All right, there is no shame in sharing that I have a psychiatrist. I use this psychiatrist not so much for counseling and therapy, but rather for prescribed medication. I get my anti-depressant medication, thanks to him, and I am very grateful for these drugs, on a daily basis. Two sessions ago (safe, phone sessions) Dr. K asked me if I thought I might have ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder) or ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder). As I am a grown-ass woman, and have lived to be over 50 years old without ever thinking of that question, it at first, struck me as being rather silly and funny. I mean, how is that possible if I can spend hours reading and getting completely absorbed in a good book — and would do so even in childhood?
I shared my thoughts with Dr. K, and he explained that it’s not necessarily the ability to focus deeply on something I enjoy doing, but rather the inability to focus on things that are more challenging, mundane or more boring. As we were talking, I noticed that my feet were tapping away as they sometimes do. Since I don’t think I have “restless leg syndrome,” but have been noticing that I have been tapping my feet lately at too many times (this didn’t feel like a nervous tick).
I got a follow up email from Dr. K, and I answered questions on a questionnaire Dr. K sent me. It appears that I might, indeed, have ADD, but most likely not ADHD. The next step, is to start on a very low dose of medication, and see if this helps me concentrate.
OK, maybe it is worth a try. Maybe I will discover that’s why I always excelled in English classes, but “sucked the hind tit” in math classes. All right, maybe that could explain why I have such a difficult time getting started, why I often stop in the middle of projects, taking a while to get back into them, and have a devil’s own time finishing things. Maybe I’m not just a lazy procrastinator, but have a chemical imbalance that makes me a lazy procrastinator. I would love that more than anything, that excuse … but only if the medication Dr. K prescribes for me will actually work, and would make me into a bit of a writeaholic. Maybe it would help me with things like piles of magazines and books I have erected around my chair, because I am going to read them someday soon, or need to recycle, or use in some way. I am feeling barricaded by my own stuff, yet I have stopped the clearing process and am now waiting to have another go at this mess, but lack the impetus, drive or, apparently, ability, to finish.
I’m excited to try this miraculous drug. I have been assured by Dr. K that I can, indeed, take it with my antidepressant, that if anything it might have a wonderful side effect of making me less hungry. More organized, and possibly lose weight? This, indeed, is a miracle drug.
But I am also terrified. What if it doesn’t work? What if it is indeed me — just being lazy and hoarding stuff, and there is nothing wrong with my brain wiring when it comes to my work habits?
What if I just have happy feet? Then I’m up the proverbial creek without a paddle and Robert is your mother’s brother (Bob’s your uncle).
I suppose there is only one way to find out for sure. Good luck to me.