I have been spending a great deal of time thinking about the way I think. A tremendous amount of time. So much, in fact, that my brain has literally started to ache from it. What prompted this? A possible ADD diagnosis...for me. Me? ADD? Really? Well, yes. And it seems that even the likelihood of a confirmation of such a diagnosis has been a wonderful (yet tedious) form of therapy in itself.
Suddenly a lifetime of why I do the things I do (or more particularly, why I DON'T do the things I DON'T do) makes sense. I have been spending the better part of the last few weeks looking at the snapshots in my memory of my lifetime and sorting out what could have been, what was, and why it happened that way...for instance...my unbelievably messy desk in fourth grade, lists of accomplishments I've wanted and been determined to achieve and haven't, projects I've started and haven't had the focus to finish, pages of books that I've read, and reread, only to find that I've gotten to through the entire page and not only have no idea what I've read but have been thinking about something else altogether and couldn't even tell you what that something else is.
There are chores around the house that are half-finished...piles of to-do's that might as well be labeled "to never be seen again"...emotions that are inappropriate for the situation...a constant cloudy head...a brain that always feels that it is in fast forward, unable to sort through the thoughts unless I'm in the car or in the shower...arriving at my destination after driving for 20 minutes and not being able to remember how I got there (this may be the scariest one of all)...the overwhelming anxiety I feel when I try to start even the most menial of tasks (cleaning out the dishwasher, bathing my children, drying my hair)...my constant lateness...my fear of boredom...the terror I feel when I think about leaving home without something I might need...I can (and will at some point) go on...But, oh, what a relief...so much explained with such a simple answer!
And yet, it isn't simple. I know that because of this, I've done some damage to some of my most intimate relationships...my husband specificially. I've realized how difficult it must be for him to live with me, or more specifically, with someone with ADD. How inappropriate some of my behavior must have seemed to him...how I fly off the handle for seemingly no reason when it is really just the chaos of an ordinary situation that is unmanageable for me and I instead take it out on him...how I can't handle even the most minor of transitions (I need to be left alone for at least a full ten minutes of walking in the door after going out in order to adjust to being at home...even if I've run out for a gallon of milk at the convenience store).
So our work, MY work, begins. Therapy, medication, whatever it will take to get my brain functioning properly so that I can think normally, process things with greater ease and just not be so exhausted all of the time!