Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.
I’m discovering, as I talk more and more with my mother, doctors and various people with degrees that make them no more intelligent then google, that I’m presenting a rather intresting case for those who provide my psych medications.
In my life, I’ve been diagnosed with ADHD, bipolar (manic-depressive), insomnia (which considering I had it from bith, I’m assuming relates back to the ADHD), a few forms of autism (though these were bandied about and later, I believe dismissed as nothing came of them), and a few other mental disorders that crop up relating to anger, selfishness, depression and just generally being a pain in the ass of every teacher I’ve met.
I will only ever admit to two diagnoses, ADHD and Depression.
In my…*counts* twenty-four years of being diagnosed and medicated (yes, they actually started me on Ritlin when I was four, but I don’t blame them), I have discovered a deep and long lasting hatred of psychiatrists, psycologists…and basically anyone who deals in emotional and mental health matters. Mostly, because I find most of them to be idiots at best, or over-paid quacks at worst.
To them, all illnesses (mental especially), are black and white. And most of them are black. They tell me I’m one diagnoses, and here’s the pills that will fix it (but don’t), and very few of them agree on what I am.
I guess it was easier, when I was four and drove the doctor insane within thirty minutes of a four hour test. ADHD was the obvious (and correct) diagnosis. As I got older, and apparently moved away from competent doctors who knew their asses from their pencil holders, my diagnosis’ got more complicated, all the while, they were in fact, the same disease. Anger, irrational outbursts, risk-taking behavors, in-ability to focus or communicate emotions, in-ability to properly experiance emotions, ect, were all forms of the same disorder, a reconized ’side-effect’ of ADHD in children (and adults). This also included the slow emotional growth that leaves me acting like I’m a teenager, instead of an adult (maybe when I’m thirty, I’ll finally grow-up).
With all this going on, it’s not hard to see why I distanced myself from my peers, unable to relate to them. In a time when “mental illness” was still a dirty word, the constant drugs/appointments/tests stressed me out, in addition to normal life factors such as income level (we were the bottom rung of poor), my mother’s own illnesses, constant moving/changing schools, an in-addiquate learning enviroment/family drama…it’s no wonder I developed depression (as well as dealing with my introversion and low self-esteam since childhood).
So yes, I admit to the ADHD and Depression…but apparently, those are not allowed to co-exist! One cannot be both at the same time, it must be something else.
This came about by my most recent (of two years…maybe three) diagnosis of bi-polar. Which always struck me as…wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on it, until I noticed my mother (who was also diagnosed bi-polar) as having more ‘classic’ symptoms…things I didn’t have. I didn’t have the ’stay up three days and nights before crashing’ symptom, I had ’stay up until I force myself to crash because I can’t sleep without meds’ symptom (hello, insomnia). I did’t spend money like it was water and then crash emotionally because now I couldn’t afford my bills (I just can’t afford them period, but I never had manic sprees).
I didn’t have manic ups and depressive lows…at all. I had both symptoms at the same time. Outside, my feet are jiggling, my fingers tapping, eyes (and usually my mouth) was constantly moving, things I couldn’t control unless I thought about it conciously, but inside, I was just as depressed as anyone with a textbook case could be. The only diffrence, between a classic depression and myself, was that the thoughts of self-harm (be it mutilation or suicide) were fleeting, almost as if I were debating what to have for lunch. Because, un-checked, my ADHD wouldn’t allow me to think of any thought, harmful or not, for longer then a handful of minutes.
I’m coming off a six-month daily dosage of what I consider the worst pill ever prescribed to me, and I’m starting to realize just how diffrent my behavior on the pill (more towards the depressive side of my personality…especially considering I slept day and night for most of those six months) were too off, and how much confusion I must present to doctors, who have no answer for the grey sides of mental health (when their ‘magic’ pills don’t work), and I think…I’m starting to give up entirely on the idea that anyone will have a fix to make me ‘normal’. Maybe for me, this is normal.
Doctors are relying too much on medication and loose definitions of mental disorders, no one is listening to the patient, the one who actually has to live through most of this. I think…maybe I should just be happy with the fact I’m alive, reasonably functioning and have a handful of friends who can over look my random leaps and inane babbling enough to like me…and if my mother or the doctors can’t handle it…well, sorry, but there is no magic fix for this.
(yes, highly random and odd, but like I said…random thoughts).
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