Happy ADDiversary
June 5, 2006 was the day of my appointment. I won't rehash. It's all in the blog. But what's happened since? You decide.
A diagnosis is a blessing. But it's one of those blessings that doesn't always make in time for the good stuff. I learned I have ADD. I learned there is an explanation for the frustrations and inconsistencies of my life prior to June 5, 2006. But it hasn't explained ...
Goddammit. I can't be philosophical or reflective. I can barely write anymore. And I'm a fucking writer for god sakes. I just feel it slipping away since my ADD diagnosis in 2006. Soon after the ADD, i was given another diagnosis, Cyclothymia, which is a mood disorder within the Bipolar spectrum.
I learned that 1) Bipolar isn't all madness and psych wards. 2) And that I have Bipolar disorder.
Fortunately, there's a nice, fuzzy type of bipolar disorder called Bipolar II. And, golly, it doesn't make you a mental patient. It just makes you an irritating, unpredictable asshole who can't get anything done with any degree of competence or consistency.
And I take meds. I take 300 mg of Lamictal every morning, followed with 60 (30 2x a day).
Don't misunderstand. As I said in the first sentence, a diagnosis is a blessing. I'm lucky. You couldn;t count how many people spend their lives meeting doctor after doctor to learn they have depression, anxiety, anger, schizophrenia, ADD, ADHD, OCD, ODD, and from the non-believers, a incurable case of being an asshole.
As the road of misdiagnosis progresses, disorders building up like bumper stickers on a Volkswagen bus, breathing life into ponderous regimens of prescription medication.
So I'm lucky. I'm lucky because I'm medicated and no longer spend life feeling like a skateboarder trying to hold onto the icy back fender of a bus, that any moment i'll lose my grip and spiral into the low-grade blackness keeping the rot colored glasses welded to my face.
But I cant write. I can't out my thoughts into words anymore. It's become hard. I procrastinate, ruminate, obfuscate, and masturbate. The Lamictal robs me of words, so my verbal and written expression sounds dull, feels slanted, and takes forever to finish.
i've been working on this too long. I have to get something else done. I started it at 4 p.m. I promised it would be done yesterday. I'm doing as a favor for a friend and not getting paid, there is PAID work from PAYING waiting for work. I won;t get paid until it;s done. And I'm falling asleep.
Happy ADDIVERSARY to me.
A diagnosis is a blessing. But it's one of those blessings that doesn't always make in time for the good stuff. I learned I have ADD. I learned there is an explanation for the frustrations and inconsistencies of my life prior to June 5, 2006. But it hasn't explained ...
Goddammit. I can't be philosophical or reflective. I can barely write anymore. And I'm a fucking writer for god sakes. I just feel it slipping away since my ADD diagnosis in 2006. Soon after the ADD, i was given another diagnosis, Cyclothymia, which is a mood disorder within the Bipolar spectrum.
I learned that 1) Bipolar isn't all madness and psych wards. 2) And that I have Bipolar disorder.
Fortunately, there's a nice, fuzzy type of bipolar disorder called Bipolar II. And, golly, it doesn't make you a mental patient. It just makes you an irritating, unpredictable asshole who can't get anything done with any degree of competence or consistency.
And I take meds. I take 300 mg of Lamictal every morning, followed with 60 (30 2x a day).
Don't misunderstand. As I said in the first sentence, a diagnosis is a blessing. I'm lucky. You couldn;t count how many people spend their lives meeting doctor after doctor to learn they have depression, anxiety, anger, schizophrenia, ADD, ADHD, OCD, ODD, and from the non-believers, a incurable case of being an asshole.
As the road of misdiagnosis progresses, disorders building up like bumper stickers on a Volkswagen bus, breathing life into ponderous regimens of prescription medication.
So I'm lucky. I'm lucky because I'm medicated and no longer spend life feeling like a skateboarder trying to hold onto the icy back fender of a bus, that any moment i'll lose my grip and spiral into the low-grade blackness keeping the rot colored glasses welded to my face.
But I cant write. I can't out my thoughts into words anymore. It's become hard. I procrastinate, ruminate, obfuscate, and masturbate. The Lamictal robs me of words, so my verbal and written expression sounds dull, feels slanted, and takes forever to finish.
i've been working on this too long. I have to get something else done. I started it at 4 p.m. I promised it would be done yesterday. I'm doing as a favor for a friend and not getting paid, there is PAID work from PAYING waiting for work. I won;t get paid until it;s done. And I'm falling asleep.
Happy ADDIVERSARY to me.
posted by addingyears at 11:44 PM
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