The Ups & Downs of Self-Diagnosis, or OH MY GOD WHY AM I TAKING SPEED AT WORK

Oh how I love self-diagnosis, and not JUST because it is so often a preamble to self medication...

So I am taking out and shining up Sam's fairly new ADHD/ODD diagnosis. Now that he has things like homework and reading log and "dress like the 50's day" it suddenly seems to matter in a way that it didn't before. I am doing, well...what I do. Sam gets a diagnosis, and I get a new library card. I have read more about ADHD in the last month...this is just my approach to life. It presents a challange, and I respond confidently, "the answer is in a book somewhere. I just have to find it." (This attitude will inevitably be replaced with "Fuck the experts they don't know my kid." But we're not quite there yet.)

I've learned that ADHD is almost always genetic. We're talking anywhere from 75% - 90% of the time, depending on what study you're reading. So of course I'm looking at the hubby & I. Which one is it? Well, anyone who knows me knows I suffer from my husband's OCD, and for that (thank God) he's medicated. But he is very...focused. On task. What have you.

I, on the other hand, operate similarly to the dogs in the recent Pixar film 'Up' (squirrel!). I have a horrendous time staying focused at work, as evidenced by my numerous mid-day Facebook posts and almost compulsive visits to CNN.com. It takes me 3 days to finish a grocery list which I will more often than not lose before I go grocery shopping. Could it be...?

Further reading reveals that there are certain anti-depressants that work well in treating ADHD for those who, for medical reasons, can't take stimulants (ie heart defects, etc.). Guess what? The anti-depressants that most effectively treat ADHD symptoms also just happen to be the anti-depressants that have worked best for me. (oh, welbutrin...how i miss you. why o why have you forsaken me?)

Also, apprently adults who suffer from undiagnosed ADHD often self-medicate with caffeine. Hmmm...

I'm sold. And I just so happen to have a whole bottle full of these 5mg Ritalin. And did I mention I've had a really hard time staying focused at work lately? (and am trying to land a promotion?)

After my 3rd cup of joe one morning I slip one of these teeny white pills into my pants pocket and head to work (cups 4&5 at my side in my travel mug). Around 1:00pm, when having the same conversation for the 23rd time that day becomes unbearable, I pop the pill. And, well...casual drug use never really used to be a problem for me - you know, in my previous life. In retrospect I'm kind of amazed at how cavalierly I would once-upon-a-time take a pill because, well, why not (as opposed to now, when I will cavalierly take a pill because my doctor, in his Pfizer-sponsored lab coat, tells me to.)

But it occurs to me (about 20 seconds after swallowing the pill) that my casual drug use days were a lifetime ago. I'm a Mom now. And I'm at work. Why am I taking speed at work? OH MY GOD WHY AM I TAKING SPEED AT WORK?! By 1:20 my heartrate is through the roof. I'm pretty sure this has more to do with my anxiety about taking my son's Ritalin than the actual effects of said Ritalin.

Needless to say (so funny to write that in a blog. Blogging has pretty much killed the very concept of 'needless to say', hasn't it? Perhaps a topic for another day.) I digress...imagine that.

Needless to say I did not eek any extra productivity out of that particular day. And, sponsored by Pfizer or not, if I suspect my diagnosis of 'moderate depressive disorder' is off, I should probably have a talk with my doctor about it before experimenting with my son's meds. For now I'll chalk it up to "taking a proactive stance in my own healthcare needs". That said...anyone have any Xanax they're looking to unload?

Gutter balls

The problem with a blog about depression is, well...sometimes you're just too damn depressed to keep up with it.
I was reading the other day about how there's actual medical evidence to support the idea that "you can't teach an old dog new tricks". As we're growing and well into adulthood, every time we do something the same way or react the same way to some random external stimulus, we create a neural pathway in our brain. Think of this pathway as a rut, like the gutter on the sides of a bowling lane. Everytime you have this same reaction, that rut gets a little deeper, ensuring that the next time you're faced with same stimulus, you'll react the same way again - deepening the rut again. I know, I know...just bear with me a moment on this.
So, this is a lot of what depression is - that sort of grey, murky middle-ground between the physical aspect (fatigue!), the mental aspect (seratonin!) and the emotional aspect (guilt!). You get into these mental & emotional habits that contribute to your depression. The more engrained they become, the more difficult they are to correct. Once that bowling ball is halfway down the lane, it takes ALOT of outside intervention to get it out of the gutter. You gotta stop the game. You gotta get down the lane faster than the ball is travelling, stop it, pick it up, bring it back to the beginning...dear god its exhausting just thinking about it.
That outside intervention takes many forms. Some we do for ourselves - exercise, meditation (I'm told pets are supposed to help but my dog just pisses me off). Some our doctors help with - cognitive behavioral therapy, medication (which is kinda like bowling with the kiddy bumpers up). But it's all about stopping the ball. Getting it out of the gutter. Even though it wants to go to the gutter, because you've been bowling gutter balls for the last 20 years and frankly its the only way you know how to bowl.
I figured out I was depressed - I mean, really probably had a problem, the family history and all, the whole nine yards - maybe 7 or 8 years ago. And when I started taking Welbutrin, it was well controlled. I exercised. Meditated. Felt...joy, sometimes. But, you know, you get pregnant, gotta go off your meds, have a couple kids...you get busy. You put yourself on the back burner. We all do it.
So back to the ruts. All that while, it was sneaking up on me. My mind was reverting to those same old neural pathways, those smooth, easy-to-follow grooves it was already so comfortable with. And here's my fear: what if they're just too damn deep now to fix? What if the ball has travelled too far and its too late to stop it and get it out of the gutter?
Seven years ago I had all the time in the world. Depression was just this transient thing - a tough time I was going through. What if that's not the case? What if it isn't transient?
Before, I would be in a situation and think "This is really nice. This is the sort of experience I should feel joyful about." But I could remember feeling real joy, and had every reason to believe I would feel it again. Now, honestly, I have every reason to believe that for the rest of my life when I find myself in a situation where one should feel joyful, instead I will feel "This is really nice. This is the sort of experience I should feel joyful about." Its, well...its not the same.

finales

Funny thing about fireworks...everyone's always waiting for the finale.
Last night I packed up the kids and the myriad supplies needed to travel anywhere with them these days (diapers, wipes, toy to distract Sam, water 'cause I'm too cheap to buy it, etc) and headed to our local state park for carnie food and fireworks.
Its my experience that carnivals of any kind, when attended with young children, are generally long periods of waiting and whining punctuated by short bursts of sheer joy. Add to that the fact that fireworks are always hit or miss with Sam, who lives in constant fear of loud noises, and you'd be correct to assume that I was viewing the evening with some trepidation...
Overall the carnival part was not great. Three time outs for Sam, Anna yelling every time she ran out of french fries, and NO ONE happy about the fact that I refused to pay $3 each for the fun house. But for the most part not horrific, anyway (with the exception of the live "music").
So we lay out our blanket and sit down for the 45 minute wait (during which Anna regales the crowd with her own special brand of adorable humor). The fireworks start and - mercifully - are not very loud. Okay, here's the part I thought was weird:
Not two minutes into it, people started wondering out loud about the finale. Anytime more that 3 fireworks were sent into the air at once, someone within earshot would say "do you think this is it? Oooo - that looks like a finale..." I couldn't help but notice that most of these people seemed unable to enjoy the fireworks at all except as preparation for the finale. Maybe they're like my husband - so anxiety-ridden that every moment of everyday is nothing but preparation for the next? Maybe they're like my in-laws - so religious that all of this life is but preparation for the ever after? Remove the context of "waiting for the end" and what is the point of sitting through the fireworks at all? Except, of course, to enjoy the fireworks that are actually taking place now.

a really good day

A book I'm reading right now about depression (review to come) says that its not our emotions that are a problem so much as our reactions to our emotions. The authors go into great detail explaining why this is and how it came to be, and I am confident I will only screw it up if I attempt to address it here. So let's just take for granted that they're right. I believe it, anyway... You ever have a day where things are going really well, and all day long you're waiting for the other shoe to drop? "What's going to go wrong?" you ask yourself, "will I lose it on one of the kids or will the dog tear the sofa up? Will I burn dinner, or get in a fight with my husband?" You just know SOMETHING will go wrong. You're a sitting duck, just waiting for it.
And waiting for it, of course, ruins your day. Self-fulfilling prophecy and whatnot. When you look for a terrible time you can usually find one, that's just sort of how it works. Your emotion may be one of happiness or content, but your reaction to that emotion is dread...and you sabotage yourself.
So I've been giving that alot of thought lately, and trying to consciously separate my emotions from my reactions to them. I think I'm a pretty self-aware girl (a self-absorbed one, anyway) but I gotta tell you it is hard, this constant awareness. Of course I've tried before to focus on being more "present", living in the moment, etc. But not so pointedly I guess. Not with a specific intention such as "notice what emotion you're feeling, and then notice, separately, what you're thinking about that emotion. Then take it a step further and challenge your thinking on that emotion. Oh, and do all of this while watching your two kids plus two more and taking care of the house and job-hunting all day." My emotion about this prospect is one of overwhelming...overwhelmness. And my thoughts about that emotion are that it is completely appropriate.
But try I did and you know what? I had a pretty good day. I was happy with my Done List 'round about lunchtime, but still motivated to add to it. I only lost my temper with my son once (that's good for me, in case you don't know me that well) and somehow it didn't set a pattern for the entire day like it usually does. I had a less-than-pleasant conversation with my spouse, but when the conversation was over I was surprisingly able to let it go. Apparently its not even necessary to change either your emotions or your reactions to them, just questioning those reactions can give you the space to have a really good day.

The Done List

I don't really do to-do lists. First of all, I fail at them. They never really get finished, mostly because I'm over-ambitious when writing them in the first place. I'll put things like "reorganize downstairs closet" on a list on a Tuesday when my kids need bathed and I'm baby-sitting for friends. So of course I never get to cross everything off.
Frankly, that makes me feel like a failure. And worse yet is the fact that I now have this physical evidence - this list - to prove my failure. Its indelible. It can't be denied. Failure.
So I do 'done' lists instead. Okay, laugh...no, no, its okay, I'll wait....you done? Oh, no, okay....too damn bad. My Done List works really well for me. First of all I don't have to start it until mid-morning, which is a plus in itself. And I can put stuff on it that just fits my priorities alot better than the usual 'to-do' fare. Things that, at the end of the day, its just important that I did, like "read to Sam for 30 minutes" or "wrestled with Anna on floor". Would you put them on a to-do list? Probably not. But at the end of the day, if your children are your priority, they are very real accomplishments.
The great thing about The Done List is as you add more to it you feel better & better, and more & more motivated to keep adding. So I review it at lunch, mid-afternoon, and after dinner. Its amazing how much gumption to keep going it provides. For anyone with depression, trust me - its a real ambivalence killer.
So here's today's list, just as a random example:

Morning stretch
Took the dog for a walk
Had "me time" on computer before kids got up
Unloaded & reloaded dishwasher
Made eggs for breakfast - yay!
Played "kitchen" with kids for 1/2 hour
Emailed husband
Ran dishwasher
Took kids to see free movie - Tale of Desperaux
Took kids to lunch at McD's - let them play in tunnels for 45 minutes.
Read Anna 3 books, put down for nap
Read to big kids - 45 reading minutes for summer reading program
Made sloppy joe's & salad
Colored with kids
cleaned up in kitchen
Talked with Sam about the dog and being nice
Got Anna up, comforted
Checked in on a troubled friend
Washed berries
Went to therapy - breakthrough: stop feeling guilty for making decisions that are best for you.
Got kids ready for bed
Blogged

Now I realize this is a list that, to someone who is very hung-up on stuff around a house getting done, may seem incomplete. But when I think about MY top priorities in this life - this represents a well-lived day. And when I look at it, I feel good about my accomplishments, a success. And I've got the evidence to back it up.

cross-reference test

j9.minti.com

that should work

Lonliness fights dirty

Loneliness is a mean bastard, and he fights dirty.
There's the surprise attack - when you're in a crowded mall or at a hoppin' party, surrounded by people and suddenly BAM - kick in the gut, you realize you feel utterly, entirely alone. You look around at the sea of faces and feel disconnected from each & every one of them. You can think of nothing save the need for oxygen and sustenance that you could possibly have in common with these people. You're the alien in the crowded room, and therefore lonely in a crowd.
There's the lonely-with-your-kids moments, when you're just dying for an adult conversation. These are the moments that led me to watch CNN 24-hours/day straight for 2 1/2 years. You just want to hear another grown up talk about something other than poop or the Blues Clues guy. This particular brand of loneliness - BONUS - comes with guilt as well, as you will no doubt feel awful for not enjoying your children's company enough. Never enough.
Tonight I'm wrangling with the worst kind of loneliness: the self-induced state of loneliness. I was seeking solitude, I went to great lengths to find it. I inconvenienced some people, and just plain hurt others - all in search of my solitude. Now I have it - and I'm lonely.
Mean bastard.