Paying Myself

So, I've learned a lot about my ADHD, and one of the most important things I've learned is that ADHDers have addictions. Usually drug and alcohol addictions that help to suppress anxiety and stress, but addiction can also manifest in the form of shopping problems. That I am guilty of.

Luckily, I am on the verge of paying off some big credit card debt. It's piled up over the years, between the car accident, poor paying jobs, losing my decent-paying job, car repairs, adulting bills, and a joyful, semi-indulgent lifestyle, but I'm excited to get my tax return and be almost-debt-free for the first time since I was rear-ended in 2009.

Another problem ADHDers have is trouble with memory circuits and interruptions. In the book I read by Dr. Hallowell, I sympathized with Sarah, who said, "It's been so many years living like this, thinking I'm stupid, but knowing I'm not." Sarah shared a list of things of her irritating symptoms with Dr. Hallowell, including this story:

"Someone left (a cough drop) on the dashboard of our car. The other day I saw the cough drop and thought, I'll have to throw that away. When I arrived at my first stop, I forgot to take the cough drop to a trash can. When I got back into the car, I saw it and thought, I'll throw it away at the gas station. The gas station came and went and I hadn't thrown it away. Well, the whole day went like that, the cough drop sitting on the dashboard. When I got home, I thought, I'll take it inside with me and throw it out. IN the time it took me to open the car door, I forgot about the cough drop. It was there to greet me when I got in the car the next morning. (My husband) was with me. I  looked at the cough drop and burst into tears. (He) asked me why I was crying and I told him it was because of the cough drop. He thought I was losing my mind. 'But you don't understand,' I said, 'My whole life is like that. I see something that I mean to do and then I don't do it. It's not only trivial things like the cough drop; it's big things too' that's why I cried."
--Driven to Distraction (2011)

I'm the same way. I forget to close cabinets, do my laundry, dry my laundry when I remember to wash it, fold my laundry when I remember to dry it, and so forth. It's embarrassing, but I can get so hyper-focused on a task that I forget about eating.

I tried medication for a while, and that really helped me slow down life so that I could function. During that time, I managed to get in the habit of some good routines, but I did eventually stop the medication after I was bullied out of my job. I was an emotional wreck and I needed sleep. I was depressed and miserable after a year of torment and abuse. I also needed to detach from life.

My ADHD diagnosis was something I struggled with emotionally. I'd only come to recognize the symptoms in myself after I'd begun teaching. This is true for many ADHDers--when life's demands increase, the deficit begins to show--and I was lucky to have been working with diagnosed children at the time, because that allowed me to recognize the symptoms in myself.

I had to fight to get a diagnosis--my old PCP refused to treat me and told me it was depression--but I wasn't depressed. I absolutely LOVED my job. I LOVED working with kids. I just had a hard time prioritizing, and I couldn't stay organized to save my life. I'd put a piece of paper down, and I wouldn't be able to find it for hours. I'd catch myself walking circles in my classroom late into the evening. My brain would say: "Go make these photo copies. Oh wait, you need those things photocopied too! Go get those to save time. Oh wait! Why are there crayons all over the floor? You have to pick up these crayons. Oh, why is my stapler here? Go put it on the desk. Oh wait, you forgot to clean your desk. Clean your desk. Oh wait, you didn't make your copies!! Where did I put them. Go look for your copies!! Okay.... wait, what was I looking for??"

That isn't depression, that is ADHD, and I was so lucky to have a young boy in my class that year whose mother was a doctor. She advocated for him, and even though I didn't see it at the time--she was patient with me, and that patience ultimately led to a self-realization that I never imagined. I, without a doubt, had ADHD.

After changing doctors, I was eventually referred to a specialist who confirmed what I had suspected. With my newly confirmed diagnosis, I became so mad and frustrated with myself. "No, you are just lazy. Stop being Lazy. Just do what you need to do."

That didn't help, and I eventually caved and began taking medication. Medication helped, but so did counseling and the support I received from my doctors. But I know medication isn't a cure-all. Medication helps slow my brain down so that I can make better choices in the moment. So that I can listen to the voice inside my head that says: you need to do this. Medication helped me develop a level of autonomy I didn't know existed.

With all that said, I'm not on it as of right now--though I do think about going back to it. However, I've realized that some of the expectations of my former work environment were not humanly possible and that the toxic climate of my old school was one that really exacerbated my disability. Now that I am in a functional work environment, I am better-able to use my passion and love of teaching to drive my organizational deficits. Granted, I'm still not perfect, but no one is. Maybe when I get back to teaching, I'll give the medication a second go--but for now, I'm content with being me.

Paying Myself
At home, however, I'm struggling a bit. I keep forgetting to do my laundry, and my room hasn't been "clean" a day in my entire life (though it is marginally better than it has been at any other point in my life). I forget to bring my clothes upstairs to my room, and they sit on the stairs. I lose paperwork, and I'm really not where I should be for this point of my life. So, I've decided to give myself an allowance (and hopefully curb my impulsive spending habits; two birds, one stone, right?)

So far, it is kind of working. Because I'm still on a small income, I'm treating myself like a child. $1 per task, with an occasional bonus for bigger tasks. (If I fix my resume, I'll get a whole $10, by golly!) It's stuff I need to do anyway, but I'm just too overwhelmed internally to do it. I'm also punishing myself by taking money away--especially if I eat too much junk food in a day. (Damn Captain Crunch cost me 25 cents!) I've been really honest with myself about things, and I'm so far enjoying that--it's really helping my slow down and focus on my priorities.

I've earned:
$1 for cleaning up my room
$1 for unpacking my suitcase
$1 for helping around the hosue
$1 adulting with the insurance companies and getting my refund from groupon (phone calls stress me otu)

I've also lost $7 for an impulsive purchase I made for water shoes. I deliberated this punishment for a while, and decided it really wasn't something I needed.

4-7= -$3

Which I earned back, mostly.
$1 for walking the dog when I felt too tired to
$1 for spending more time organizing my room
$.25 for picking up dog poop I was tempted to leave to pick up tomorrow
$1 for cleaning up after the cats.
$.25 for starting to pack for next weekend

Right now, I've got a whopping 50 cents to spend!

It sounds silly, but I have to start somewhere, right?

Hello Again; The story of Pria

I have been meaning to blog. So much has been changing in my life, and I'll never remember it all. Since my last post, I've started teaching, had a rock-star 2 years, was diagnosed with ADHD, bullied out of my job, just about hit rock bottom emotionally, and have been slowly building myself back up.

The ADHD is tough, and so I have started an experiment with myself. It's based on what I do with my students, whom also needed a little extra motivation. So far it has been helpful.

Anyway, I am currently working in my dream-district and hoping to be teaching there next year. I love my job and I'm so happy to be back in a positive work environment. Looking back over my experiences, I have to say that 3/4 districts I've worked in have been dysfunctional for one reason or another. It's truly scary. But more on that later.

My family has two dogs. It's weird to think of because I can still remember a time in my life where I wanted ONE dog so desperately, and when I got him he was a handful. Even though I wanted more, I never actually pictured having two of them. One had been a handful, though, and as loving and intelligent as our dog was, he was sure a pain in the ass! He would do whatever he wanted, constantly get into trouble --eating candy or whatever he could sniff out-- run away after deer for hours at a time, listen selectively, and he was occasionally difficult/aggressive with other dogs.

After my first dog, Lucky, died at age 14, my mother swore we would never get another dog. About a year or two later, I started having an itch to get another. I'll admit that I'd been a bad dog owner before, and that was partially due to being young and ignorant. I'll even admit that my cousin, whom I now haven't spoken to in years, was a big factor in my decision to get another dog. I watched him raise his police dog, Marco, and I learned so much about dogs in doing so. I didn't just want another dog, I wanted an amazing dog. One that could do tricks, be taken places without stress, one that wouldn't run away, and--most importantly--one that would listen.

Flash forward to me and my sister waking up at 6AM and driving over to Lewiston in our old Saturn, with no heat, on a cold winter morning to be first in line at the Androscoggin Humane Society. There was this adorable little puppy up for adoption. I was going to call her Pheobe, and she was going to be amazing.

After waiting in the freezing car (our heater didn't/still doesn't) work, we were first in line. Unfortunately, the lady who gave out the tickets that morning gave us ticket #2. They'd given the first ticket to another lady, who'd curiously looked in the window and pointed to a staffer--now I know she was pointing to one of her friends. They'd had an inside connection, and they stole the puppy I wanted right from under my nose. Something I'll never forgive any of them for.

We left without a puppy, devastated.

Then maybe a month later, we found a website--Molly's Moments. They were a rescue organization that was saving a litter of Australian Shepherds-mix puppies from South Carolina. I fell in love with a little boy named Jensen, but his adoption was already pending. So I wanted a beautiful tri-girl named Julia, I think. She was also pending adoption. My third choice was a tie--There were two pups left--one Jessa and one Jenna. They were both cute, and the only notable difference between their doberman coloring was that Jessa had more brown on her face, and Jenna had more black.

After much deliberation, I put in a request to adopt Jessa.

The original transport fell through because they puppies tested positive for a parasite, and so about a month went by before they were deemed healthy enough to make the huge trip. My sister and I volunteered to assist with the last leg of the transport. As we were waiting in Portland, we received news that one of the girls had to stay behind because she was ill. We spent about 2 hours fearing it was Jessa not arriving that night, and when we were assured Jessa was still on her way, we spent a whole week worrying if there had been some mixup.

The puppies arrived in Portland, and we loaded them into my mom's Ford Explorer. They were scared, and I really wish we had taken more time to admire them, but they were loaded in and we were on our way to Bryant Pond, to deliver them. Out-of-state rescue dogs must undergo a week of quarantine when they arrive in Maine, so that was truly agonizing. I remember when we arrived at the shelter, the woman's son picked up Pria and put her in my arms. I never wanted to let her go. She was so tiny, with long legs and a beautiful coat. It was so late that we didn't want to keep the woman up late, so we left rather quickly, but not before snapping a few shots with our cell phones-- I wish we had taken more.

All week, I kept waiting for a call: "Amanda? Sorry, there was a mixup and Jessa didn't make it up. Your puppy will be here ____ and after a week you can pick her up?"

That call never came. If memory serves, we were supposed to pick her up on the 8th of March. It was a Saturday.  Something happened, though, and if we didn't get her sooner, we wouldn't be able to get her until later, so the woman agreed to meet me at Food City after work on Friday, the 7th. I was so excited I asked my boss if I could leave early (this was back when she liked me) and went to get my puppy. This was another time I wish I'd savored the moment more, but I was bursting with new-mom jitters that I didn't. She also didn't come with a collar, so Heather showed me how to use a leash as a make-shift harness and I was so worried about the traffic on 302 that I quickly put her in the crate in the back of my mom's truck. I was determined to do right by her, and that meant crate training.

I was so full of new-mom jitters, that I'd forgotten to tell my mom and sister that I was picking her up an hour earlier than planned. As I was driving home with a traumatized, crying puppy, they were on their way to meet us. When my mother called to see where we were, and heard the puppy crying in the back, she internally cringed, and later shared that cringe with me repeatedly. "What did I say yes to?" she'd admit. She thought this puppy would be obnoxious and horrible.

I got home and took a quick selfie with her outside of the car before bringing her inside.We'd set up a small area in the kitchen for her and put on her beautiful collar that my mom had bought her at the Goodwill--black leather with colorful glass beads. She was perfect.

It took my mother a whole hour to say, "I love you" which I still tease her about today. And even though I can still remember the exact moment (and location I was at when) I picked  the name, Pria, my mother spent a year trying to get me to change it to Breeya.

That is the story of how I got the most incredible puppy ever.