When people hear "ADHD," they often picture a hyperactive seven-year-old boy bouncing off the walls of a classroom. They rarely picture a 53-year-old man sitting quietly in an office. But I was that boy. I was diagnosed at five years old, having shown symptoms since I was three. My ADHD wasn't "adult onset"; it has been my companion for half a century.
For years, I’ve tried to explain to neurotypical people what it actually feels like to live inside this brain. It isn't just about "getting distracted." It is about intensity. Here is the best way I can explain the reality of my daily life:
The Equalizer
Imagine that we are sitting down in a coffee shop, having a conversation. Now picture that my sensory input is like one of those music equalizers, with each frequency range linked to a slider. Now, turn all of those sliders up to 10, all the time. That movement behind you? 10. Humming of a nearby light? 10. Temperature in the room? 10. Feeling of my body sitting in the seat? 10. Smell of the coffee I'm drinking? Also 10.
My brain is telling me that each of these senses is equally important, even though they may not be, and in fact are most likely trivial details. In order for me to have a lucid conversation with you, I have to actively "push the sliders down" for every other sense, other than hearing the sound of your voice, watching your body language, actively listening, thinking about my responses, and stopping myself from interrupting everything you say because my brain is filled with 10 "pages" of responses I need to get out all at once.
The Daily Cost
This is how it is for me in every waking moment, every day, in every interaction I have. Trying to remember to grab my keys before I leave home. Trying to remember to drink water. Thinking about what to eat for supper, and remembering to take meat out of the freezer to thaw. Trying to convince myself not to buy something because not getting it at that exact moment does not mean the world will end. Things that, to the majority of neurotypical people, are second nature, or at least easier to summon the thought process needed to exist each day.
Since my ADHD manifested itself like a mutant superpower when I was about three, this has been my life for over 50 years. Every. Single. Day. I have had the great fortune of an early diagnosis and a mother who was dedicated to making sure it didn't overwhelm me in my youth. I am also very lucky that I found a norepinephrine-dopamine reuptake inhibitor called Bupropion (Wellbutrin) that helps manage both the extreme symptoms of my ADHD and dysthymia (persistent depressive disorder). Given all that, does it sound exhausting to have to regulate that every conscious moment of an entire life? It absolutely is. I get tired...very tired, and in many different ways.
This disorder has caused issues in relationships with my partners, my friends, my family, my co-workers, and complete strangers. I have lost or alienated people in my life who either got (justifiably) tired of dealing with the effects of it or didn't understand it. The lack of impulse control has caused education problems, employment problems, money problems, and health problems.
Why I Build Systems
I share this not to complain, but to explain why I write this blog the way I do. When I talk about "Universal Meal Frameworks" (like last Friday) or the "Sunday Setup" (like yesterday), I am not doing it because I love rules. I do it because my "sliders" are at 10. If I don't have a system to handle dinner, the sheer noise of "thinking about what to eat" will overwhelm me. Structure is the only thing that helps me manually push those sliders down so I can function.
This is also why I am so dedicated to the Clean Keto lifestyle. One of the most profound effects of cutting sugar and processed carbs has been the "quieting" of the noise. The ketones seem to help regulate the sliders just enough that I can breathe. It doesn't cure the ADHD - nothing does - but combined with my medication and my systems, it gives me a fighting chance.
The Takeaway
I deeply value all the people who have held on and managed to see in me what I think is a big heart with a lot of love to give, an engaging and curious mind that is constantly learning, and a lifetime desire to be kind and helpful to others, hopefully without hurting myself in the process.
If you are reading this and you feel like your sliders are stuck at 10: You are not alone. Be kind to yourself. Find your systems. And know that needing help doesn't make you broken—it just means you're running at a higher volume than everyone else.
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