Close your eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out. If you’re still reading this your eyes aren’t closed, and you’re not doing it right (that’s a joke). In your mind’s eye, imagine you’re at a train station or standing on a subway platform. The air is crisp, refreshing, clear, and there’s not another soul in sight. Looking along the tracks to the left you see nothing. Looking down the tracks to the right, you see the same. There is no movement, no motion, no sign of anything. Keep breathing. In. Out.
Breathe. Just breathe.
For this brief moment, the world is calm, but before you can finish your next breath a flurry of trains begin to whip past you. One after another they go by; some from the left, some from the right, never ceasing their hurried trek to their final destinations. Alone, you squint your eyes, trying to catch a glimpse inside the windows of the trains as their speeds appear to increase. Sweat starts to bead on your brow, rolling down your face as you struggle with the frustration and anger of not being in control.
Breathe. Just breathe.
For someone like me who deals with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder daily, this is my reality; this is an illustration of what my mind goes through nearly every second, of every hour, of every day. On a good day when my medication is working correctly, I can make the trains slow down. Sometimes if I focus hard enough I can come close to making them stop…almost.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Of all the emotions I feel in the train station of my mind two stick out the most: emotional exhaustion and constant curiosity. I’ve been told that for “normal” people (that is those people who don’t have this affliction) it’s difficult to imagine what someone with ADHD goes through. However, would it surprise you to know that it’s also difficult for us to imagine how you think? Because my mind is running at 100km/minute, connecting with people takes a significant amount of work. In most conversations by the time I’ve finished my sentence I’ve already tried to anticipate three to five ways you will respond to me. Then, I’ve compiled responses to your replies and begun to formulate the next part of the cycle. To you, you see me break eye contact, and likely stare off into space. Maybe I’ll get quiet for half a second, and you’ll think I’m not paying attention. But the process in my head is never-ending.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Sometimes conversations go precisely as I think they will, and I’m able to extrapolate enough information to carry on without missing a step. More often than not, due to the chaotic, sometimes unpredictable nature of conversation, I get my paths wrong, and I have to start over. At the end of the day, regardless of how right or wrong I have been, I am exhausted. If I get lucky I fall asleep quickly. If I am not, my brain can go into overdrive, and I’m up for hours.
Breathe. Just breathe.
In conjunction with my way of seeing the world, I also have an almost overwhelming sense of curiosity. I love mysteries. I love to think, examine, and figure things out. I adore psychology. Trying to understand why people say the things they say, or do the things they do is fascinating to me. However, this is as much a curse to me, as it is a blessing. While this sense of wonder has led me to become a reasonably interesting person, it has also, at times, hampered my interpersonal relationships. How? Let me give you the best example I can think of. In my household I am forbidden from touching my wrapped Christmas, birthday, or anniversary presents before they are given to me. This is not due to a fear that I’ll open them early, but more to the fact that I have the uncanny ability to deduce, well above chance, what type of gift I am receiving before I open it. To add insult to injury I have also been known to determine not just the type of gift, but precisely what it is. To some this seems like an amusing parlour trick. In fact, my wife thought so at first, too. However, after a while it becomes frustrating for all involved. When it happens, I feel ashamed. In those moments I struggle with my self-reflection for not being able to turn it “off.” These self-conscious feelings lead to a quickening heart rate, a spike in blood pressure, and uncontrollable sweating.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Logically I realize I’m not doing anything wrong. This is just how my brain works. But in the moment, I fall victim to the fallacy of should. I tell myself I should be able to be “normal.” I should be able to slow down. I should be able to just breathe. As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to accept that these thoughts are going to happen, and when they do I am much more able to deal with them now than I ever was in the past. Sometimes it helps me to remember: the me I am, and the me I should be, are one and the same. All I have to do is just breathe.