I hate how effective medications can be
Grieving a late ADHD diagnosis
The difference is night and day.
I’m lying on the couch waiting for the second dose of Adderall to take effect after a highly productive morning . As I wait, I can no longer see a world where I regain my energy and motivation. The effects of the morning dose are wearing off and now everything feels difficult and my brain is full of sludge.
And yet, in about 30 to 45 minutes, my low mood will dissolve and I’ll once again get the ability to simply do things.
I hate how one tiny pill can make such a huge difference. I hate that the past month has been a depressive blur of fog and disregulated emotions as I waited for my psychiatrist appointment.
I resent that this mess is how my brain ‘normally’ works and that I now depend on medication for stability. How on Earth did I even make it this far in life? I can’t remember.
A package arrived at my door and it took everything I had to get myself to pick it up. I threw the package somewhere into my office and collapsed on the couch, cuddling up with my phone and a blanket, trying to ignore the warmth of anxiety blooming in my chest.
An hour later, the fog has cleared.
It’s a privilege to have access to medication. I’m lucky my insurance covers it. I’m lucky my pharmacy even has Adderall after such a terrible shortage. I know these things. But I resent that the very pill I am privileged to take is the only thing standing between me and the life I want to live. Without my medication, I am a pile of disfunction and incoherencies. Something in my brain does not work right and now I need a pill to function.
This is a snippet of grief after such a late diagnosis. Being told at 26 that I find it hard to do simple things because my brain works differently… it was a gift and a curse. On one hand it was the explanation I was desperately seeking for years. One the other, it was (to me, in that moment) a confirmation of my brokenness.
My issues were no longer just a result of years of trauma. I was broken by default. Defective at birth. I’d never dream of saying these things to anyone else. I do not perceive anyone else as ‘broken’. Just me.
I’ve learned to be much more kind to myself since then, but I’m still grieving. Grief shows up on random occasions these days, like on the exact hour between one dose wearing off and the other dose taking effect.
Grief is not just for the dead. It’s for the potential you can see in your past self, had you just gotten the help you needed. Grief is the anger, the questioning of how on Earth your family missed this, when the signs were to clear even then. Grief is wondering what life would’ve been like if someone had cared enough to find out why you were struggling.
I could go on forever, but the grief has passed as suddenly as it came and I can now function again. I need to get some work done, plus my mood has shifted dramatically and I am watching funny YouTube videos while I work.
I won’t have time to miss the grief. It’ll come again when the second dose wears off. Maybe one day I’ll learn to see in myself the beauty and uniqueness I can see in other ADHDers. Maybe I’ll learn to accept my struggles and manage the symptoms a little better.
In the meantime, I’ll get as much work done before Grief and Executive Dysfunction come knocking at my door again.