vyvanse

[my thoughts and/or interpretation]

Content Notes: drugs, alcohol, internalized abelism? something along these lines. and family stuff. imposter syndrome maybe?

In my hand is a small capsule. One side is pink, one is blue. I open it and a bit of white powder spills over my hands and desk. Shit. I try to get a third of the remaining substance onto a spoon and close the pill. It's fine. No need to be nervous. I dip the spoon into vegan yogurt, bend the corner until the tiny chocolate balls fall in, stir everything and eat.

I never wanted to try drugs, out of a mix of disgust, stubbornness and fear.

It's not a drug, I tell myself, it's medicine.

As a child I hated cigarettes with a violent passion. I hated the way their smell clang onto everything and the way it sucked the oxygen out of the air until I became light-headed. I hated the way their smoke erupted out of the mouths of my family members and how it transformed them from something safe into a sensory nightmare. Alcohol on the other hand scared me. To my young mind it was an invisible, creeping force that corrupted the adults and made my surroundings unpredictable and therefore terrifying. I could never pinpoint when it started - when I noticed it, it had always already happened. The voices had grown louder and more erratic, the atmosphere charged and tense - like clouds before lightning and I never knew when and if it would strike. I felt so small and helpless, confronted with a coming storm and scared to be swept away by it.

The yogurt is empty and I'm a bit lost. How fast am I supposed to notice something? Is my heart beating fast because it doesn't work or am I just anxious?

As a teen, my understanding and perspective broadened but the feelings stayed. I could empathize with someone's nicotine addiction - I had my own unhealthy compulsions after all - but I still felt like I couldn't breathe. I could comprehend wanting to lose some inhibitions, to be social or to fit in - I wanted the same things - but I still flinched at every slurred word and incoming movement. I also changed physically and people started to notice, older men in particular. With alcohol on their breath they called me the weirdest things. I can still hear the footsteps behind me and the echo of their shouts. Then I met someone, and it got worse. Now the smell of weed doesn't only bring headaches, but flashbacks.

To occupy myself I do the dishes. When I'm done I clean my desk, open my laptop and write an email. I sit there for a while and watch the birds on my balcony, then decide to pick up one of my many unfinished books and read. 100 pages later, my phone rings. Out of habit I reach for my ears to take the call via headphones, but I'm not wearing them, so I scramble for my phone and answer. It's a friend and she asks if we can meet up two hours later than planned, because she's in a nice workflow and doesn't want to interrupt it. I say it's fine, I'm reading anyway and am really absorbed, which is rare, so I'm enjoying it a lot. She laughs at that, wishes me further luck with the vyvanse and hangs up.

"You know I can't prescribe medication without a diagnosis and you shouldn't take them. That would be illegal drug use. But I can't diagnose you, so you have to go somewhere else." I did. "I can't tell if you have ADHD. You seem too prepared and structured and with your other diagnosis and medication - it's just too complicated. But it would be worth testing anyway. We can do that, but you'd have to pay us 600 euro. Please make an appointment." I didn't.

I have the inattentive type and I cognitively know that my reaction to medication will look different to those of hyperactive or combined folks. I know that, but my brain still defaults to "It's not working. You don't have it. Of course you don't, it was stupid to think that in the first place." It mirrors the sentiment I have heard so often that I internalized it completely.

They questioned why I even want a label. Why can't I just accept myself the way I am? I tried to explain that this is acceptance, the same way transitioning is an act of self-love, not loathing. I told them I don't want "label" or "diagnosis" to put myself into boxes, but as a starting point to understand the way I am. Reluctantly, they conceded, but added a reduction. It made sure, I only got a bit of help. It made sure that there is always room for doubt and denial. Autism, but "high functioning". Chronic fatigue, but "mild". Insomnia, but "not officially". Now ADHD, "maybe".

I'm sick of being told I'm too complicated, that my problems are too subtle or "just below threshold". I'm tired of not being taken seriously in my struggles, just because they are less obvious or internalized. I don't have to be loud or jump in a square. I don't have to be careless and talk with no end. I don't have to squirm in my seat or fidget constantly. I don't have to do all this to have ADHD. It doesn't make it less real. I look at my room and at the headphones sitting unused besides me. I think about all the tasks and chores I did so far without agonizing over it. Maybe the effects look different, but that's ok. I smile and continue reading.