“So how long have you known you’re an alien?”
When Bender asked me that question, I zoned out. I thought I must have done something weird again, and I wanted to crawl somewhere dark and hide. I don’t know if I answered.
It’s been years, I don’t know how many, since the question was posed. I think now I would answer, always and never.
It’s not like I haven’t wondered, awake at night, enchanted by the idea of being from another world, perhaps placed here so I could collect data on life on earth and its inhabitants. I’d rub my feet together and drift off contentedly to sleep with the comforting idea that some day my kin would collect me and my data and my loneliness would subside.
I mean, it’s one thing to feel like an alien, to feel indescribably different, to feel inexplicably wrong for existing in the way you do… and another thing for someone to call you out on it in such a way. I never told anyone about my late night musings.
So how long have you known you’re an alien?
I don’t think I read it right; I thought I was being made fun of. I felt hot-faced and embarrassed back then; now I’m amused. Maybe it was a missed connection, another lost opportunity for a friendship that could have been if only I could’ve unmasked and just been myself. I lived almost entirely in my head in those days and my autopilot ran the show.
Last year, at the ripe old age of 36, it came to my attention that I have ADHD. That tik-tok algorithm pinned me pretty quickly once I signed up to watch cat videos. First one video, then another and another and another. Then I had to find more info, so google searches and articles and podcasts and more info please. It only really took that first video for things to start thunking into place in my mind. At once, I was filled with excitement and hope and something like empathy for myself… this is why I have such a hard time with task initiation; this is why I have a hard time focusing and following through and being on time; this is why I’m always losing things or getting distracted midsentence and forgetting what is being discussed; this is why I’m so disorganized despite my very best efforts, why I couldn’t keep my bedroom or my backpack or my desk or my locker clean; this explains my tendency to tune out the world when I’m really into what I’m doing… and perhaps it’s part of why I’m not good at making and maintaining friendships. It’s so much… and so much negative self-talk I was only vaguely aware of. I thought I was lazy, stupid, scatter-brained, absent-minded, erratic… So many things clicked for me. It was like fireworks in my mind, connecting the new information with so many experiences, validating my existence.
I felt I might be jumping to conclusions. How could I possibly have a condition like this my whole life and not know? Why did no one else notice?
I happened to have had an appointment with my PCP the following week, so I made a note to ask her about it. To my dismay, before I got the “ADHD” out of my mouth, she interrupted me and said “I do not prescribe stimulants for ADHD.” I blurted a bit louder than I should have “I’m not looking for drugs, I’m looking for answers.” She said ok and offered to refer me to get evaluated.
Then I booked a psych eval, and in the meantime, I resisted the urge to research, afraid it would influence my behaviors since I’ve always been a bit prone to mimicry. Still, why would I suddenly be flooded with memories relevant to ADHD, memories I had completely forgotten, if I didn’t have ADHD? And why was I completely preoccupied with the idea of having ADHD in the first place? I was just living my life when I came across a short video on a stupid app for kids, and I was doing really well as far as I was concerned, living with the man I love, eating healthfully, exercising regularly and with my RA in medical remission… But I could not let it go, my memories kept hitting me throughout each day, volunteering more proofs of this life-long condition I knew so little about yet knew so much about because I’d been living with it all these years. I was sure I had it, I just needed to consult someone in the field. I needed a diagnosis.
Now I wonder… if I had let myself do more research in those early stages, if I’d not have gained the vocabulary necessary to advocate for myself? I guess I just thought that professionals would know what to ask, how to tell.
My psych eval process was a bit of a fiasco. I told them I believed I had ADHD, that 2 of my brothers had been diagnosed, and I wished to receive a diagnosis, too. I was upfront about my other mental health issues(Anxiety, Depression, PTSD, a handful of involuntary hospitalizations and a suicide attempt). However, I found the line of questioning the therapist and psychologist pursued had nothing to do with my experiences with ADHD. I was unprepared and taken completely off guard, again and again as I was asked questions that seemed to me completely irrelevant and inappropriate. I answered as honestly as I could, but not as thoroughly as I would have liked.
I am not half as articulate in person as I am when I write. I need the extra time to write down my thoughts, to organize them, to rearrange and edit them to make sure I am not misunderstood, to make sure my intended meaning isn’t missing from all the words that come to mind. I need to make sure of the context.
So I felt I needed to write to them. So much of my experience is internalized, and I felt it was inevitable that they would conclude that my ADHD symptoms were just the result of the PTSD and traumas I’ve lived through. But I was sure the ADHD is responsible for my resilience in dealing with the traumas and my persistent drive to better myself and live my life on my own terms. And I did not want to walk out of this harrowing experience with a misdiagnosis of a mood or personality disorder I knew I did not have.
So I looked up the diagnostic criteria for ADHD in the DSM-V, and was validated to see myself in nearly all of the items. I printed it out and wrote notes on it- how each applied to me in childhood and adulthood with specific examples. This I gave to the psychologist who evaluated me so I could receive my diagnosis, along with an essay and some online self-test results. He called me willful and defiant, but agreed I had ADHD… and I laughed. Maybe laughing was not appropriate, but really, of all the things I’ve been called in my life, “willful and defiant” was never among them.
Diagnosis in hand, I declined medication, as I was/am eager for knowledge, not life changes. Medication may be something I want to explore in the future, but I may have to do battle with some internalized ableism in order to do so. Besides, I have had some intensely negative experiences with psych meds in the past. Diagnosis was like a green light for me, like it’s okay to do more research and apply it to myself.
I entered research mode, leaning into the works of Dr. Hallowell and Dr. Ratey, as well as Dr. Barkley. (I did not care for Barkley’s language use, but I still found his information helpful and applicable.) I wanted to find the voices of professionals who lived with the condition, people who, in my mind, knew what they were talking about because they lived with the condition, this brain-wiring difference. I found content creators in various social media platforms with ADHD whose life experiences and thought processes resonated so strongly with my own. I joined support groups and listened to podcasts. I read countless articles. There are so many things I never realized were linked to ADHD. I read about how it can present in women, and I read about how AFAB women are more likely to fly under the radar, to go undiagnosed or misdiagnosed for a slew of personality and mood disorders. These undiagnosed women are more likely to engage in risky behaviors, more likely to attempt suicide, get in car accidents, become alcoholics and so on and on it goes… It was so much. It is so much.
And then… Autism popped up. Again and again. The comorbidity rates between Autism Spectrum Disorder and ADHD are pretty high, even though the two conditions could not be diagnosed in one person until in recent history, in 2013 when the DSM was updated to allow such a thing- several years after my “dark ages” when I had interacted with mental health professionals.
And one without coaster in Stained glass- works great for my taller glasses and only 11g! 🙂
Jackie Blues 