Douglas Cootey's Blog, page 6

Capitalism as a Coping Strategy, Plus Other Successes

2018 was a good year for me. Thank you all for reading my articles, sharing them with friends, and supporting me over the years. This blog, A Splintered Mind, has been tackling ADHD and depression with attitude and humor online for fourteen years now. It is the longest project, aside from parenthood, of which I have remained consistently engaged.

In the past year, I have been spotlighted in Esperanza magazine, had blogs published at ADDitudeMag.com, had an article published in ADDitude Magazine’s Fall issue, and was selected to participate in a blogger advisory panel. 2018 was busy, but it all came together in the Fall.

The event that took the most effort was the blogger advisory panel—even more effort than trying to get a decent portrait for Esperanza magazine that didn’t make me look like a doofus. That project involved all of my smiling daughters giving me encouragement on a bright summer day. I felt so awkward doing a photoshoot in a public park, as if I’m a looker, but my girls boosted my self-esteem and got me through it. For the Boston gig, in contrast, I had to utilize every coping strategy I’d invented, plus make up a few on the fly, to prepare and present for the panel. It was me vs. myself.

I was flown back East at the beginning of December to give my feedback on depression websites. It was a paid gig, so I spent weeks putting all my focus on making it happen. No ADHD mishaps for me! I was so anxious to be ready for my flight, I accidentally got ready a day early. I felt both stupid and liberated since all I had to do now was leisurely head off to the airport on the correct day.

This gig came at a good time for me. I needed the self-validation and focus on myself. My family life has been hectic due to the Brownie’s challenges. I haven’t been blogging. I haven’t been writing. I’ve just been busy. This gig helped me reassert my own needs into my life. It sounds selfish until you realize how completely lost I have been in my daddy duties. There wasn’t any balance.

Finding balance between what I want to do and what shouts at me the loudest is a constant battle, especially when ADHD tips the scales. To give you an idea how focused I was on fighting my own tendencies, I woke up in the hotel room on the day of the event and caught myself reading news. I lost about fifteen minutes. Fortunately, I all of a sudden realized what I was doing.

I couldn’t read news! I had to shower, dress, attend breakfast, and socialize, never mind show up on time to the panel. Sticky notes, iPhone alarms, and ToDo lists weren’t going to save me. I needed to crowd out distractions from my mind. My solution was simplistic, but effective. I chanted the speaker fee out loud nonstop to myself for the entire time it took me to haul my fanny out of the room. Any time I even feared a distraction was eminent, I’d chant the speaker fee even louder! I got there on time with capitalism as a coping strategy.

I signed an NDA, so I can’t tell you too much about what we discussed. I can tell you that I completely agreed that █████ and ███ were important considerations when a product like ████████ is brought to market. That’s why ████ ████ ██ ████████. Also, █████.

When I arrived back in Utah, all that hyperfocus had a price. I had pushed myself too far and was knocked out of commission for a week, but the trip was worth all the effort. I had a fabulous time meeting new bloggers as well as meeting old acquaintances I had only previously met online. One of those bloggers used to take issue with my posts because of my earlier anti-meds stance. We went back and forth for a while. I was initially concerned about meeting her, but it turned into an extremely positive experience (More on that at another time). I also made time to visit with family for a day before hopping back on the plane.

Most importantly, I took away from the experience several epiphanies. The first I described above. I need to take more time out for myself. I interpret this to mean that I need to socialize, date, and work on my book projects more. I’d already been exercising over the summer with a secret project, but it wasn’t enough. I still walk around like a soda bottle shaken to its limit. Those will be good goals for my 52nd year. The second epiphany I took away was that my blog needs a serious revamping. After spending a day critiquing other blogs, I could no longer turn a blind eye to my own blog’s shortcomings. I also need to recommit to a regular schedule. The final epiphany is that I miss traveling. I need to plan more trips. I don’t need to travel across the country to satisfy this itch. There is plenty in Utah I have yet to explore. I should get out there and reflect those new experiences in my writing.

I hope you continue to come along for the ride.

Dropping a Beat on My Depression Fail Days

Dancing like nobody’s watching is more than a cutesy saying on a dance studio’s wall. Read on to learn how it helped me fight off depression.

I’ve been down in the dumps lately.

My healthy breakfast of a protein shake with a side order of an entire bag of Tostitos Salsa Verde chips was the first clue that things had gone off the rails. And a few days later that package of Haribo Sour Gold-Bears chased down with a zero calorie, Stevia sweetened soda? Yeah, I’m definitely going to see results with that regimen, right⸮

Yet as Fall became more like Winter, I couldn’t go out for a walk or a ride on my longboard. At the same time, family stress spiked just when I could have used exercise. I found myself drifting into a depression routine: comfort eating and gaining weight again. Truthfully, I made a lot of progress over the summer. I lost seventeen pounds and four and a half inches off my waist as I converted chub to muscle. Yet there I was, deep into Winter Depression with a face full of comfort carbs.

Many people experience Seasonal Affective Disorder (Winter Depression) at this time of year. The days shorten as the earth makes it elliptical dance around the sun, and that lack of light causes a gloom to settle over some people. It’s more than merely a disappointment that there is no more fun in the sun. Certainly, I can relate to that disappointment since wet, cold nights curtail my exercise regimen, but depression isn’t disappointment. It’s a pervasive sadness that clings to the victim. Depression defies reason and builds up a dark momentum that draws the person increasingly inward—away from the people who can help.

At this time of the year, Daylight Savings Time is supposed to help with the lack of light, but it always hits me like a KO punch in the kisser. This is why I found myself spiraling downward, and why I suddenly realized that I had forgotten to use my coping strategies. If you already suffer from depression, Winter Depression is like giving your depression a depression, yet after so many seasons where I successfully fought it off, I was caught unaware.

When you combine Major Depressive Disorder (MDD) with Persistent Depressive Disorder (PDD), it is often referred to as Double Depression (DD). For some people, Winter Depression is the only time they experience depression. For me, however, Winter Depression fuels my PDD on top of my MDD, giving me DD. And that’s enough of the alphabet for today.

Usually, I prepare ahead every year for Winter Depression with coping strategies like the following:

Remind myself that I’ll be seeing greater symptoms of depression soon.Install Daylight spectrum lightbulbs in my working area.Shift my exercise regimen from outdoors to indoors.Make sure I’m getting a good night’s sleep.

This year I didn’t do any of those. I held onto longboarding in the hopes mild days were ahead while mounting family drama increased stress, decreased sleep, and ran down my health. The day I realized I had slipped into depression was the deepest of depressed days. I was on the couch, bored with TV, bored with reading, and needing to go to the bathroom. I couldn’t summon the energy to get off the couch. I was overwhelmed by waves of intense sadness. I sat there battered by biological urges, both mental and physical, but clearly the depression was the stronger of the two.

And I thought, “This is stupid.”

So I forced myself off the couch and took care of business. Then I did something silly—sillier than blogging about being too sad to pee. I turned up the music, made sure nobody could see me, then forced myself to dance.

I am not sure if I can express how difficult this was to do. Waves of crushing sadness don’t exactly sweep one out onto the dance floor. Moving was hard at first—even foreign—but the more I let myself get into the music, the more I moved, and the less sad I felt. I danced for forty-five minutes as the pulsing beat of vocal trance drove away the depression.

As you’ve probably heard before, exercise releases endorphins in the mind. Exercise relieves stress. It burns calories. So dancing for a length of time had a positive effect on me physically and mentally—something I was counting on. I went to bed exhausted, but slept well, which also helped. For the next few days, I implemented all my coping strategies and reversed the trend. I ended November with an uptick in productivity and mental health. My Winter Depression had been vanquished again.

I have Double Depression, but I manage it. I can’t use meds, so keeping DD at bay with coping strategies is a part of my daily life. Dancing didn’t magically cure my depression. Deciding to do something about my depression made the difference. Taking action. Following through. Being consistent afterwards. We need to take responsibility for our own mental health and do the work to improve. Even if you utilize anti-depressants to manage your depression, you can still upgrade your quality of life by analyzing your triggers and compensating for them. Depression doesn’t have to own you.

I’m just glad that this happened before egg nog was on the shelves. My waistline would have been doomed.

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If you like what I write about overcoming depression, you should read my book on overcoming suicide.

ADHD: On Time, but Half an Hour Late

Sometimes you can do everything right and still get it all wrong.

It seems the only thing I can count on reliably is my ADHD tendency to embarrass myself. It’s even more reliable than death and taxes. I make plans. I execute them. Then they execute me.

My regular hairstylist is out on maternity leave, so I’ve been seeing a colleague of hers. She does a good job, and I am intensely thankful to get a professional cut on my schedule at the same location. She’s a nice girl and very courteous, too, which makes me want to return the favor by being on time.

You can probably guess where this is going.

Between ADHD, Tourette’s, and my daughter’s disabilities, many days I find myself 15–30 minutes behind schedule, racing across the valley to be as close to on time as possible, basically Douglas Standard Time. If you’re wondering why I’m so chronologically challenged, ADHD inspires last minute distractions that put me behind, Tourette’s is a neurological earthquake that goes off unexpectedly, and my daughter is a learning disabled teenager who does a great erupting volcano impression. Any of the three is enough to get me off track, but often I get the full hat trick.

This is why I had been making a concerted effort to not be late anymore to my appointments. Even if ADHD was at fault one day, or I began ticking and couldn’t drive, there is still a level of control that I have to manage the interruptions. In the case of the hairstylist, I prepared in advance. I was ready for the appointment long before I needed to leave. I planned no other errands to run. I had eaten a full meal, loaded with protein, an hour before I had to leave to prevent Tourette’s. I had even slept well. Being on time to my hair appointment was my main goal that afternoon. When the appointed time arrived, I was early, sitting in my spot eagerly awaiting my hirsute transformation.

You could have knocked me over with a hair clip when the stylist awkwardly informed me that my appointment had been scheduled thirty minutes earlier. I sat there stunned. Just moments before I had been congratulating myself for being punctual—maybe even a bit smugly. Oh, yes! I was the master of time, all right! Behold my timely splendor! Chronos himself stands in awe of my godlike punctuality!

How could this have happened‽ I was so careful. With my stylist standing there, I frantically checked my calendar. Yes, there it was. One o’clock. Not 12:30. Yet there I was, half an hour late. She sweetly asked me if I had received the reminder texts. Yes, yes! Of course! There they were. I often don’t pay much attention to them because they are redundant. I have everything written down in my calendar, but upon closer inspection, the reminder texts did indeed state my upcoming appointment was at 12:30. Although it’s possible the salon changed the time (since that’s happened before), I probably wrote it down wrong. Either way, I never verified the appointment time with the reminder. That made it solely my fault.

I left dejected and shaggy. I usually laugh off ADHD blunders because they are often jaw-dropping stupid in their scope, but this mistake hit me hard. Not only did I not get a great haircut, I embarrassed myself and inconvenienced her. It was my last appointment with her before my regular stylist returned. This was how the hairstylist was going to remember me.

I was depressed about it for days. When I realized I hadn’t paid her, as per their cancelation policy, I was mortified. My depression worsened.

What surprises me is that I’ve already learned this lesson before. Unfortunately, I didn’t learn it completely. I take the appointment reminder cards and verify my appointment entry when I get home. I remember to call to verify if I haven’t received a reminder call. But I never applied those coping strategies to text reminders, as if they are totally different because the reminder arrives on photons instead of paper. Clearly, I should have opened up the Calendar app and checked the date and time. As we said as children, “No duh…”

What I take away from this is that I shouldn’t trust myself to remember things. I got cocky. Life has shown me over and over again that the unexpected will always occur. It’s a hard lesson to relearn. Reminder cards and texts are there to help us not forget. There is no shame in double checking. In fact, it would be prudent to do so. In the future, that’s exactly what I’ll do—right after I drop by the salon and pay the stylist what I owe. It’s an expensive lesson that I hope I won’t be relearning anytime soon.

~Dˢ

Life Usually Has Other Plans

For the past week, I’ve been stressing out over an upcoming event: my return to the dating pool. I can’t say that my swim went well. First, I paced back and forth on the pool deck, eyeing the water suspiciously. Then I stuck a toe in, but quickly retreated to a safe distance. Wet! It was much too wet. Then I shook myself off, scheduled my swim, awaited my moment, and dressed for the occasion. I even took a selfie to send to my daughters before I took the plunge.

In the photo, I’m so nervous in my bathing suit, I don’t recognize the man looking back at me. There’s something wrong with his face. He doesn’t look anything like me. It might be his rigor mortis smile, or the overly pink complexion moments before he begins to steam from apprehension. Whatever is ailing him, it doesn’t matter. Life managed to keep him away from the water 35 minutes before he was scheduled to dive in.

The school gave me a call seconds after I took the selfie. My daughter was having a breakout seizure.

I recorded the following to Facebook on my way to the Brownie’s high school. For some reason I chose to use text-to-speech in Facebook. Maybe it was the app already open on my iPhone at that moment. Maybe I just wasn’t thinking clearly. Regardless, here’s what I said:

On my way to the high school instead of a date. The Brownie is having a seizure. It’s a rotten timing. It’s taken her years to be ready for me to date. And now, this happens. Hopefully, she’s all right. I’ll keep you updated. If you are friends or family, please let others know thank you bye

I later posted to Facebook that I shouldn’t dictate messages during an emergency. Text requires care to communicate tone. But I think my exasperation came through just fine. I was worried my date triggered her seizure. I was feeling frustrated and guilty all at the same time.

So why did I think this was about me and not her? To say she’s not been open to me dating since the divorce would be an understatement. Despite their mother remarrying quickly after our divorce, my youngest two daughters entered a state of abject terror whenever I mentioned the D-word. The decision was a simple one. I chose not to date for the past seven years. My second youngest daughter finally deigned to allow me to date once she got her first boyfriend, but my youngest remained adamant: NO DATING! Years passed, and I thought she was finally ready because she’d been telling me it was okeh for me to date recently, and she wasn’t upset about my upcoming date at all. Then this happened.

Her seizures for the past year have mostly been anxiety panic conversion disorder episodes taking the well-worn neurological path of seizures from birth. They’re non-epileptic, but still legitimate seizures. Part of me wondered if maybe she wasn’t okeh with the date after all. Maybe this episode was the result. That’s what I was thinking when I recorded the message above.

Then I arrived at the school.

Paramedics were already on the scene. A secretary was waiting for me out in the hall. In the school’s main office, my daughter lay on the floor, crying and incoherent. She was agitated, disorientated, and thrashing about, making it difficult for the paramedics to inject her with midazolam, a common sedative for seizures. You haven’t seen needle skill until you’ve watched a paramedic move his body to track a flailing arm to prevent a needle snapping. This was the post ictal phase of an epileptic seizure for my girl. There was no denying it now. The epileptic seizures were back.

Two days have passed since that moment, and my body hasn’t returned to normal. We spent only two hours in the hospital, and the Brownie has slept well and recovered, but I’m still a wreck. I picked up a bug at the hospital. My week’s plans have been obliterated. I’m frustrated, but not at her, poor thing. I am frustrated at how selfish I sounded in that initial post. I am frustrated with my fragile self. I am frustrated that my control over ADHD is still susceptible to random events because my week is in tatters. I am frustrated that my health is so lousy despite the hours and hours of exercise I have been doing all Summer long. I am frustrated that I am not perfect, something I know logically I cannot achieve, but emotionally I demand of myself.

That’s why I’m blogging this. This is my therapy. I write about what troubles me in a creative, and hopefully, entertaining way so that I wash away my discouragement. I do it to help me see things in perspective. For every person who reads my blog and thinks I’m no big deal, there are others who are looking for the human touch while they struggle with issues that overwhelm them. They aren’t alone. We’re all on the same path. Some of us are further ahead than others, but it’s common decency to look back and offer a hand—the same type of hand that others have offered ourselves. It helps us not feel sorry for ourselves. It helps us find the strength to move forward. Life is hard for everybody to deal with. Disability just adds flavor to the dysfunction.

And now I feel better. It’s time to mimic my daughter’s resilience in my own life. I have articles to write and a book awaiting my attention. It’s also time to suit back up and go for a swim.

The Best-Laid Schemes

This month, no, my life isn’t going as planned. It brings to mind a certain poem:

❝But, Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men
Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!

~“To a Mouse, on Turning Her Up in Her Nest With the Plough”, Robert Bruns, November 1785

I know. It’s not the most upbeat outlook, and Steinbeck repurposed it better, but life certainly does have a way of uprooting our carefully built nests. In response, I could get frustrated, or I could get creative. I chose the creative solution, even if it feels a bit bleak—even for me.

~Dˢ

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New blog posting later tonight.

Worry Is a Waste of Imagination

What Do I Get out of Blogging about Mental Health?

I was recently contacted by a college student who requested an email interview. I share the answers below because the interviewer asked excellent questions.

If you follow my blog, then you’ll already know that I have been diagnosed with Clinical Depression (Major Depressive Disorder), Adult ADHD, and Chronic Tic Disorder (Tourette’s). What you may not know is what I get out of blogging about my experiences with these conditions. This was the one of the questions the interviewer asked that made me think.

Why on earth do I do this?

My family resents my writing or is horrified by it. My friends don’t read it. It’s not making me a chick magnet. It doesn’t do anything for my abs. And it certainly doesn’t make me rich and famous (though you can change all that if you buy my book. It’s only $5. Heck, buy two!). Also, since it’s an online pursuit, blogging doesn’t, generally speaking, make new friends in the real world. What drives me to do this solitary and bloodletting pursuit‽

Certainly, I haven’t blogged as often lately. My disabled daughter’s needs coupled with my own have made blogging a bedraggled event. That doesn’t mean I’ve lost interest in blogging. Originally, I blogged to connect with other people like myself. After I got over the shock that I am an odd duck even in the mental health community, I focused on higher goals like writing tighter articles and improving my craft. However, now I blog to help people along the path that I have successfully traveled.

Have I been cured? No! But I’m happy, fulfilled, and equipped with a tool belt filled with dozens of coping strategies. This is what I like to share so that others can learn to manage their mental health as well. You don’t have to be cured to live better.

I started blogging in 1995, but it was more journal-like and lacked focus: this page is updated…that page is updated…people are mean… Riveting stuff like that. A Splintered Mind began in 2005 due to somebody telling me that ADHD was an excuse to get kids out of doing homework. I couldn’t defend myself at the time because I was gobsmacked. That bothered me deeply. Why was I ashamed to speak up? Why couldn’t I tell that person that ADHD was very real for me? I determined to learn how to discuss my mental health without stigma by beginning this blog. And here we are almost fourteen years later.

The interviewer also wanted to know what I got out of reading other people’s blogs. Another excellent question. I don’t follow mental health bloggers as intensely as I used to years ago, mostly because I am so busy with family and my own writing projects, but what I gained by reading others’ works were insights into how to describe mental health conditions as well as obtain new perspectives. It helped expand my compassion for others and informed my writing with new experiences.

The last two questions were the most thought provoking of all. First was how do I think other people see mental illnesses? Generally, I find people are ashamed of mental illness. They revile it. They become uncomfortable talking about it, thinking only of their state of mind. They want to change the subject and sweep the issue under the rug. No matter what church leaders, doctors, or government PSAs may advise, people, in general, drive those who they should be helping away to the dark corners of the web. Because of stigma, they cut themselves off from being the loving support people struggling with mental health issues desperately need.

This sounds bleak, doesn’t it? Things are not as bad as they used to be, but individually, people still stigmatize mental health issues. We have a ways to go.

As for how I see my own mental illness, I don’t think of it as an illness. However, I used to hate myself because of it. ADHD-inspired buffoonery and gaffes left me with very low self-esteem. My depression fed into that. I struggled with suicidal ideation. Then I hit rock bottom and decided I couldn’t continue on this way.

No, wait! I didn’t mean it that way. I suppose it’s too late now for that email I fired off.

What I meant was that I needed to overcome my mental health issues if I wished to enjoy life. I had dropped as low as I could go, so I began to crawl back up. I taught myself to manage my anxieties; I learned to laugh at myself when I made silly ADHD mistakes, and I began to fight my depression—to change the negative way I looked at the world. I improved my life in the process.

Mental health is a journey I will be taking for the rest of my life. The road is not as rocky and difficult to travel now that I have learned coping strategies. This is because I have confidence and optimism for what lies ahead. My life has been one of hope for over two decades, and I know I can keep going. That’s due mostly to the years spent blogging about mental health.

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Coping Strategy: You don’t have to blog to manage your mental health. Keep a journal, and learn to laugh at yourself. Self-deprecating humor is a wonderful gift. If that sounds too difficult to manage, start with one thing a day that you are thankful for. If that sounds too daffy, try thinking of one thing positive a day. This is what I did over two decades ago. It was incredibly difficult at first, but I persevered. Daily positivity practice made a colossal change in my outlook over time.

That Time When Ducks Cured My Depression

Sometimes taking care of your own depression can be accomplished by taking care of somebody else.

I’ve been incredibly stressed and depressed lately, so when my 2nd oldest daughter, Cathryn, suggested last month that we celebrate the birthday of my youngest daughter, the Brownie, with a trip into the mountains, I thought it was a fantastic idea. Fresh air up in the clouds sounded like the perfect salve for my soul. My spirits are often lifted by a change of scenery and some exercise. There was only one problem: the Brownie hates hiking.

With mild cerebral palsy and a learning disability, “simple” hikes become arduous tasks for the Brownie. She becomes so focused on balance, foot placement, and pain that she doesn’t look beyond to see the beauty of nature. We’ve tried for years to find ways to help her enjoy these excursions into nature without much luck.

Unfortunately, we can’t tell which is a preconceived dislike and which is a sincere dislike with her, so we constantly reintroduce things because she’s changed her mind on a whim before. For example, she used to love bananas when she was younger, then ate an entire green batch and decided she hated them. Who could blame her? I don’t enjoy green bananas either. Yet for years she wouldn’t touch them no matter what color they were—not until recently. Now she “hates” bananas, but she’ll get hungry and forget she dislikes them. I know this because I’ll offer her a banana, she’ll vehemently, announce she hates them, then I’ll say, “But you just ate some on your own yesterday.” “Oh, yeah…” she’ll reply, then eat the banana.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t celebrate her birthday with an activity she currently dreaded. How selfish would that be?

So we chose a boardwalk path around a veritable pond called Silver Lake. It’s located up by Brighton ski resort. There is no climbing involved–just a leisurely stroll amidst nature with clouds so close you’d think you could reach up and scoop them into a cup. To avoid a “hike” meltdown, we told her we were visiting a park up in the mountains to hopefully to see wild deer and moose. Secretly, however, we planned on feeding wild ducks. That was the birthday surprise. In preparation, her grandparents had just purchased TWENTY-FIVE pounds of duck feed. My daughter, Cathryn, and I prepared three bags and left the floppy silo of feed at home.

Our trip through the mountain pass led us by Fall splashes of yellow-greens, oranges, and reds. The mountainsides weren’t on fire with color yet, but we could see the smoldering had begun. None of this impressed the Brownie, who had her nose deep in an eBook. Then we arrived and discovered the skies weren’t optimal for strolling along mountain paths. In fact, we couldn’t see the sky for all the rain. The Brownie started to complain. Instead of getting discouraged, we ducked into a cafe and ordered hot cocoa. By the time we had finished the last, treasured drops in our cups, the sky had cleared, along with my heavy mood, but and even the Brownie was in better spirits.

Storms come and go quickly in the desert mountains. One moment we had sheets of rain, and the next, the sky became a painting of wonder and beauty. Silver Lake was unusually popular that day, with dozens of families loudly chatting to themselves as they walked along the damp boardwalk while taking in the sights, some stopping for family photos, some holding up the line with professional photo shoots. Normally, such interruptions would irritate me, but my focus was not on the earth, but heaven. It kept me distracted from the bustle around me. Frankly, I had only one earthly worry: where were the ducks?

The lake was a mirror of the beauty above, but showed no reflection of any life or movement. I was beginning to worry that the ducks had run for cover along with the deer and moose, unlike the silly humans who lacked sense to get out of the cold, wet air. After a while, Cathryn found some ducks huddling in a copse by the side of the lake. Together we formed a chain of people along the lake to lure them with duck feed over to an open area. The plan worked wonderfully. Soon ducks surrounded us, many even coming from further along up the shore. The birthday surprise was a success.

I’m glad we took time to think of how the Brownie would react to our plans and changed them accordingly. Feeding the ducks was a great idea, and now we have enough cracked corn to feed all the ducks in Utah. Even better, we gave the Brownie a positive experience. Instead of dread, she might remember today’s outing and look forward to the next hike. My depression had long ago lifted. Helping her was the reset my mind needed.

~Dˢ

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Coping Strategy: Help yourself by helping others.

If you are looking for advice on how to help a suicidal loved one, you should read my book.

Nothing like ADHD…

❝Nothing like ADHD and a good fight to the death to make time fly.” 

– Rick Riordan, The Lost Hero (The Heroes of Olympus, Book 1)

 

Begins to Hope Again

“But a sanguine temper, though forever expecting more good than occurs, does not always pay for its hopes by any proportionate depression. It soon flies over the present failure, and begins to hope again.” 

– Jane Austen, Emma ch.18