I sat on the contact for the potential new therapist for a few months. By the summer of 2016, things at work had gone into autopilot mode, and for the first time I felt like I had a steady workload. No huge surprises, more certainty in upcoming deadlines, and confidence in my role as the leader of this organization. I was also making strides in meal preparations, even if they were inconsistent- for the first time in two years (mostly) regularly eating lunch. My car was still a constant mess, and there were clothes strewn all over my bedroom, but my soul could see the light. I was no longer drowning.
Until October came. Something that I can’t get into happened, and it shook me to my very core. I was crippled by sadness and uncertainty for three weeks. Fortunately, I have the most understanding co-workers, and they brought my computer equipment to my house so I could attempt to distract myself by working from home. After a four-day crying, puffy-eyed marathon, I felt like I was in a hole so deep that I would never pull myself out without professional help. I emailed therapist #2 and made an appointment.
In our first 60 minute session, she listened carefully and asked thoughtful questions. I was sure that I had depression. I didn’t remember the last time I felt truly happy. I told her that I don’t have ‘hobbies’ anymore because nothing I do brings me joy. I feel anxious all the time, and need to take breaks at work with my head between my knees to breathe my way out of an imminent panic attack. I feel pulled in so many different directions. I feel like a human doing- not a human being. I ruminate on negative situations or comments. A thought will pop into my mind, and it needs to have been done yesterday. I once woke up at 7:00am, and decided that the shed needed to be power washed. Right now. I cried to my sleepy boyfriend because I wanted to snuggle with him and relax, but felt like there was a motor pushing me to get up, get dressed, and pressure wash the shed. I felt insane, and like I couldn’t control my urges to be busy all the time. I couldn’t stop. Committees. Yes. Board of directors. Yes. Meetings. Yes. New projects. Yes. Volunteerism. Yes. Helping friends. Yes. Fixing the house. Yes.
Explaining my dizzying thought process made me flustered as I sat on her comfy love-seat. She looked at me, paused, and said, “Christine, I think you might have ADHD.”
Tornadoes Anonymous 