Drivel review? Rubbish removal? ADHD aftermath. Moving on. by #94544 Blog entry

Blog: Extreme Change: Raw Food - 3 month challenge.
by #94544

Drivel review? Rubbish removal? ADHD aftermath. Moving on.

Incompetent, unstable, and frankly unpleasant. ADHD aftermath.

Date: 10/30/2017 7:03:45 PM ( 7 y ) ... viewed 1128 times

As the subject line read, "The past is over, the door is closed."

Now what?

How to change myself, my decades of whining, my lack of caring about myself and others?

Sad, but true.

I just don't "feel" for others right now. Not at all. I believe that I gave my best and it wasn't received... it was in the end, rejected.

So, now what?

Career, school, family, friends, even my relationship with me is now a pile of discarded collections of each day on the floor. Literally.

Magazines, clothes, books, newspapers, hangers, belts, pens, boxes. All. On. The. Bedroom. Floor.

How did I get here? Does it matter?

How do I get out? Do I really care if I do or not?

Failure is expected of me.

I learned this weekend from a long lost niece that my mother told her that I "moved away and was in a hospital".

At that time, I had just experienced three deaths in rapid succession: my father just after his 58th birthday, my third brother just after his 32nd birthday, my second brother just before his 36th birthday. in the span of two and a half years. Then, within 4 months of the tail end of those deaths came an unplanned pregnancy in which the sperm donor sat on my chest and choked me for not getting an abortion as he demanded and finally, the death of my maternal grandmother. I landed in the hospital. I lost it completely. Just turned myself over and said, "I cannot do this. I cannot take care of myself right now."

I could not go back to my mother's home, as her drinking, smoking, swearing, and habit of slamming any item that was not permanently stationed was a fate for my unborn child I would not subject him to.

I had a nervous breakdown, landed in the hospital for 5 weeks. It was hell. My mother came, brought a plant - as people were watching so the plant was a first for her in dealing with me - and told me what everyone else was telling me: I was the problem. If I would just stop being so emotional everything would be okay.

What was not being said was that that man choked me and he was not safe for me to be in relationship with. His own mother said, "I didn't teach my sons to beat up women. You must have driven him to it."

What was not being said is that I could not go to my mother's due to the absolute unacceptability of her mind, behavior, and actions.

What was not being said is that I had been asking for help, by this time, for a full decade and the only reply from professionals was that I was "depressed".

I distinctly remember saying over and over and over ad nauseam, "I am only depressed because I cannot seem to complete schooling, carry out what I set out to do, have high anxiety, racing thoughts. I never know what I am going to feel like when I wake day to day."

Classic ADHD symptoms.

Nope - diagnosis' over 27 years: chronic depression (Zoloft, Prozac, Wellbutrin), then manic depression (Lamictal, Buspar), and overall Borderline Personality.

Well, love - if you were screaming for help and misdiagnosed for almost three decades and were being marginalized by all you knew and were living at one-quarter of your potential while possessing an exceptionally keen aptitude - rage is inevitable.

I learned this weekend that my mother painted me as a chronic psych patient to the next generation.

My mother: The one I was entrusted to by God to protect, love, and go to the ends of the earth to support and help - took the easy way out: She over decades belittled me personally to others behind my back, refused to acknowledge my courage to keep searching for answers to my symptoms, and refused to respect as valid all that I loved and believed in - the mother/child relationship.

The woman who refused to apologize or consider self-examination as a means to building a better life.

And my father? Where was he in all those years before his death? Gone, baby, gone. He showed after an 8 year absence because my older sister was sick. As he should have. He never showed for me. This is not the "he liked her better" whine. No. He actually told me I was not welcome to go with him when he left and he took my sister with him. It was blatant, cosigned by my mother. She let him take her when she had full custody of us both.

So - why am I writing this?

Why?

Drivel?

Necessary?

Whining?

What is this?

Anger?

This weekend, in an attempt to reach out for a lifeline, when I spoke of my difficulties and my successes - it felt as though there was a filter of disbelief about my ability to see myself clearly or my life. As though when I spoke, others knew "the truth" about me. Because clearly, I could not possibly be a healthy woman struggling to just get past this identity my mother insisted was mine as well as navigating my long-mistreated illness: Cray-B. New school for "crazy bitch".

My ex-sister-in-law, who had married my oldest brother when I was five said, "I never heard anyone who could scream the way she (my mother) did. It was a screech. She really scared me. She literally verbally castrated your brother for 30 minutes over the small Christmas Eve dance party we had at my house when we were dating. She was just a screamer I guess."

Well, she just had green eyes.

She just had a love for ice cream.

She was just someone who had big feet.

Like screaming is an inborn character trait.

And in the face of that reality, when I spoke of my learning disability diagnosis and how it actually answers so many questions in my life and why I've struggled so, I get "the look". "But, you are in college. How is that possible?" *sigh*

Why? Why, why, why do I do this to myself?

I go to others for love, understanding, and compassion - connection is what I am looking for. Someone to "be on my team, no matter what".

What. A. Pipe. Dream.

"Smoke crack, much?" Pipe dream.

Even my "husband, for better or for worse" could not be on my side, no matter what.

I am inflicting this abuse, this harm, this misunderstanding on myself by reaching out to others.

So, I have not been in any social, familial, tradition-based situations with any family members for more than two hours at a time in any given year in over six years.

I shared this with my ex-sister in law and my niece - nope, they didn't get it.

I shared how I could not find my phone that night. I then said that come to think of it, it didn't matter. I am not attached to anyone in this world on any level where anyone would worry if they couldn't reach me as no one calls or texts.

"Well, if I lost MY phone, it wouldn't matter, too. Well, wait - there's my fiancee. But, he rarely texts me. Oh, and my son. But, I always call him. But I'm the same way - if I lost my phone, there's no one there to worry or wonder."

Yup - that's empathy. That's exactly what the proper response is. *sarcasm*

It must be an incredibly screwed-up vision of reality to give that answer to another when they're really just asking for some kind of recognition that that kind of life really does take its toll on day to day life, how it must feel to have such a lack of connection. I am learning for the thousandth time how incapable people really, really are.

What drives the human race? Paycheck? Friday night dinner? Vacation bragging rights?

I can finally admit: I want too much. I ask for connection. I ask for empathy. I ask for understanding.

I get feedback of doubt, passive-aggressive accusations of not seeing life "clearly", and the overall feedback that I am incompetent, unstable, and frankly, unpleasant.

Okay. Well. There you have it.

I need to move. I need to truly get on with my life.
Just get on with the business of living. I CAN finally NOW that I got the right diagnosis.

FCS.

What the hell is so hard for others to understand that the neurons simply don't fire the same for everyone and it's not a willful, push it through, bootstrap grabbing solution?

It takes the correct diagnosis to start.

Depression and the subsequent treatment thereof is NOT the same as ADHD.

Depression is controlled by medication and action.

True.

All the F'ing depression meds in the world did not control and/or regulate the misfiring that was going on in my brain.

It's like having atopic tachycardia of the heart's atrium and the physician is continually telling me that I suffer from acid reflux.

Under what condition would that be acceptable treatment?

The meds for acid reflux will not under any circumstance treat properly atopic tachycardia (AT). The AT, a progressive condition in and of itself then continues to get worse and the body grows sicker as each year passes.

Why, oh why is this so difficult to embody? To voluntarily understand? I am in a world that tells me I can fix this "if I wanted to" without a proper diagnosis and subsequent treatment all these years.

Psycho-bitch.

That's what my own mother believed about me. She and my son's father had in-depth, multiple conversations agreeing on that belief about me.

I was just like her in so many ways.

I didn't mention that.

So much of my educational difficulties, self-medication through alcohol, rage and anger that I simply woke up to - were just. like. her.

Get over it.

I now have to just get over it.

My husband divorced me for the very same reasons my mother called me "crazy".

My brain was not my own, misfiring, not able to recover from trauma the way others around me seem to be able to, the ability to concentrate and progress in life.

Now. What.

Now. What.

Now. What.

My nephew's new fiancee felt free, after meeting me twice, to tell me how I always put myself down and I need to stop. "You do it all the time, you need to stop."

Thank you. It's the only feedback my mother, siblings, even my father had for me. "Idiot." "Lazy." "If you had a brain, you'd be dangerous." "You want to date my sister? She's so ugly, why would you like THAT." Which then progressed to, "Slut." (Father, brother, sister.)

I was raised by wolves.

Am I unpleasant to you? Then, perhaps a little respect and pulling me aside privately to share this with me out of kindness and concern. Respect. Kindness. Concern.

It gets better results than inconvenience, unpleasantness, buzz-kill to be around communication style. Really.

I was the only one of five remaining kids of this God-forsaken family at the funeral. I sent out notices, texts, voicemails... nothing came back.

They are "done" with me, as they say.

I am accused by a sister and a half-brother of not being a "good daughter" because I openly challenged my mother all of these years about the physical, emotional, and verbal abuse and the very real fallout in my ability to be a fully-functioning adult as a result.

Only once did my sister tell me that I was valid. Seven weeks after my son died. I had asked my mother to please come stay with me. I'd pay all expenses to travel 250 miles. She was retired. "I can't. I have a birthday party to go to next week," was my mother's answer.

And that one-time validation from my sister dissolved as quickly as it came, never to return.

Somehow, I was supposed to just continue to suck all of this up and love them as I sought answers for my symptoms combined with the loss of my son and marriage for over three cumulative decades.

The abandonment after my son died was not supposed to affect me, I am told. And, BTW - it wasn't abandonment. They just couldn't be here - they have lives. I should just get on with it.

Why am I writing all of this? I almost typed an apology. It's my blog - don't like it? Can't support me? Then, go. Do I owe it to you to not make you feel "unpleasant" or even "bored" as you read this? Go, please. Just go.

My societal responsibility to be chatty, uplifting, a ray of light for all to see - at all times that I put myself out in the public eye - not going to happen tonight. Just isn't going to happen.

*exhale*

Don't feel responsible for your good time, your comfort, your understanding.

Three/plus decades. Three. Decades. I've had over 85 jobs before the age of 51 and almost just as many lovers - before the age of 26.

My brain's motivation: "Connection. Tell me I'm okay. Help - I'm dying inside. If I'm not able to succeed in school, if I am incapable of long-term relationships, if I cannot hold a job because I cannot get along with people because they're just too mean, judgmental, and rude - if I truly cannot fit in normal society no matter how hard I try, then I guess this is it." I would then have sex with them - just to connect, be someone to someone - if only for three hours. (Thank goodness for protected sex. I have not had to be subjected to the living hell of an incurable virus.)

"Slut."

Thank God, I've lived long enough to get the proper formal, objective testing and diagnosis to find I have ADHD/Inattentive.

Not that "verbal diarrhea" subjective testing that consisted of, "Tell me how you feel today?"

B.S.

Real memory testing, real aptitude testing, real analytical, critical, and creative thinking tests...

Now. What.

Now. What.

Now. What.

Uggghhhh!!! I am now at the jumping off point to the deep end of my life with real ability and skill, with long-term retention of all I build and create for the first time.

And, I am scared.

Create a BUJO. Google it.

List dreams of the past, the present, and the future.

Pick one, two, or three then put the daily tasks in the calendar in order for them to come true.

Look at my physical being... what needs to change for me to be my best again? Put those daily needs in the calendar.

Begin to do a formal Step 10 from the Big Book morning and night to get back on track behaviorally. Get to know who I am, what I think, how I respond, and see how I can change to enjoy my thoughts, my views, and my ability to be with the world around me.

I want to succeed.

I deserve to succeed.

Parenting skills. Sounds so F'ing ridiculous: "I'm going to parent myself - my inner child."

*puke*

Seriously, though. There has to be self-care, self-talk put into place if I am going to grow into this new life under the treatment plan my physician, my neuropsychologist, and my ADHD coach are trying to help me with.

It's time to get BACK into the trenches of recovery with myself.

The only difference this time? All of my efforts will actually stick this time due to the closest-to-normal-neural firing I've ever had in my life. Think of a short in an electrical system... just doesn't work if it's shorting out without repair.

I finally have the insulation (so to speak) to contain the stray voltage so it is no longer a problem.

Adderall.

I am alone. No cheering section.

So, self-parenting is the only way here.

FCS.

Feels like "somebody's looking for attention".

Yup, that's what my mother would say when I got frustrated and cried throughout my life.

And then, she would turn on her heel and walk away.

Oops. I regressed there. Almost typed an apology. Well, I did. I deleted it. Again, no apologies. Ever again.

Self-parenting: positive affirmations by taking the current negative self-talk and turning it around. Reading them as I wake and before I go to bed.

Listing negative self-talk from the day on a sheet of paper at the day's end to track what's being said, how much of my day is dedicated to this rubbish, and a little bit of a session to try to counter it.

Uggghhh. Really? How touchy-feely...

But, if I want to live, recover, and really move forward to be "normal" and "balanced"... I must.

I think I'm done here for tonight. I will get on with the BUJO after I save this.

I don't want to hit "Publish".

I really don't want to let this inner dialogue out to be seen by anyone.

What if I am everything the outsiders said I am afterall?

Just looking for attention? Delusional? Selfish and self-centered? What if really none of this is real and all part of the illness of psychosis?

I can hardly see how all the solutions I listed can be taken and me continue to be "ill"... that's how I know I am right on the mark.

I'm not throwing arrows and hiding under the covers. I have thrown arrows back that are no longer welcome. Arrows that were shot at me for over 5 decades.

Take them, they're not mine. The solutions listed? Those are mine.

Enough.