-term recurring depression, always anxious, bad sleeper, half-decent genes otherwise... recovering professional... Future unknown. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Loved, I remind myself, and very loving, but sadly unreliable and sometimes bitchy. Sound like anyone you know? Hug her and love her if you can. Prickly little lion. </span>Kadyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17683734804138644426noreply@blogger.com0