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On the EVE online forums, an exchange:
Person 1 compares organising a full miners' strike to herding ADHD cats who've been eating nothing but speed and Red Bull for a week.
The very next comment: Person 2 pointing out that speed and caffeine work differently on ADHD brains, and herding ADHD cats would be easier if they were heavily dosed on stimulants.
The EVE forums: disapproving of stupid metaphors pretty much since always, as far as I know.
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My psychiatrist notes that AD(H)D has an extremely high comorbity rate with depression.
I find myself wondering, right now, whether that could well be significantly to do with the simple fact that life with ADHD - by my experience, at least - means spending a lot of time feeling inadequate at best.
Everyone has Things To Do. And everyone, I think, is satisfied by achieving those things; you had X, Y and Z to do, you did X, Y, and Z, you're good, go on with your day.
But ADHD can mean getting those things done is really hard, possibly impossible, and yet, if you manage, well, you did basic shit, what do you want, a medal? It's demoralising.
Let's get more concrete:
I just got dressed on time. I have somewhere to be, this morning; I need to leave in a few minutes.
Getting dressed on time was challenging. First thing in the morning, my meds haven't really had time to kick in completely... You get processes like this.
I take off my pyjamas. I see the shirt I had intended to wear, but then I think of another, similar but better for the weather today, shirt that I should wear instead. I go to get that shirt. I see my glove, I remember that I can't find my other glove for some reason, I try to find that other glove, because where is that glove? They were together! Oh, hey, look, there's that Norwegian dictionary I got last year. Why am I cold? Damn, I'm not wearing a shirt. Okay. Shirt. Hey, there's my shirt. Put on the shirt. I have one of those little cuticle skin-things on my finger, there, I felt it catch on the fabric... I should fix that. I don't have the right implements, they're in the bathroom, but I can't leave my bedroom like this, I'm not wearing trousers. I'll do it with what's in my bedroom.
Dean knocks at the door, because she's leaving for work. Oh snap! Put jeans on in tearing hurry, say goodbye to Dean. Dean leaves.
Hey, now Dean and Dave are gone, the bathroom's free! I can do all the morning-bathroom-things I'd been delaying.
So, I get onto that, and, as mentioned, I did in fact get dressed on time (though this post now has to finish or I won't be leaving on time). But there's this thing, where getting dressed on time actually requires massive amounts of effort and/or preparation on my part.
When I manage, I secretly want to be proud of this.
But if anyone finds out I'm proud of myself for getting dressed - especially given I technically had help from Dean in the "on time" department, because there were also stages when I was still in my pyjamas when she helped me overcome distractions - then I would be humiliated, in many circumstances, because getting dressed is something people are supposed to be able to do by the time they're, I don't know, five...
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