In The Thick of It: The Tornado
It has been a mere 48 hours since I’ve returned to work and they have been a rough 48 hours. The voices of the depression and ADD have been screaming at me and I’ve fought tooth and nail to fight them.
Last week I mucked something up pretty badly. It was a perfect storm of not knowing, not knowing what I wasn’t understanding, not knowing my ADD, not knowing just how deep of a hole I was in, and my depression and ADD muffling my cries for help. And the pandemic. Let’s not forget Rona. The tornado was loud, it was fierce, and it was stronger than it has ever been before. Someone I greatly respect saw the signs and threw me a live saver. I cried and hard. Thankfully, I got the support I needed and was able to take some time off to regroup.
I’m still getting used to my meds and understanding my ADD, but I came back to work on a reduced schedule. It took every ounce of my being to not get distracted the past few days, but I did it. However, I am now sitting in the post-storm deafening silence. I am sifting through the rubble and picking up the pieces.
Today the storm picked back up. I was in a meeting and saw the wonderful people who have been supporting me throughout all of this. People I respect and admire and my depression saw an opportunity. “Look at them, Leslie. They have seen your brokenness. You’re exposed as the failure you are, the failure you’ve always been. Look at them. You are exposed. You let them down. All of them.” The depression screams grew louder and louder. My heart sank with every scream and the room started to spin.
The tornado was back and I was getting hit with the debris of my own creation. I looked down at the cracks of my desk to try and pull myself out of the storm. My eyes started to well up, but I needed to ground myself. I started at the cracks. Everyone was talking — smiling boxes of people I admire — and I couldn’t hear them.
The meeting ended and I shut down the computer- putting off another intake form because the sight of the internet was making me shake and my heart race. I laid down in bed, put my earbuds in, and put a movie on that I had seen a million times. I needed to drown out the voices. They were wrong, but they were loud.
As I heard the familiar lines by these beloved characters, the room slowly stopped spinning and my heart rate slowly stopped it’s maniacal beating. I was no longer taking shallow breaths, but deep healing ones. I fell asleep. My daughter woke me up, excited to show me the new vacuum cleaner that had just arrived (we lead a very exciting life). The noise had subsided and I was left with the debris once again.
I’m only now coming to. My head hurts and my stomach is tight. Deep inhale. Extra long exhale. I stick my hand in the bazillion water beads overtaking our tupperware to bring me back. I feel bruised, but ok. I made it through without sabotaging anything.
I think what has surprised the most is just how my ADD exists in me and where and when she surfaces. I will start off ok, focused and resilient. Then, she starts making an appearance. One email will be opened, but to answer that one, I need to dig into the emails which she has cast the Undetectable Extension Charm on (you know, the small bag Hermione carried in the Deathly Hallows — sort of a current day version of the Mary Poppins bag). In that search she sees another email she needs to tend to, so she opens it. She starts composing a response and a word triggers a memory of another email she needs to answer — but she needs to search for the answer to that one.
The tornado picks up speed and the sound is deafening. I can no longer hear myself. Swept away by the to-do tasks and the 16 half answered emails plaguing her mind, she starts panicking. I NEED to get this done! It’s not that hard! The depression has snuck in, delighted the doors are wide open, and whispers. ADD me in panic mode, looks for something to anchor on and depression is glad to lend a hand. The winds pick up and the voices get loud. I can’t breathe, I can’t move, I’m pushing against these strong winds. I feel possessed. I am paralyzed. Hyper focused on all the tabs in my brain that are open, I need this ride to stop. Depression and ADD are screaming over each other. “Don’t forget this! You’re gonna drop the ball again! I wonder what the weather is like? You’re failing! Oh, another email! See?”
I look at the clock. The day is suddenly done and the winds have quieted down. The ADD is tired and retreats. The depression, standing tall and mighty, points to the debris. With an evil smile, she says “See?” Then she slithers off into the darkness leaving me feeling empty and guilty.
Before I knew I had ADD, I had convinced myself that it was the sleep deprivation; the business of working a million jobs at once; the distractions I let consume me; the outings. And now that I am forced to stop (thank you, pandemic), bereft of distractions, commutes, and activities, I have nothing left to blame. I am forced to look at my foes for who they are: the illness I have yet to understand.
I am taking on new approaches to my work and life. When I feel the spiral come on, I take a walk or play some music meant to soothe the ADD brain. It helps. I have to be very present and very deliberate in my conversations, my actions, my work, my notes, my interactions. It is taking a lot of energy and strength, but I’m slowly doing it.
As the wind of today’s tornado quiets down, my heart rate goes back to normal, and I no longer feel like everyone hates me (side effect of both illnesses), I am proud I fought the good fight. I am slowly understanding my enemy. It has waged its war against me for far too long and I am ready to fight another day.
