Septemberonefivetwentyfour

ADHD Medication

This morning I pulled the stingray card. I vow to stop starting every sentence with “but” or “and.” My writing needs backbone. Needs spine. Something heads can sit atop. I’m starting this new thing where I set a timer each morning for thirty minutes and just practice writing. Directly into Substack. Like a scratch pad.

I don’t know if anything good will fall out of my fingers but I at least need to try. Even if I look stupid doing it. I’ve looked stupid doing a lot of things. Yesterday, I started listening to Gabor Mate’s newish book on ADHD. A few surface takeaways I had were that I prefer when he reads his own work I don’t really like his son’s voice. The second is that Gabor himself is currently taking medication for his own ADHD. And now I don’t know if I’m going to continue listening because I was genuinely hoping for an answer, a solution to not taking medicine.

I was taking Lion’s mane. But apparently, a side effect can be that it makes your hair fall out. And I’ve been losing a lot since I started taking it. It could just be getting older so I don’t really know. But if there’s a way to keep my hair for a little while longer before I eventually shave it I’m gonna do that.

I’m prescribed Strattera, which is a non-stimulant medication used to treat this infuriating thing that I have. I take it most every day. It helps me concentrate so I can do the work I believe I need to do in the world. I was switching out every other day with the Lion’s mane, but since I prefer to keep my own I stopped that.

ADHD is such a shame-barrel. A self-confidence suck. I feel like a phony for having to take medication after I swore off stimulants, was addicted to them and eventually flushed them down the toilet. This was back in 2018. They scare the shit out of me. And I cursed them for so long. And now I feel like I came back with my tail between my legs like a dog who accidentally mounted a Christmas countertop and had his way with the roast turkey. See, I’m starting all my sentences with conjunctions again. Anyway, I’m sort of resigned to it because I know it helps. The Stratterra. Not the but and’s. I’m also pissed that I let it come to this. That I couldn’t do better. Lasso my brain into a greener pasture. I could write a book on all the interior self-mutilation this faulty wiring and sleepy neuro sackage has caused. I’m sure you could, too.

These were some of the things Gabor’s - not so great at conveying his father’s genius - son reminded me of - saturating my bones in old sick feelings I had growing up. Many of which still hang heavy in my air today.

1. Asking for directions (back when Mapquest sheets littered the front seat of any road trip). Losing my place by the time they got to the second turn. Learning to nod like a pro anyway, like someone who understood and followed even though internally my stomach lurched and I knew I was screwed and would never find my way.

2. Not being able to comprehend or carry out simple directions. Even though my body was present and my ears I think were on. I heard this a lot growing up while older folks shook their heads: “You’ve got a lot to learn, little girl.”

3. I think just the general consensus of everyone around me that I’d never make it on my own without someone to take care of me. That I might look alright on the surface, but my helix strands deemed me inept at completing life or contributing in any way. Which made me believe I really wasn’t. Which sucked. For a really long time.

4. My list of undones. Holy. From half-finished courses on coding to half-woven wall hangings to half-painted paintings to half-closed spice bottles to half hampers of unfolded laundry. It’s like my life is always lived in halves, no matter which way I sliced it.

Maybe someday my halves will start pairing themselves like go-fish cards and I’ll be able to say “got what I wanted!” and finally win the game. I have to keep believing that.

I guess you could say this is a half confession that I’m taking medicine and cheating at the game and half auto-processing tool. I don’t have it all figured out, but I’ve got to get honest about where I am, where I came from, and where I want to go before I can get whole about it.

I love you, and I see you, and if you have suffered from an ADHD diagnosis, too, I am sorry. And maybe we can heal together. Goddamn conjunction crutch.

Love Rosie