If you don’t know what’s really wrong, you can’t improve it.

That’s what a lot of my current ADHD journey is about.

Spurred by my desire to be a good parent, I have spent so much time of my adult life seeking a comfort zone for my mental health. I am a highly efficient, productive and fairly good-spirited individual despite some challenges that many of us face and some that apply to a more unique subset.

I have worked to curb my temper, improve my interpersonal communication skills, and deal with the periodic symptoms of depression and anxiety, but as my friends and regular readers know, my daughter Eva has proposed the idea that she inherited her ADHD from me. [If you need to start at the beginning of that story, click here.]

I mentioned last week that my primary care physician wrote a referral to my daughter’s neuropsych practice to have me evaluated. They wrote the form for anxiety– so even with the six weeks of data I’ve been collecting and sharing, everyone still sees anxiety first and foremost, even when I tell them that the Adderall made it all go away. But anyway, that got me in the door, to start the fight anew.

My friends “see it.” My students at the community college “see it.” And I don’t blame professional clinicians for not “seeing it.” Because I am complex, and maybe it’s not that simple. But in approaching my occasional symptoms of “depression” as burn-out, I have seen changes in my life already. As recognizing what could be “anxiety” as potential overstimulation or overwhelm, it helps me sort the tasks in a way that will help work with my grain instead of against it.

My to-do list is overflowing, as always. (Another ADHD symptom?) I should be tackling one of the tasks on my list that are overdue. But any minute my art director will arrive for a lunch and a meeting with a client, so I opted to give myself a brief blogging break to quiet my thoughts. Because none of the needed tasks can be completed in such time and I will feel pressured to try and finish it despite the probably impossibility which will increase the pressure. And my brain is already on fire.

But back to those clinicians briefly. Remember– I have diplegia spastic cerebral palsy and take 30 to 80 mg of baclofen a day to improve muscle stiffness and pain. (And I swear, the improved circulation and decrease in anxiety when I take Adderall decrease my physical mobility problems, despite my neurologist’s insistence otherwise.) I have a history of childhood trauma. I have documented incidents of orthostatic hypotension and atrial fibrillation. And a history of anemia.

So it’s a lot.

I get it.

But if I eat right, drink my electrolyte water and do what I can to prevent hard falls, I can prevent the hypotension, a-fib and anemia.

In the midst of all this, I looked at my desk today.

If you have ever worked with me, you may know that I love to color-code and organize things. Alphabetizing is a hobby of mind. My file folders come in all colors, because it addition to word labels, the color of the folders mean something. I have multiple calendars and post it notes keeping me on track.

But no matter how hard I try–as I get more stressed, my physical desk will resemble the inside of my brain.

The photos are what my desk looks like now.

Eventually, I won’t be able to function in this clutter and chaos– or as I told my art director today, I will be drowning in obligation and disarray. And I will clean and organize my desk. And that will be the new beginning my brain needs to go on.

But until then…

We struggle, and we suffer.