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A rainy Sunday afternoon…

04 Nov

Sundays at work always seem a bit weird. Given that we’re doing business 24/7, that means that EVERY Sunday is weird. That would make weird ordinary, but that’s not the point. Came in this morning with a lot to do, but now there’s nothing and I’m thinking we might as well have done the case we turfed to others, but then again, when we turfed it, we did it because we had too much to do. Or so it seems. And now we’re being phone jockeys.

Autumn weather is crazy weather, and you need to pack an umbrella and your sunglasses. Looking at the rain gives you time to think. Somehow, rain calms me down as long as I’m somewhere not getting wet. If I’m getting wet, it makes me angry.

Rain

Rain

Things are going on, I’m still leaning towards my Godzilla with PMS side and I hate that side of me. It’s the downside of an ADHD brain combined with a very insecure life so far. Something goes wrong and I’m immediately flooded by thoughts in all their ADHD glory: impressions, images, feelings. Cognitive behavioural therapy has been tried with me thrice, but that’s based on people who think with words and one thing at a time. Or so I think. It does NOTHING to curb the flood, much less if there are strong emotions involved. So, we pick up the pieces later, embarrassed and all.

I’m perfectly capable of handling the cognitive part, once I’ve resurfaced. It’s really very much like being rolled by the waves when swimming in the ocean. I’m a good swimmer, but sometimes it still happens. Just like in the actual ocean, you’re much more likely to get into trouble if you struggle. My best tactic has been to simply roll with it, hold my breath (well, obviously, underwater) and figure out what’s up and down ASAP when I feel the worst blow is over. Remember to always check the coming waves as you emerge! Tip: your chest is filled with air and will move upwards. (Skinny girls don’t float….)

beachwaves

I’ve always been alone in these waves, nobody but one of my therapists has witnessed it ever. That has been fairly recently, I took some time to defrost. And now, TDH has witnessed it. I didn’t really want him to, but I’m here, and he’s close to me… and sometimes he’s been the one triggering it. And it’s weird, because I have no idea how to deal with this. I mean, I always saved the drama for somewhere nobody else could see it.

I am scared of my own past, scared of it happening. I’m not really a fear-type, but I’m terrified. I suppose I can only be terrified because I fully understand how bleak and cold and painful it was. And while I may be doing ‘better’ I think the emotional wounds need more time to heal. My schemes? Trauma response? My ongoing ‘battle’ with my worth as a person doesn’t really help: I feel like I don’t really fit into society because it’s custom made for the same-mass; being different doesn’t float well. I am still being told, sometimes less subtle than other times, that I need to change to ‘adjust’ to a world made to fit someone else. I am being made ‘less’ because of how I am wired, for the greatest part how I am biologically wired. I don’t understand why I can’t be accepted for who I am, simply because I love people for who they are. It’s kind of like bra shopping: I wear a 28F, a size hardly ever sold in stores. Instead of helping me find a fitting bra, the message is: ‘why don’t you just wear the available sizes? We have ALL sizes! 32A-38D!’. Because, quite frankly, they are uncomfortable and don’t fit and offer no support.

bras…

I feel like I’m untangling the hurts, trying to figure out how to get my life healthy. Yesterday we had a look at my crappy financial status. I completely flipped; completely overwhelmed. It was worse than I thought, and I may have to find another solution to my living situation even. Having ADHD is expensive; it’s the main change. Of course, I always had ADHD, but given that our government doesn’t believe in ADHD and thinks short acting methylphenidate is the shit and everyone should be fine with the cheapest contraceptive pill (I think that one made me sick…), I’m stuck with some pretty high medical expenses. If I get into the training programme, I’m going to need my Concerta more than ever, and having to deal with the 3-hourly waves that come with short-acting methylphenidate, (nevermind the rebound when forgetting it) probably won’t be the best thing for me.

I also realised just how much I have to give up. For example: fashion. I really enjoy my style time, but I can’t afford it. My gym membership. I have absolutely no idea how I’m going to manage my fitness without it, because I can’t go running any more due to my allergic asthma… grass pollen allergy. My head immediately gets flooded, the prospect reminds me of my desolate past. I got into debt trying to escape from the hell that was my life. I tried to comfort myself with stuff and whatever because I couldn’t have love, safety, friendship, someone to care for me when needed. It didn’t work, but it was a distraction. And then there’s the thing about the Marshmallow test: turns out that kids who have experienced broken promises will eat the marshmallow: you can’t count on getting another one if adults can’t be trusted. As a kid, I lost things quite a lot. ADHD. The idea was to teach me responsibility by letting me replace lost items with my pocket money, because that’s how it works in the real world. The lesson I learned was that months and months worth of pocket money gets taken away for something I truly could not help. Nobody helped me find ways to remember my stuff.  This has been disastrous for my personal finances throughout life: I had learned to spend my money so I could at least get SOMETHING out if it, as soon as I got it, because I never knew when it would be taken away, leaving me with nothing. (Of course, this is just one of many ‘issues’). Of course, life’s a bitch and this thing comes back to bite me.  Is it fair? No. My dad was right about one thing: life isn’t fair. Of course, that’s something I figured out long before he told me that.

Nobody taught me how to prevent this mess either, and I’m pretty much left to my own devices when it comes to getting out if it. Nothing new: if I had 5 cents for every time someone told me I should be able to do something which I failed at (most often due to ADHD, sometimes due to not having learned something, sometimes due to having glasses making it impossible to bat the ball because you’ve got a massive blind spot right where the bat is, sometimes due to hypermobility and also sometimes because I actually SHOULD be able to do this but simply failed)… well… I’d have enough money to solve this problem and a few more, perhaps even start a scholarship. I’ve gotten plenty tips that go right back to the obvious. It’s like telling a bulimic they’ve got a strict food budget. Yes, I know about budgeting, I’ve tried about 20 times to keep track of it, I understand that this is not helping…. But guess what: somewhere between intention and outcome I massively fail. I’ve even set up several master plans to live on a tight budget…. it lasted a week.

But, that’s not the point. My overwhelming emotional reaction had little to do with failure or the previous intents. It’s simple: the prospect of a really tight budget triggers rather traumatic memories. My struggle with debt started about three months into university, when I needed shoes but had no way in hell to afford them. I walked those shoes through. It became evil after that. It was the incident where I handed my father a minimum budget, and him cutting it back even further. I felt so desperate! It left me with too little to eat from, never mind actually doing something other than study. ‘But your sisters work’. My sisters weren’t in med school, living in student housing. It’s from a lifetime of barely being ‘allowed’ anything I enjoy, and knowing better what it’s like to be deprived than what it’s like to have my needs met. It’s from being reminded of painful loneliness, and the rats I never really could afford but who healed me in so many ways. And it’s about being scared to have to deal with that again, scared to be facing a bleak, dull, lonely life again. I won’t be able to afford doing fun stuff more than a few times a year, and there’s nothing I enjoy more than doing fun things with friends.  Just a few things. It’s completely irrational, and yet, I am having a hard time convincing myself that this can be different.

Regret is a complicated thing if you know you would have done things differently had you known how. And it’s not about the fucking money, yet, it is.

Poor piggy

 

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2 Comments

Posted by on November 4, 2013 in ADHD, Dear Diary, Money, Work

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

2 responses to “A rainy Sunday afternoon…

  1. CriminalMassWorder

    November 28, 2013 at 4:54 pm

    Hugg!

     

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