Hey I just need to get this off my chest.
I have ADHD. Or at least that’s what the DSM and my diagnostic code calls it. I call it Chronic Hypersensitivity Disorder with a Healthy Dose of Executive Dysfunction.
And this week I’m going to run out of my meds.
Disabilities are not always visible. In fact, I’d go so far as to say disabilities are invisible More Often Than Not. Got PTSD? Disabled. Got sciatica? Disabled. Hard of hearing? Disabled. And we as a society spend so much time focused on visible disabilities - specifically people who use mobility aids - that it is almost impossible for us to identify the invisible things as disabilities in others......or in ourselves.
How many of you have thought, “I’m making it up.” How often do you assert “it’s not that bad, I shouldn’t be so dramatic.” I’ve done it too. My whole life. I still do. But then I check the facts.
For two years I’ve been on medication for ADHD. In that time I’ve held a steady full time job, written half of my first novel, and started graduate school. Those things are not superhuman feats. But in the five years before meds, I couldn’t manage bills, make appointments, keep my home clean, or meet deadlines. In the lifetime before meds I would throw tantums and have meltdowns on a Daily Fucking Basis, constantly overcome by the intensity of my emotions. I over-ate to feel in control, I sat still for hours, sometimes all day, fueled by executive dysfunction and self loathing, and most importantly I felt powerless to change anything about the way I interracted with the world.
That’s not *making it up*, that’s not *being a drama queen*. Those are cold, hard facts about my success in a world built for neurotypicals, in a brain poorly wired. And even after years of therapy and behavioral programs, of hard work building skills and tools to help me tackle life’s hurdles, I still resisted medication because it felt like “it wasn’t that bad” and “i don’t need a crutch”
But I do. I’m disabled, I’m not lazy or worthless or stupid - would you say that to someone who uses a wheelchair? - but I *am* disabled and my brain needs its own kind of mobility aid.
This week I’m going to run out of meds. Jury’s out on how long it’ll take to get a new prescription, but I may genuinely have to plan and execute a cross-country move without that all-too-necessary set of crutches. And I’m scared.
But what I’m not is lazy. Or worthless. Or fucking helpless. I worked really fucking hard to get this far, and if I have to limp across the finish line so be it, but I will not shame myself or ridicule mysel or allow myself for a second to think that my experience isn’t valid, isn’t real.
Your experience is valid too. It’s real. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise. Especially yourself.
