Musings in AuDHD

and how I'm dealing.

Another informal and, hopefully, shorter post this time y’all.

So here it is. If you know me, you know I have ADHD. If you know me even better, you’ll find that I’m autistic. Info that, for me, I’m still getting used to. Consistently misunderstanding how I’m perceived in 4D.

I talk a lot about this on here, it is what it is. This is a central processing source that I can use to work things out, instead of word-vomiting on people—directly. It’s a healthier choice. So, feel free to stop by for different content if this isn’t interesting to you. I have plenty of other things for all to enjoy…probably.

Essentially, this means a battle for my brain. Both conditions have separate motivations, that are not disparate entirely, but do work against each other on a particularly dysregulated day. It’s not that I use different tactics to deal with situations that can cause anxiety in various forms. It is that my requirement for these things are more than your average bear, and after a while, those tactics drain me of any motivation at all. Now, this is a battle I have been aware of for quite some time, but have not had the language for until recently. And, I’ll say it for those that could be still unaware: Women are diagnosed entirely too late for potentially life-saving intervention at the most, and helpful habit retention in the least. And even the LEAST of difference this information could do for any femme presenting persons is life changing.

Do you have any idea what I would give to understand that rest is vital. That’s it. That’s the sentence. Because vital means vital. Life-altering, saving, changing. Needed to sustain life. If I could have learned that I didn’t truly understand people’s intentions, that my translations were too literal, that I was walking around in a foreign country most of the time…I may have been a lot less of a nuisance to myself.

Fuck off, this is about me.

This is why I write. It was the only instance that I was able to put my internal world out into the ethers. I would share it sometimes, but I can only recall one situation where it was well received. Thanks, Esther. You did always encourage my writing.

More upsettingly, I remember sharing “prose” on “obsession” with my boyfriend at the time. Yea, I know, fucking kill me. He didn’t take it well, duh. He promptly broke up with me and spread a huge rumor that I was insane and “obsessed” with him.

My autistic ass was like…no, I was exploring this idea. I couldn’t figure out how to explain that though. That the idea was not related to him, but I thought a relationship gave me a space to share more internal workings. But, in reality, it’s 4th period science and we’re in 7th grade. I am not obsessed with you…I was thinking about the interaction of obsession, how it works. You know, normal things. Regardless, this was my peak observation time on how to interact with people and I failed spectacularly.

*ughhhhhhhhhhhhh ;alksjd;alsidflasifj*

Upon reflection, someone should have REALLY taken me aside. I wrote some bonkers shit in my essays and papers. My poor teachers. But at the same time, why didn’t anyone talk to me about how I was being perceived, if it was obvious I wasn’t understanding? And, I truly believe that it was obvious. I openly overshared, the proverbial “cry for help” was much more literal in my translations. So, still, I don’t get how this was missed.

Was it because I could make eye-contact?

Was it because I was naturally a good student, then I wasn’t, and it was over the course of a year that I went from being a star student, to remedial classes because I couldn’t do my work.

I digress.

In a previous post, (button to that article, just below) I’ve talked about the shame. I know the feeling now, it’s not sad. I was sad, but I was also not sad all the time. I was sad on purpose because I thought you needed a reason to be sad. Not, hey you’re just overstimulated and everything is too much right now. So you turned into too much to cope. Here’s that link below:

Patterns can often save you, but at times, one can miss the point. Sad is not always the central feeling, most of the time it’s an auxillery. If the outside is battering my inside, I don’t feel well and THAT made me sad because no one noticed. And I felt wholly alone and strange. Mirroring an emotion is not the same as feeling it. Internalizing the pattern as your own mannerism is not feeling it.

So not only does it feel like your not feeling anything, it kind of feels like you feel all of it…too loudly for you to discern.

So what now. I’ve learned so much about myself, I could puke. I have a huge transition ahead of me and I’m beyond excited to start on these projects I’ve been back-burnering, the endless ideas that go undone—not all of them but some of them are good. In short, I have a chance to truly walk towards a life and routine that feels good and *clicks.*

Like the cut scene animation in any Nancy Drew point and click, mystery game that signals: “YAY FINALLY.”

Laugh all you want. Those games were surprisingly challenging and terrifying.

All this to say:

I am extremely excited for what is ahead. But I’m also…entirely dysregulated and upended from my routine. And that makes me sad because now I have to create a new one. Which is ugh and YAY, and also, suspicious.

Rooting itself in a mistrust that I’ve finally found a place to land.

My wings are tired.

But, I’m not sure if it’s safe yet to perch.