by Leanne Davis
“I think any discussion you have with them about it would benefit you greatly. If only to get some more information about it.”
“But… but the whole problem I have about not focusing only accounts for some of the time. I can spend hours training my dogs or caring for animals. It doesn’t explain why I can’t do simple chores and often forget what time I’m supposed to be somewhere. I never seem to grasp how long something will take for me to do and consequently, I don’t organize my day right.”
“Yes, problems with time management and finishing tasks are all related to something called ‘executive function.’ ADD patients have what’s called executive function disorder, which refers to a pattern of chronic difficulties in performing daily tasks. It is a learning disorder that leads back to ADD. It’s impossible for me to say exactly what you suffer from, but there is strong evidence from your history that we should certainly explore this further.”
I sit back in the chair, literally flabbergasted. I’ve never heard anything like this. I never went to my parents or teachers and told them how hard it was for me to gather my thoughts and write a paper to express them. Sure, I had the information rattling around in my head, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to organize it, much less write it down. I’d try to do it, secretly, and when I’d inevitably fail, I stopped trying and pretended I forgot so no one would know that I couldn’t do it at all. I would rather be called lazy than stupid. I concealed all the things I couldn’t do with an almost obsessive paranoia.
“As a student, did you ever have difficulty organizing information or retrieving it from memory?”
“Yes. Often.” I lean forward as she continues. I’m excited to finally tell her, and until this moment, I would not dare to tell anyone.
“People with ADD will read a chapter but can’t retain what they read. Or they might know the material but are unable to write an answer or start a paper because they can’t organize their thoughts. They can write out math equations but they make careless—”
“—errors while solving them,” I finish for her.
“Yes,” she nods, smiling at me with almost maternal affection.
“What about concentrating? I can do it sometimes. Other times, not at all.”
“It’s not that you can’t concentrate. Often, if the task at hand is of high interest to you, you can concentrate as long or even longer than anyone else. It actually is a chemical problem that has to do with your serotonin levels. ADD patients have less serotonin, so their baseline is lower than someone without it. You have to force yourself to concentrate on things that don’t interest you because focusing is harder for you than for someone who doesn’t suffer from it. It’s a genuine condition, Melissa. The chemicals in your brain are different from most people, that’s all.”
She explains more about the subject in general, and point after point totally resonates with me. I don’t know… It’s crazy, but a weird sensation starts to bubble in my chest. Maybe… maybe there is something to this.
I leave with several thanks yous and promise to return in a few days. She asks me to come twice a week initially. She thinks that talking about how ADD affected my life in the past will help me process it. She tells me I need help figuring it all out.
Mom asks me how my appointment went. I mumble, “Fine” and she doesn’t press me. She lets me be, knowing that it’s personal and could take a lot of time. I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling. I feel like I could fly. But I don’t know what to do with this new information. I’m not sure why I don’t run out and tell my parents, or even Christina. She’d know what to do.
But maybe this time, I want to figure out what to do with my revelation. I want to get to know myself better. So often, I don’t feel like I know me at all.
Darkness falls. I eat with Mom, since Dad’s working late. I tell her I’m going to a friend’s house but I head towards Seth’s. The lights are on at his place. They shine from the windows and I see his shadow moving across the room a few times. I shiver, it’s really cold again. I go up the stairs and hesitate before knocking. Is this what we’re going to do? I really don’t know. I’ve never taken a relationship slowly, or even normally. Either we’re having sex or we’re not together has been my pattern in the past.
“Hey,” I say, somewhat subdued. He opens the door wider for me.
I enter but feel as awkward as I did after the snowball fight. “What are you doing?”
“I have a test tomorrow in biology. Just studying for it.” He rubs his hands along his thighs. He’s wearing shorts. That’s funny just because it’s in the teens outside and so cold, it hurts to breathe. He has the heat cranked on high in here. When he says biology, I recall the one biology class I took during my sophomore year. I got a D in it and barely accomplished that. I can’t imagine what his biology class looks like when compared to mine.
“Oh. Should I leave you to it?” I’m not used to having things like studying take priority over me.
“It’s fine. I got it down already. Have a seat.”
I swallow and clench the pamphlet in my hands. I don’t know what to do with it now.
I wish he’d touch me. Perhaps then, I could decide if I’m welcome here or not. I’ve had guys cool on me before while I’m still hot for them. They quit calling or texting or act like total assholes when I approach them. They stop talking to me or are sometimes, outright rude. Blowing me off. One guy even had the balls to ask a date to show up while I was still there. Seth is looking right at me, sitting directly across from me. I can’t decide where he’s at with us.
He asks about my week so far and how I am. Just the opening I need. My fingers turn white from gripping the pamphlet so tightly. My nerves practically choke me. What if he laughs? Or tells me it’s a little too tidy, too easy, and just a nice excuse for me to blame as the reason I’m such a colossal screw–up, failure, and general mess? That’s what I’m afraid other people, including my family, will say.
Finally, he leans forward and his gaze scans me a few times. I don’t know if he likes what I’m wearing or marvels over what a twit I am. His expression is so solemn. Then, in an almost coaxing voice, he asks, “What’re you holding in such a death grip there?” He points at the pamphlet so I set it on the coffee table. I don’t feel like sitting so I kneel beside the table, still across from him.
“Um… it’s just some information. I actually wanted to know your opinion about it. If—if that’s okay. I mean, if you have time.”
“For you? I have as much time as you need.”
“I got it from my counselor,” I blurt out.
“Yeah? What’s it about?” he prods gently when I don’t continue but stare at it.
“ADD. Attention Deficit Disorder.”
“Yeah, I know what ADD is. Isn’t it supposed to be ADHD, to include the hyperactivity?”
“Can be, but not all forms display the hyperactivity. She, my counselor, thinks I have it. Me. I don’t know; it sounds crazy, but some of the symptoms, a lot of them actually, resonate with me. I identify with so many of them. Here.” I push the pamphlet at him and get up. I walk towards the kitchen to grab a glass of water. I see him reach over and open it. I can’t stand watching him read it so I walk around. I pace. I notice his eating bar is covered in notes and a textbook and computer. I glance at the material. The words swim before my eyes as if they’re written in a foreign language. Seth is still reading. Carefully. Completely. I believe Seth does everything like that: slow, methodical, and controlled. I’m sure that’s why my night on the tower was such a calamity for him. As for me? It was just another night. The only change was the guy, Seth, who is a decent person and the opposite of me.
I can’t stand it. I go to the bathroom and wash my hands again. I come out and go to the window. He finally gets up with the pamphlet still in his hands as he comes towards me.
“Did you tell your parents?”
“No, not yet.” I stare at the pamphlet in his hands. “What if they think it’s
simply another excuse? I mean, how convenient. Gee, Mom and Dad, my lousy grades and inability to keep track of schedules, and always being late and saying how sorry I am but never changing my behavior is because of… this? That’s just another excuse.”
He has long legs that go on forever. Somehow, I don’t realize that until now. They have blond, curly hairs and strong calves. “It isn’t an excuse, Melissa, especially if you got it from a mental health professional.”
“She told me she can’t make an official diagnosis because she’s not authorized to practice medicine. I’d need a psychiatrist or a medical doctor to diagnose that.”
I’m wired with nerves. I keep fidgeting and tapping my fingers on my legs while shifting my weight around. I want… I realize now how much I really want her diagnosis to be accurate. I mean, of course I don’t want to suffer from some kind of condition or problem or mental anomaly. Whatever it is. But I also have no love for myself and what I do, yet, I never seem able to change or control my actions. Everyone thinks I’m lazy, scattered, flighty, and a mess and they constantly tell me to try harder. I realize I am actually all those things, but I don’t do it on purpose, and maybe this could explain why I do them.
And possibly provide me with a way to not be so… self–destructive.
“Being a victim of a disorder is not making an excuse.”
“What if they don’t believe me?” I nearly whisper.
“Do you believe it?” His gaze is fastened on me. He leans towards me so I have no choice but to lift my eyes to his.
“I don’t know. I mean…”
“Just be honest. No one else is here.”
“Yes.” I close my eyes and reply honestly. Yes. I think I have this problem or condition. Yes, I think it’s messed up my entire life for as long I can remember. In real, painful ways that have lasting effects on me and those I love most.
“I agree with you.”
My breath stops. Someone else believes it too. I don’t know if I want to cry or fall to my knees, I’m so grateful that there might be a damn reason and a possible solution for my shortcomings.
“I don’t know if I should cry or celebrate.”
“I think this calls for a celebration. It’s not your fault. And we can figure out what to do next.”
He turns and hurries over to his computer. Intrigued by his sudden energy, I follow him. He starts typing, and his fingers are lightning quick as they dance over the keyboard. “What are you doing?”
He glances up. “Research.”
His brain’s engaged. I watch him, wishing I had that kind of zeal, and that kind of smarts. He flips through the information so quickly, I’m still on the first paragraph while he’s clicking to the next page or the next article. There’s so much to know, it starts to overwhelm me. I can’t figure it out because of all the conflicting information. Some doctors claim ADD is all made up and doesn’t exist. Yet all of the symptoms ring true for me. I close my eyes. Too many images are buzzing through my mind and overwhelming me suddenly. I have to get up.
I hear him pause behind me before shutting the laptop. I stare out the window. It’s too dark to see anything with only the barn lights on. I jump when his hands rest on my shoulders. He squeezes me and pulls me back against him. I close my eyes to the tender sensations.
“Too much?” he asks gently in my ear. His breath is warm. His lips nuzzle my ear and neck and I tilt my head away, nearly melting into the carpet, it feels so nice. I nod my head to answer him.
His hands drop from my shoulders and cross over my stomach. He engulfs me with his arms and holds me tightly against his front. “I’m guilty of that offense. I get going… and well, you know, that’s my element.”
“Focusing? Yes. But it’s not mine.”
“We already agreed we’re nothing alike,” he says and his arms stay tightly wrapped around me. I really like the way he feels.
“What if we’re way too different? You know, it might be cute at first, but what if we want to kill each other for doing the very same things, you know, after the bloom wears off?”
His chin rests on top of my head. I can feel his jaw moving as he speaks. “That would require some dating for us to get to such a point.”
I freeze. Did I just assume a relationship was growing between us where there is none? I am known as the queen of no connections. I said Anand was my boyfriend only to Seth, who conveyed the comment to my parents. No one else actually thought that, especially Anand. I was just the girl he was banging at the time. I don’t usually even think about what I’m doing. Fumbling, I shrug and say, “I just meant for however long… you know, whatever…”
His hands are toying with mine. It’s so odd. For minutes now, he’s been standing behind me, hugging, nuzzling, holding, and fiddling with my hands in his. Not one bit goes unnoticed by me. Everything he does is duly noted and treasured. Whatever problems I have with my attention span, which I admit includes boys and guys, it’s not like that with Seth. I am hyper–aware of him. I watch every movement of his hands, the scuff of his sneakers on the floor, even the way he pushes his glasses back while staring at the computer as his brain scans anything relevant.
He suddenly lets go, and spins me around so I am staring up at him. “Are you messing with me?”
My mouth drops open. I don’t expect to be interrogated after coming here to share my hard, strange, scary secret and newest discovery. I am still trying to make sense of it. And get support. I came here because I care and respect what he thinks. It was not something easy for me to admit. He thinks I’m messing with him. I nearly wilt to the floor. Of course, he has every right to question me. My entire past is a full definition of ADD with all its varieties and symptoms. My entire relationship with every man reflects it.
But not this time. This is nothing like any other experience for me.
I don’t know how to articulate what I feel. I’m not eloquent or particularly well spoken. “I’m not messing with you. I came here tonight because I wanted your opinion. You’re the first person I consulted after my therapist suggested it.”
“I’m new and different. Not exciting perhaps, but I might be to you for a short while, and that’s simply because I am so unlike your usual choice of men.”
My heart dips. “You read that in the literature. That’s why you’re asking me.”
“You like new things that gain your attention for a brief period and then it wanes. That is you, Melissa. I’ve witnessed it countless times. I’m exactly the opposite. I like having a routine and order and planning and organization.”
I relent. “Okay, yes. That is me. All I can say and promise you right now is at this moment, I’m not messing or toying with you. I don’t consider you some kind of novelty or shiny object for me to bat around until I lose interest. I swear to you, I don’t feel like that. I’ve felt like that before though, it’s the only way I feel with men. But being here with you isn’t like that.”
“Then what’s it like?” he asks softly. That’s the tone he uses when he’s unsure.
I can’t think of the right words to describe it. This experience with Seth right now feels like foreign territory. I didn’t prepare for this reality at all.
“It’s like I’m a virgin too. I feel like… with all the other guys, who were the wrong kind… it was like I studied one entire textbook for a final only to realize it was the wrong textbook and all the information I memorized was wrong.”
He nods as if he’s considering my answer. “That’s about the most comforting thing you could have said.”
“Did what you read...” I hesitate, unsure I want to know his answer. “Is what I have too much? I mean, to deal with in a potential… well, you know, with a potential person you might be hanging around?” My uncertainty makes my voice waver.
“No. It’s not too much.”
“Thank you. Not tonight, but maybe tomorrow, could you summarize what you read to me?”
“I can. Let me look into it some more. Then we’ll talk and see wh
at to do next, okay?”
Something heavy lifts off my shoulders at his words. It’s like I’ve been lugging this Holy Grail of Knowledge about myself, but I have no freaking idea what to do with it.
“That would be very nice.”
“Do your parents know you’re here?”
“No.”
“You should let them know where you are and tell them you’re okay. It’s getting late.”
I glance at the clock. It is. I burn up with heat over missing that. Yeah, I forgot again. I move away from him to grab my phone. I text them that I was at Seth’s. Mom’s response is a grateful Thank you for letting us know. I highly doubt they think we’re anything more than friends.
I set my phone down. “I should be a lot better about that. I just… forget.”
“I think there’s a bunch of little, practical exercises you can implement to make those things less of a problem in your life.”
“What if I can’t remember to do the things I’m supposed to implement? What if I can’t manage all of that? I can’t remember to show up for work, so how can I manage overcoming this disorder?”
He chuckles. It isn’t a mean laugh, but a soft sound. “Missy, take a deep breath. You don’t have to know how to do anything yet. You’ve survived this long; a few more days isn’t going to change the world.”
“I consistently fail. That’s all I do. What if I can’t manage this? Why shouldn’t I fail at this?”
“Perhaps it’s the main reason you do fail. Maybe by confronting it and working with it, or around it, you can change the outcomes that have never worked for you before.”
I press my lips together. “You always sound so rational.”
He hooks his arms around me. I like that too. His casualness and ease. “I am. You’ll get used to it. But maybe I could use a little of your personality too.”
“What? Being flaky? Stupid? Forgetful? Not too many positives in those traits.”
