I Can’t Tell The Psychiatrist The One Sure Sign That I have ADHD
NOTE: This story is about my own experiences and does not constitute medical or other professional advice.
I’d call today a good day. I did a solid four hours work at what passes for my home office these days. I managed to send emails I’d been putting off, pitch an article to an editor and do the groundwork research for another.
I followed it up with a visit to the local aquatic centre where the smooth rhythm of my stroke led me to complete 50 laps in no time. Legs, arms and head moved precisely when they were meant to without the mental effort usually required to co-ordinate them.
There was even space left in my brain to work through a few ideas for writing projects while I was propelling my body forward.
I came home and dispensed with a few household chores before sitting down to the computer to bear witness to this marvel.
It felt easy
The wonder isn’t the amount of tasks that I got through but that I didn’t feel rung out at the end of it. That I didn’t feel that I had struggled only to deliver something that fell below my expectations. That instead, I kept going with each task one until I’d finished it and somehow just moved on to the next one.
It was so much easier that it felt as though I was cheating or that I was missing something. But I wasn’t. I was expending a normal amount of effort with a normal amount of satisfaction at the end of it.
It was easier because the brain fog, self-doubt and anxiety that usually levels up the difficulty of everything I do had been banished. I was able to direct my energy to the task at hand.
The day didn’t start this way
Despite waking before 6am, I was still sitting on my bed in my pyjamas at 10am. I only stopped flicking through social media when I became transfixed by two poodles playing a game with a tennis ball in the park outside my window.
Sometimes the reminder of my mortality that comes from watching time so blithely slipping by is enough to jolt me into action.