Today, I went to see a psychologist. Of course, I was nervous. I'm never quite sure if it will be helpful or a disaster. My first attempts at therapy and medication as an adult were disasters.
As I've grown into a woman who has learned to better deal with myself--getting two degrees, publishing, working on branding myself--I fell into a common mindtrap. Maybe I'm somehow past what crippled me. Things are looking up. Yet after a couple of frustrating months, I couldn't pinpoint why I was struggling to be healthy. My focus grew erratic and my weight started to creep up. I knew the signs even if I wasn't willing to admit it. I had to face the truth and seek help.
It will take some time to find the right medications, but I wasn't forced into therapy. This doctor not only recognized how therapy often caused me to backpedal into old traumas, but she made it clear that there would be blood work and monitoring, an important aspect that was ignored in the past. I feel more confident that I won't be physically destroyed and my concerns will be listened to. There was no underlying current that she would enforce 'what's best for me'.
Like a great deal of women, it was a largely internal struggle. I knew I could be a rapid talker and fidgety and impulsive, socially awkward and end up 'quiet' when I sat on impulses. But a late diagnosis of ADHD is better than burying what I'd always suspected. I can manage the worst of it when I am extremely selective of situations I put myself in. Being able to choose when to work has become an important part of functioning.
Yet I wanted more than that. I don't care about being socially acceptable to the masses, but I want more agency with my desires. If I want to draw, I want to be able to do so for hours, rather than frustrated bursts. If I want to write, the words need to slow down to the speed of my typing. If I want to sleep, and am even exhausted, I want my brain to stop fighting it like I'll never wake up.
It was an important step when I started treating my physical issues but very important to grasp that fibromyalgia is also worse when physical and mental issues are not addressed jointly. I'm a very patient person when it comes to my health, as I'd adapted myself to come to terms with.
It's equally important to add that the eccentricities that come with being smart are not always normal. When the smartness can't be communicated, it is neither helpful to the self nor the people it could benefit. It becomes frustrating, to find yourself bound, glued to the spot, while all those ideas fly into walls and out of windows.
I can't say for certain I was born this way. There is a lot of trauma that could have caused mental illness to manifest as an adaptation. I was often caught in nightmare worlds where no one believed me, blamed me, or turned people against me when their lies were believed. My mom told me I was always impulsive but not mean-spirited or intentionally troublesome. I did balk against the perception of morality, deciding right and wrong for myself outside of strict social constructs.
What I want to focus on is being who I want to be. To stop feeling frustrated when I'm actually enjoying myself. To remember more, even down to what I just ate, without having to write everything down. To not let false chemical signals in my brain affect my nerves and mental processes.
I've never really felt like I was sick. Just entirely too tolerant in being adaptive. Feeling sick always came from swallowing everything that made me different, trying to please people who couldn't care less about me anyway. I've embraced my inner nerd and eccentric.
But I can't hug away the misfires in my body. Sometimes, I need to remind myself that it doesn't just go away because my life is better. My body fights battles I can't mediate away with logic and good intentions.
I'm optimistic about taking small steps towards wellness. I really feel like this doctor, and my medical doctor, really see me and listen to me. It's a step in the right direction.
