Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Trial and Error

This Disembodiment
I've been seeing a psychiatrist who's been managing my medications for close to four months now.  I recently cut out Wellbutrin altogether and began an ADHD medication called Vyvanse.  I went to a specialist to get tested for ADD/ADHD and I scored, for lack of a better word, insanely high for ADHD.

Years ago, months ago, I never would have thought I would not only be referred to an ADHD specialist but would be diagnosed as such. It was a sort of bitter relief. It explains so much -- my erratic, disorganized, impulsive behavior; my inability to complete tasks, engage in conversations and actions...the list goes on.

I feel angry, too. Why didn't my mother think to get me tested for, hell, anything? Instead, she diagnosed and treated me as bad and selfish and lazy and the source of strife and disfunction in our family. That is a heavy cross to bear when you are in kindergarten.

How dare you. The ease in which I could have experienced school and relationships and extracurriculars--you took that away in yet another self-serving attempt at placing the blame on anyone but you. You blamed a child, your own child. You got high and used by men while I drowned in confusion and loneliness.

As a thirty-year-old, I realize I have been my own compass since childhood, and likely past the scope of my memory. But the map has changed. I now have others guiding me, loving me in new directions. Not the mother who cheated me, but counselors and doctors who are putting their life's education and work into helping me heal.

I don't expect miracles; I fully expect thirty more years of appointments and visits and tests to my mind and body. But these efforts mean others are trying, and it's the trying I missed the most.

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