One of my earliest childhood memories is of being five years old, and hearing the phrase "Paula! Stop daydreaming and pay attention!" for the very first time. It was the word "daydreaming" that impressed me most, which smacked of fairies, magic, and romance. Unfortunately, the tone of voice my teacher used did not match my vision.
It is a phrase I have heard on a daily basis, sometimes several times a day, ever since. Back then, I was referred to as a daydreamer, and I invented my own tools to work around it. While somewhat effective, this has always taken a huge amount of energy to do what most people do naturally. It's exhausting!
A couple of years ago, my friend Wayne, who has been trying to get me to pay attention for over 15 years, tells me he saw a list online of symptoms for Attention Deficit Disorder.
"Guess what?" he says more than asks, "You totally qualify". It turns out, after all these years of dillusion, that I'm not a beautiful daydreamer after all. What I really am, figuratively speaking, is the poster child for ADD.
As I've gotten older, my attention span has continue to shrink. Soon, it will be more of an attention moment than an actual span.
One of the reasons I've been reluctant to go see someone about it is because I suspect that I do my most brilliant work when my mind is in ADD overdrive. I really hate to lose that part of myself.
On the other hand, I've started my own business and realize I'll never be able to perform on the level I need to if I don't deal with my ADD.
After much ado, which I will not bore you with, I've decided to see what modern medicine can do for me. So far, my journey has been very informative, especially when I'm paying attention.
Turns out, it's not my general practitioner who can treat me for this. It's a specialty, a psychiatrist affair. I am not at all happy to hear this, but my ADD is so off the chain these days, I have no choice but to take the plunge.
My doctors, including my dentist, are all women. Women make wonderful doctors, they always spend more time with you than their male counterparts. Sometimes, you can even make them cry with you. Guy doctors NEVER do that.
It's difficult to find anyone, including psychiatrists, that specialize in treating adults with ADD. In the end, the only one I could find was a man. I can't tell you his real name, so let's just call him Dr. X for now.
My dynamic with Dr. X is entirely different than it would be with a woman. His communication skills are alien to my matriarchal background. Dr. X is just fucking scary. Full of authority and testosterone, I'm not sure what to make of this bundle of "big-daddy-ness".
It was all so very strange and compelling, I actually agreed to return for a second appointment. It was on that second visit that the honey moon ended and the "Therapist Ultimatum" was issued.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
A Short Birthday Note
This year, this month, this week, I turned 49 years old. It seems like I used to fret over my age, but then when I was sick, I pretty much let go of that fixation. Still, I'm vain, so my whole thing is that I don't mind being 49, I just don't want to look like I'm 49.
My 48th year actually came with lots of epiphanies. I plan on spending the next year trying to better myself.
Trisha says, for years now "Paula, you can't just get over the baggage you've carried through you life. And, furthermore, you can't get around it either. The only way to really move on is to go right through it." Unfortunately, the gate keeper is a therapist.
So, I've decided to give therapy a shot, and test this theory. I'm not looking forward to it for several reasons.
1. My immediate family, with the exception of myself, has been in therapy for thirty years. Quite frankly, I don't see where it's helped. If anything, it's made them even more narcissistic then they were in the first place.
2. I have spent a whole lot of years suppressing all of my angst, trauma, and skeletons and it's been a helluva lot of work. Why ever would I want to drag all of it out now?
3. Psycho-therapy has always seemed so self indulgent. It's like psycho masturbation. Everyone has a lot to talk about, but therapy is generally for the well insured. The rest of us have to work it out on our own, and that's makes you tough.
Having said all that, my first session will be in two weeks. This is going to be the start of a new series called "That's Not What My Therapist Said!" I take solace in knowing that, if nothing else, it'll give me something to write about.
My 48th year actually came with lots of epiphanies. I plan on spending the next year trying to better myself.
Trisha says, for years now "Paula, you can't just get over the baggage you've carried through you life. And, furthermore, you can't get around it either. The only way to really move on is to go right through it." Unfortunately, the gate keeper is a therapist.
So, I've decided to give therapy a shot, and test this theory. I'm not looking forward to it for several reasons.
1. My immediate family, with the exception of myself, has been in therapy for thirty years. Quite frankly, I don't see where it's helped. If anything, it's made them even more narcissistic then they were in the first place.
2. I have spent a whole lot of years suppressing all of my angst, trauma, and skeletons and it's been a helluva lot of work. Why ever would I want to drag all of it out now?
3. Psycho-therapy has always seemed so self indulgent. It's like psycho masturbation. Everyone has a lot to talk about, but therapy is generally for the well insured. The rest of us have to work it out on our own, and that's makes you tough.
Having said all that, my first session will be in two weeks. This is going to be the start of a new series called "That's Not What My Therapist Said!" I take solace in knowing that, if nothing else, it'll give me something to write about.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Dolly and Donnie Go to the Pokie
"Hey, Paula, I have a great story to tell you." Dolly says to me.
"My friend Dave that lives in Kentucky called me and asked if I wanted to go see Buddy Guy."
"Did you go?" I ask.
"Boy, did we ever. Dave had four tickets, but the catch was that we had to take his sister Bev with us. I had to think twice about that, Bev is, you know, not quite right. So I called Donnie and ask him if he wants to go and he says sure and then we invite our friend Jerry."
So, we head down south, a couple of hours into Kentucky, pick up Bev, and head to the concert. We were drinking before we got to the club, and all I really remember was Bev walking around with two rolled up napkins, one stuck in each ear. Next thing we know, she's up on stage, with the napkins coming out of her ears, dancing with Buddy Guy. I have no idea how she got up there."
"On our way to drop Bev off after the concert, we decided to pull over in this cornfield and have a cocktail. We're absolutely in the middle of nowhere, with the trunk open and stereo blasting. Out of nowhere, because we're in the middle of it so I know, this cop pulls up behind us. I'll never forget watching this cop stroll up to the car through the side view mirror, all slinky like. You just knew it wasn't gonna be good."
"The cop walks around to Donnie's side and asks through the window if we've been drinking. We were gonna say no, but unfortunately, we all had a cocktail in our hand. Except for Donnie, he just had a bag of weed in his pocket.
Since Donnie is in the driver's seat, he's the one that has to take the sobriety test. Donnie refuses to take it, and is immediately arrested on the spot and put in the back seat of the cruiser."
"Next, the cop looks at me and Jerry, and declares us both publicly intoxicated and arrests us and cuffs us too. By now, the only person not under arrest, and therefore, legally allowed to drive the car from the cornfield to the station, is Bev. Bev is having none of this. The more we try to pressure into driving, the more she freaks out. Finally, all four of us pile into the police cruiser, with Bev in the front seat now carrying on a full blown conversation with herself, including maniacal bouts of laughter and tears."
"Before I get in the cruiser, I ask the officer if I can please talk to my husband for just a moment. He says I can, but just for one minute. I go over to the cruiser, lean into the back seat and start to ask Donnie if he's OK, as he leans over at the same time and stuffs the bag of weed down my shirt. I spend the next 20 minutes dancing around on the side of the road trying to shake it out of there without my hands because they're cuffed behind my back."
"Once we got to the police station, Donnie, Jerry and I were all placed in cells with what seemed to be a whole lot of people for the middle of nowhere. None of us are sure what happened to Bev. For what seems like the next five million hours, we wait to be processed. I had used my one phone call to my brother, and by now, he had arrived to bail us out."
"Still, we waited to be processed. At some point, Donnie agreed to the sobriety test and his alcohol level is 0, as in hadn't drank all night. Too late, they already arrested him, he's still under arrest. What the fuck? When I ask him why he didn't just take the test in the first place, he says he doesn't know why, just kinda froze up."
"I ask the dispatcher how much longer it would be and she says, in a cigarette voice "well, it wouldn't be so damn busy if that dumb ass would stop arresting everybody". Turns out he's a rookie, all of one week on the job."
"We finally get out of jail the next day, having agreed to be back in two weeks to meet the judge. The very first thing we have to do is find Bev. It turns out that the she was so beserk that the police dropped her off at the psych ward. Unfortunately, no one at the station could tell us which hospital. We spend the rest of the day going to three different hospitals till we find her. We were so relieved because we didn't have the nerve to tell her brother, who gave us the Buddy Guy tickets, that we lost his mentally impaired sister. I mean, we didn't want him to think we were irresponsible or anything."
"With the exception of the court appearance, I don't think we'll ever go back to that part of Kentucky again. And neither should you, they're nuts out there."
"Well, Dolly" I say, "At least you got all that crazy stuff out of your system a long time ago, when you were young."
"Yeah" Dolly says, "If you consider last year a long time ago."
"My friend Dave that lives in Kentucky called me and asked if I wanted to go see Buddy Guy."
"Did you go?" I ask.
"Boy, did we ever. Dave had four tickets, but the catch was that we had to take his sister Bev with us. I had to think twice about that, Bev is, you know, not quite right. So I called Donnie and ask him if he wants to go and he says sure and then we invite our friend Jerry."
So, we head down south, a couple of hours into Kentucky, pick up Bev, and head to the concert. We were drinking before we got to the club, and all I really remember was Bev walking around with two rolled up napkins, one stuck in each ear. Next thing we know, she's up on stage, with the napkins coming out of her ears, dancing with Buddy Guy. I have no idea how she got up there."
"On our way to drop Bev off after the concert, we decided to pull over in this cornfield and have a cocktail. We're absolutely in the middle of nowhere, with the trunk open and stereo blasting. Out of nowhere, because we're in the middle of it so I know, this cop pulls up behind us. I'll never forget watching this cop stroll up to the car through the side view mirror, all slinky like. You just knew it wasn't gonna be good."
"The cop walks around to Donnie's side and asks through the window if we've been drinking. We were gonna say no, but unfortunately, we all had a cocktail in our hand. Except for Donnie, he just had a bag of weed in his pocket.
Since Donnie is in the driver's seat, he's the one that has to take the sobriety test. Donnie refuses to take it, and is immediately arrested on the spot and put in the back seat of the cruiser."
"Next, the cop looks at me and Jerry, and declares us both publicly intoxicated and arrests us and cuffs us too. By now, the only person not under arrest, and therefore, legally allowed to drive the car from the cornfield to the station, is Bev. Bev is having none of this. The more we try to pressure into driving, the more she freaks out. Finally, all four of us pile into the police cruiser, with Bev in the front seat now carrying on a full blown conversation with herself, including maniacal bouts of laughter and tears."
"Before I get in the cruiser, I ask the officer if I can please talk to my husband for just a moment. He says I can, but just for one minute. I go over to the cruiser, lean into the back seat and start to ask Donnie if he's OK, as he leans over at the same time and stuffs the bag of weed down my shirt. I spend the next 20 minutes dancing around on the side of the road trying to shake it out of there without my hands because they're cuffed behind my back."
"Once we got to the police station, Donnie, Jerry and I were all placed in cells with what seemed to be a whole lot of people for the middle of nowhere. None of us are sure what happened to Bev. For what seems like the next five million hours, we wait to be processed. I had used my one phone call to my brother, and by now, he had arrived to bail us out."
"Still, we waited to be processed. At some point, Donnie agreed to the sobriety test and his alcohol level is 0, as in hadn't drank all night. Too late, they already arrested him, he's still under arrest. What the fuck? When I ask him why he didn't just take the test in the first place, he says he doesn't know why, just kinda froze up."
"I ask the dispatcher how much longer it would be and she says, in a cigarette voice "well, it wouldn't be so damn busy if that dumb ass would stop arresting everybody". Turns out he's a rookie, all of one week on the job."
"We finally get out of jail the next day, having agreed to be back in two weeks to meet the judge. The very first thing we have to do is find Bev. It turns out that the she was so beserk that the police dropped her off at the psych ward. Unfortunately, no one at the station could tell us which hospital. We spend the rest of the day going to three different hospitals till we find her. We were so relieved because we didn't have the nerve to tell her brother, who gave us the Buddy Guy tickets, that we lost his mentally impaired sister. I mean, we didn't want him to think we were irresponsible or anything."
"With the exception of the court appearance, I don't think we'll ever go back to that part of Kentucky again. And neither should you, they're nuts out there."
"Well, Dolly" I say, "At least you got all that crazy stuff out of your system a long time ago, when you were young."
"Yeah" Dolly says, "If you consider last year a long time ago."
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