Gits brand packaged chana masala with trader joes porridge bread in my thrifted sailboat mug from college.



When I took my first few Ritalin pills I thought I had the answer. Then, a high dose of Concerta sort of worked for a while. Wellbutrin gave me a sense of purpose (and tinnitus), but when I returned to it this year I realized it was the depression being soothed, not the ADHD. Bullet journaling helped when it was a novel experience, but didn't really get to the root of the problem. Therapists looked at me a little bleakly as if they knew something I didn't - I wondered if they were used to hearing from exhausted wives with husbands that behaved like me. In the online articles, it was so rarely the wives.



Even though I don't have any addictions or appear hyperactive, I have what a lot of people would consider "boy ADHD" - in other words, the kind that expresses itself in making you a dick. I'm impulsive, struggle to listen, feel like my willpower is a separate creature from my mind, and often find myself submerged into my latest topic of interest to the detriment of ordinary tasks. I feel shame easily and will complete a rush of tasks to prove something, but habits are always just out of reach. 



I'm aware that my loved ones are standing in the gap between me and disaster. Not because I'm Mister Toad from Wind in the Willows: my common sense is intact, my interests are constructive, and my impulses are usually good decisions. The thing is, I run out of juice terrifyingly fast and can end up lying on the floor too light-headed to find food, or pulled over in an empty parking lot thinking and feeling nothing except far away panic because I let my phone run out of data and can't find the way home. Even more dangerous in motion, cognitive overload silently takes objects out of my hands and precautions out of my mind while I still believe myself to be functioning. 



So far luck and a well-honed sense of foreboding have kept me from leaving the gas on and locking myself out at the same time, but deadly consequences are everywhere in everyday life, and I've brushed by them often enough to be terrified of the moments when the gas tank is empty. 



More than anything, it's that fear that keeps me underperforming on the little things. A few tricky intersections or a big cleaning spree or processing personal news while making spreadsheets at work can all be the deciding factor that makes the lights go out up there. It's so bad sometimes that I occasionally wonder if it's even true ADHD or one of those crazy situations where something insidious in your organs or your hormones or your metabolism snatches away an essential brain chemical and leaves you Not All There. Sometimes it's not so bad, and I feel horrible for being avoidant of something as simple as sticking to a daily chore routine. 



I think I \*should\* believe that it's like getting fit, and I could avoid blacking out in the middle of a sprint if I would just do warmups, start small and be consistent. But I just lose the plot so so quickly, with the absolute simplest of things that I promise to do daily, and I can't propel myself with shame or determination or love or fear. I've tried phone notifications. I've tried charts on the wall. I've tried making mundane tasks novel and fun. No dice. Is it really the fear of overextending, when it's something as simple as feeding the cat in the morning? Do I just suck? What's going on here?

Trying to conquer my ADHD hurts too much