Douglas Cootey's Blog, page 8

Mormon Musings: A Reverent Moment with the Brownie

I don’t shy away from mentioning my religion here. I’ve even discussed LDS doctrine and how it intersects with mental health, but today I just wanted to capture a moment and share it with you.

“Dad, you’ve got silver things in your sweater,” my daughter whispers out loud. Perhaps it only sounds loud because we’re sitting in church waiting for the sacrament to come our way. I turn to my right to see my daughter picking at my new Irish Aran sweater. There’s a look of disgust on her face as she pulls out a silver strand.

“Yes, that’s because it’s made out of sheep hair,” I whisper back.

She recoils, then looks at me suspiciously. She always thinks I’m teasing her.

“It’s called wool, honey”. She relaxes with her mouth shaped in a silent “Oh.” I can see she’s still confused, though.

“But why does it have sparkles in it?”

“That’s because I have a daughter.” I smile at her as I watch her assume I’m teasing again. Then I motion with my eyes to her dress. She follows and shapes her mouth in another “Oh”. Her dress is a sea of sparkles. She leans in to hug me, splashing my sweater with more.

⁂

No pitch today. Just enjoy your Sunday.

ADHD: Playing Cat & Mouse with Catfishers

She was a total stranger. She was cute and posed with a kid in her profile pic. She had an aversion to punctuation. Suddenly, she said, “Hi Douglas”, and I was off.

Today is technically Day 42 of my bout with adenovirus. Some aspects of the cold linger like our obstinate Winter this year, but I’m feeling better. This was fortunate, because today was the last day my daughter, the Brownie, would be wearing a home EEG to capture a seizure. She had gone the entire week seizure free, so I spent the day trying to induce one. I finally resorted to flashing a strobe light in her face. When that didn’t seem to work, she, her Mum, and I had a last, desperate prayer. Her seizure began one minute later. Coincidence? I’ll leave that for you to decide.

During my weeks of sickness, I finished the research phase of my latest Pokémon book. At this point, I am finishing the project out of sheer will. My enthusiasm for the project fled to more sparkly pastures weeks ago. I hope to wrap up the second draft this week before sending it off to an editor. See? I’m not entirely wasting away, but I am still wasting time, not that there’s anything wrong with that. Some wasted time is a lot of fun, like when I string catfishers along.

I’m wrapping up my current project, so I’ll post a meatier article for you next week, but what follows is the most stultifying romance I have ever lived through. You can read for yourself that sharing is not her goal. She is trying to get ME to do all the talking. So I obliged, drifting further down the rabbit hole the longer she kept at it.

How do I know she’s a catfisher? When an unknown girl hits on me online and tells me how handsome I am, I can’t take her seriously. Real girls didn’t even do that when I was a god-like, 185lbs, all-muscle twenty-year-old. So I play with them.

I test first to see if she’s perhaps just conversationally challenged, but when her (or his, to be honest) idea of conversation is to exchange pictures, I know she is fake. Then I like to see how weird I can take things before she’ll break out of character. Because they want money out of me, they won’t stop messaging me no matter what I say or post. I let the ADHD in me go wild. By their rules, I’m engaging them, falling in love, and ready to mail them money, but we know better, don’t we?:

MAR 19TH, 9:23PM
Claire H——: Hi Douglas

MAR 24TH, 4:29PM
You accepted Claire’s request.
Douglas: Hi Claire
Claire H——: How you doing today?
Douglas: Just great! And you?
Claire H——: Am doing good thanks
I saw your profile on my friend suggestion list…you handsome and i have to tell you, lovely smiles you got
Douglas: Wow! Thanks! You good smile too
Claire H——: What are you up to
Douglas: Preparing for the zombie apocalypse. Got any plans for Saturday? Mine crashed.
(I should have said, “Mine were eaten,” but you live, you learn.)
Claire H——: Oh not really
Douglas: Yeah me neither
Claire H——: Just at home relaxing
What do you do for fun
Douglas: I am boring. I have forgotten what fun is. Haha
Claire H——: Lols don't be dirty minded…what do you do at your leisure time
Douglas: I plait goat hair. It's very relaxing.
Claire H——: Oh okay
I will like to know more about you
(Claire took my comments in stride. I have to admit it took me a while to stop laughing.)

MAR 24TH, 6:02PM
Claire H——: Hi Doug

MAR 24TH, 8:13PM
Douglas: Hi! Sorry! I've been away shaving my back. How's your night going, love?

(Completely unphased, Claire returns the next day.)
MAR 25TH, 6:11AM
Claire H——: How are you doing

MAR 25TH, 3:49PM
Douglas: You're back! I thought I scared you off.

MAR 25TH, 5:42PM
Claire H——: No
What are you up to Doug
(At this point, I have decided that I am being too subtle. It’s time to pull out the stops.)
Douglas: I am sick. Day 29. It's very exciting. I may be getting better, but the humongous boils on my feet are making it difficult to ballroom dance. At least the facial swelling has reduced. I can see again. Great, huh?
Claire H——: May I have some pictures of you

Are you with me

(Claire is getting nervous that she’s spooked me, but I am scouring the internet for the perfect photo.)
Douglas: This is a pic of me and my pet bear, Killer. I don't believe that last time was his fault. Besides, the guy was really old.

Claire H——: It seems like a photo shoot
(Now we know that Claire is not a bot.)
Douglas: It is! My bear and I pose at petting zoos professionally. We have had zero casualties this year. Let's not talk about last year.
Claire H——: Okay
Can I have another pic of you
Douglas:
This is me with Killer. He is licking blood off my hands, the rascal!
Hey! This is awkward. I don't have any pictures of you!
Do you have any pics of you cosplaying as Laura Ingalls? I love bonnets.
They're hot.
Claire H——:I don't want pic like that
Send me a pic of you without bear
Douglas:You first. It doesn't have to be pioneer cosplay. I think pilgrims are hot, too.
Claire H——:(Claire sends a picture that is square in format, complete with white borders on the side, as if copied off the web.)
Douglas:You're cute! I like the borders, too. They've got that screencapped-from-Instagram feel that's super popular these days.
Claire H——:Oh thanks

MAR 26TH, 5:27AM
Claire H——: Hi

(I am beginning to suspect that my account is being passed around the catfisher office to different workers. How many times can one person say “Hi”‽ It’s time to wrap this up.)
MAR 26TH, 2:54PM
Douglas: Hi. I think I am feeling something that I haven't felt since Mia Sara kissed me in the second grade. I really feel like we have a connection here. This conversation has been riveting. Can you move out to Nebraska to be with me?
I don't live in Nebraska, but I'd consider it if you were there.

MAR 27TH, 1:53AM
Claire H——: Lols
(At this point, I’ve feel that I won because she broke from the script with her first honest response. It’s time to say “Goodbye”.)

MAR 28TH, 4:40PM Douglas:
Claire H——: Why are you sending me the bear
Send me a picture of you

(And so I bid Claire adieu. I wish her the best of luck in reeling in the big one with her captivating conversation skills. I could have continued sending bear pics, and she would have kept replying, but I had lost interest. Nevertheless, this was almost as fun as when I convinced the car scammer that my name was Mick Dundee and I would love to pay to have the car shipped from North Carolina, but could they ship it to the Australian outback instead?)

⁂

Sometimes I treat ADHD as a coping strategy for depression. If you’d like to support me or see how I use creative coping strategies to overcome suicidal depression, buy my book.

A Moment’s Respite from Pressing Thoughts

Finding moments of beauty can help alleviate stress and depression.

Sometimes all I need to feel right is a moment’s peace with a beautiful sunset. Anxieties fade, and my spirit is lifted. That ephemeral moment of beauty has so much power for me. I wonder at the richly saturated colors spreading across the sky as twilight casts shadows over the color of the world below.

Some may claim sunsets are trite, but I do not find them so. I have trained myself to use them as cleansing moments. It is as if I have pressed pause on my day. I focus on something outside of myself. At that instant, the sunset becomes a grand, positive moment in my life in contrast to an otherwise stressful day. Truthfully, I am usually too distracted by the setting splendor to ruminate. Here, ADHD is a perfect coping strategy for depression.

An important aspect of sunsets is that you can’t plan on them. Most are unremarkable. However, when conditions are right, and if I notice the splash of color in the corner of my eye, I quickly find a place for a moment’s respite. I highly recommend you find your own random moments of respite when struggling with depression.

~Dˢ

Dolores O'Riordan and I Have Something in Common

Just a few thoughts before my day takes me away.

The other day, I thought I’d celebrate St. Patty’s Day with The Cranberries. Dolores O’Riordan has been on my mind lately, and her voice was just the Irish taste I was looking for. However, I couldn’t listen to her voice and not remember what had recently happened to her. We won’t know officially how or why she died until next month. In the meantime, rumors swirl from police at the scene of fentanyl and suicide.

People pay a heavy price for addiction. Dolores struggled with depression, suicide, and addiction for years, then paid with her life. She sang in 1996 about the dangers of allowing drugs and external forces to have control over our lives, but it seems that years later she still hadn’t gained control. I suddenly felt very sad for her.

This brought an end to listening to The Cranberries. The pain was too recent and personal.

I experienced suicidal ideation early last week. It was the first time in six or more years. Just an errant thought. Caught me by surprise. I immediately fired up my coping strategies and called somebody. I let them know what was going on, and we chatted for a bit. Then the darkness passed.

If you struggle with suidism, I cannot recommend enough the importance of working out a game plan on a good day so that you can rely on that plan on a bad day. This is what saves me over and over again.

I wrote a blog about these coping strategies called “Six Steps to Overcome Suicidism” while writing my first book. I included the article in the chapter on knowing who to rely on. The article is loaded with helpful information, but I just discovered that I never remembered to post it here. Ah, ADHD… I’ll have to remind myself to rectify that.

In short, I try to talk myself out of suicide first, then pray for help second. I have a great deal of faith in prayer. However, if prayer fails to abate the suicidal feelings, then I rely on friends and family. If they aren’t available, the fourth line of defense is a church leader. The important thing is to tell somebody—anybody—what you are experiencing. Even a suicide hotline will suffice. Get your urge out of the shadows. These aberrant feelings don’t thrive in the light.

Decades ago, these suicidal feelings were overpowering, suffocating, and daily. It took me ten years of training to regulate my moods and to not let them take over my life. Now I go years between bouts. It truly is miraculous progress compared to the dark place I used to reside in. I’m so grateful that I made the effort and found success, but I never had drug addiction to deal with on top of suicidal ideation. I can’t imagine what Dolores was struggling with, or how the drugs addled her outlook. But this is speculation.

What I can say is that you are more important than you realize. Suicidal depression is insidious. It convinces us that we do the world a kindness by taking our lives. Please seek help if you struggle daily with these destructive urges.

~Dˢ

⁂

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
Call 1–800–273–8255

A Funny Thing Happened to Me on My Way to the Mailbox

When humor is a coping strategy for mental health, sometimes people miss the joke. Are some subjects simply not funny?

Alright. I keep miscounting. Today is Day 22 of my dance with Adenovirus. I checked it with the calendar. Thrice. Last week I announced on social media that I had been sick for 20 days, not 26, but both counts were wrong. I had announced the 11th day correctly. How I thought last week that I was sick for a month when it had been only two weeks…well, there’s no explanation for it. I was sick. I’m still sick. This bug will never end.

If you think I’m exaggerating, the doctor cheerfully explained the other day that some people get this virus for six weeks. He had the bedside manner of a grumpy cat. I seem to recall him hissing at me, too, but my memory hasn’t been at its best lately. If two weeks felt like a month with this thing, I can’t wait to hit week six. It will probably sound a bit like this:

Today is Day 989. I’m losing all hope. I thought I was well yesterday, so I stepped outside to get the mail. Butt now I’ve relapsed and will need to recuperate before attempting that again. It’s been at least seven years since I last went shopping for food. I’m thinking of eating the couch.

ADHD - Of Cocteau Twins and Shoujo Title Generators

Ever wonder what it was like to have ADHD? I can help you out with that.

I’ve recently made a goal of tagging all my published blog articles so I can see which ones haven’t been published. OS X allows me to tag files with colored dots. That way all the untagged files will stand out. OS 9 used to allow the entire filename to be colorized so that it would shout out at me from the din, but now we are living in the future where small dots of color are considered more noticeable than one inch long filenames in pulsating bright green. Regardless, now that I’ve slogged through the past three years of posts, I have discovered an alarmingly high number of posts that never saw the light of day. It’s as if some unnamed power gripped my mind and caused me to wander off. I wonder if there’s a name for it…

Some of the lost blogs have great descriptive names like “Untitled 3.txt” and “Food.txt”. Today’s entry is based on a text file with the sagacious label of “I share the.txt”. I know you’re gonna love it.

⁂

I share the following so that you can understand the types of things that excite me, but also how ADHD leads me on merry distractions. This will likely be my blog topic this week (I wrote in April 2015).

I just discovered that I did not miss buying the final Cocteau Twins album, Lullabies to Violaine. It was released as a limited edition boxed set in 2005 and contains almost all the B sides and EPs that hadn’t seen print for ages. I was busy helping my daughter Joy​ launch her podcast and singing career that year while homeschooling Cathryn​ & Lorelai​, while also producing a podcast of my own with Cathryn. That podcast, Harry Podder, was featured in a graphic during a Stevenote when Steve Jobs was introducing podcasts to his audience. At any rate, a friend sent me an MP3 of one of the tracks on the album. It was wonderful, so I searched far and wide on the internet for “the track name, and discovered Lullabies to Violaine. There it was on iTunes, Volumes 1 & 2 for $17.99 each. On Amazon.com I could get those double CDs for $12.99 ea. Hmm, decisions. Wait, and save $10, or splurge and have them NOW… Then I saw it. There was ONE copy left of the limited edition boxed set of all four CDs. It was only $39.99 and included all 4 CDs. Why was I excited to buy this edition instead of saving money on the barebones individual CDs? Are you kidding me? The CDs were lovingly presented in a fold-out package made of a strange dream-like substance: ”Curious Soft Touch Milk“. Who wouldn’t want to buy a limited edition boxed set made out of that? It sounds like a shoujo manga title.

At this point, the ADHD kicked in. No, really. I was totally not distracted before this. Anyway. If you don’t know what I mean by ”shoujo“, give this page a few reloads. Shoujo manga is what they call girls comics in Japan. They have airy, sweet titles, often in English, that make no sense. That random shoujo title generator is spookily on the nose. I found examples like:

Moonlight Icicle Princess
Strawberry Dawn Kiss
Cherry Butterfly Childhood
Detective Marionette Hunters
A Cup of Paradise Wonderland
and
Sweet Sugar-sprinkled Bandits

I found myself thinking those titles sounded like stories Arina Tanemura would illustrate. Suddenly, I realized that I was just sitting there reloading a stupid web page when I had writing and errands to do. So I sheepishly closed the page and gathered my thoughts here. I’ll make a blog of it so it won’t be a total waste of time (I wrote three years ago…). I actually spent more time writing this than I did being distracted, but for me, this is ADHD at work. It’s a wonder I get anything done.

⁂

It is a wonder, indeed.

You know, I never did buy that album. I got distracted and forgot about it. A week later it was gone. I missed buying it, after all.

From time to time, I will refer to something as ”Classic ADHD“, then be called out because ”everybody has that problem“. They usually confuse my self-deprecating humor as some sort of victim impact statement, then feel the need to correct me. I offer this blog entry as exhibit one in my defense.

Everybody does get distracted from time to time. Older people dealing with ”senior moments“ may be distracted more than others. People with brain injuries get distracted. People on medication…people with sleep deprivation…the list is long and varied. However, what marks ADHD is not the distractions. It’s the intensity and frequency of the distractions. My trip down Curious Soft Touch Milk Lane is just one detour of many I will experience that day. Every day. Every week. If I’m lucky, I’ll catch on before too much time is wasted. This morning I lost eighty minutes reading news and posting to Twitter. Now I’m blogging instead of working on my book. Fortunately, I see this as work, too, but there’s need for balance. ADHD adults often lack that balance. It puts us terribly behind. That’s why I like to poke fun of it, and let some of the stress go.

There are plenty of people out there who will scold you. Don’t be one of them. Learn to laugh at yourself when these glorious distractions happen. At least smile. The distractions are a bit funny. Then refocus in on your task at hand. Sometimes, it’s all that you can do.

⁂

If you like distractions, you should read my book on Pokémon. I’m working on another one just like it before delving into mental health topics again.

What Does Self-Esteem, Arranged Marriage, and Ramen Have in Common?

This will be a phenomenally busy week with doctor visits, writing, and preparations for a symposium. Then punctuated by a presentation at BYU just when things get really crazy in the middle of the week. I’ve been asked to talk about publishing e-books, and I’ll be joined with my editor. I did this class two years ago, but unlike last time, I’ve been preparing. We have some ideas we think will be fun, including putting together a very quick & dirty ePub. I also spent the weekend finishing projects like the paperback edition of my Pokémon book, and writing articles that I plan to submit here and there. But I don’t want to talk about any of that. I can’t stop thinking about a recent arranged marriage proposal I received.

I dropped by a local Vietnamese grocery store on Saturday. My family and I have shopped at this store for over 10 years. When I want to get import ramen and all the fixings, this is where I go. The shop carries a wide variety of products from all over Asia. There is ramen from Thailand, Vietnam, Japan, Korea, and manga-flavored ramen from Malaysia. Most of the ramen is flavored, of course, but brave souls can purchase blank ramen for homemade broth. There is a Japanese grocery store in downtown Salt Lake I could visit, but the Vietnamese store is much closer and gets all my business. Consequently, we are on a friendly basis with the owner (although it just occurred to me that I have never learned her name). Over the years since my divorce, she has been asking me if I was dating yet. Each time, the answer is “No”. The store owner is usually incredulous that I haven’t begun yet, but I’ve been taking my time.

Saturday, I thought I would be clever. As I was stuffing import Japanese mochi into my shopping cart, I answered her question before she asked, telling her that no, I haven’t started dating yet, but I’m thinking that I’ll be starting soon. Not missing a beat, she replied that she had a friend who has a daughter who’s looking for a husband. Would I like her to introduce me?

I stood frozen. At first, I thought she was kidding. After all, I was kidding. I smiled and waited for the punchline, but then my smile froze on my face as I saw she was waiting for my response. She was very, very serious. Suddenly, I had no idea what to do. All coherent thought took flight out my ears and left me empty as a birdbath in winter. She assured me that the girl, who is Vietnamese, was very pretty. When I didn’t jumpstart my mouth into motion, she then began to let me know that I was a very nice guy—as if I deserved this meeting.

It was the most singularly peculiar event I’ve ever had happen to me. It was so far outside my cultural experience. Soon, the birds of my mind returned to roost, and I began to think many things at once. How old was this girl? Does she speak English well? I need somebody who can keep pace with my conversations. Is she LDS? Having religion in common is important to me. But I had no idea how or even IF I could ask such questions in that circumstance. Instead, I began to blush, then managed to say I wasn’t ready for that yet, but I thanked her for her kindness.

Over the weekend I spent a lot of time thinking about this event. What I decided was that, although the things I initially worried about were legitimate, the truth is that I couldn’t believe somebody thought I was worthy to be offered as a potential mate. I didn’t feel impressive enough yet. I had more more books to write, more money to make, more possessions to acquire!

It’s true that I’m so used to ADHD and being subpar compared to peers that I’m used to failure and other people’s disappointment. Yet this moment was the complete opposite. This dear lady thought I was good enough for formal courtship, and the experience terrified me.

This past weekend showed me that I have forgotten some of the lessons I taught myself over the years to love myself and not get down on myself. I was looking through the glass darkly, seeing only the negative. In fact, I was so convinced that I was unworthy for marriage, I couldn’t believe what was happening was truly happening.

This has both bemused and disappointed me. How many people get an actual arranged marriage proposal? Yet there I was worried only about how many unfinished projects I had! As I move through this week representing myself, I will make special effort to quiet the negative critic who resides within my head. Success is built upon realistic assessments of our skills and a positive belief in our potential, not on negative opinions based on fear.

~Dˢ

What Does Self-Esteem, Arranged Marriage, and Ramen Have in Common

This will be a phenomenally busy week with doctor visits, writing, and preparations for a symposium. Then punctuated by a presentation at BYU just when things get really crazy in the middle of the week. I’ve been asked to talk about publishing e-books, and I’ll be joined with my editor. I did this class two years ago, but unlike last time, I’ve been preparing. We have some ideas we think will be fun, including putting together a very quick & dirty ePub. I also spent the weekend finishing projects like the paperback edition of my Pokémon book, and writing articles that I plan to submit here and there. But I don’t want to talk about any of that. I can’t stop thinking about a recent arranged marriage proposal I received.

I dropped by a local Vietnamese grocery store on Saturday. My family and I have shopped at this store for over 10 years. When I want to get import ramen and all the fixings, this is where I go. The shop carries a wide variety of products from all over Asia. There is ramen from Thailand, Vietnam, Japan, Korea, and manga-flavored ramen from Malaysia. Most of the ramen is flavored, of course, but brave souls can purchase blank ramen for homemade broth. There is a Japanese grocery store in downtown Salt Lake I could visit, but the Vietnamese store is much closer and gets all my business. Consequently, we are on a friendly basis with the owner (although it just occurred to me that I have never learned her name). Over the years since my divorce, she has been asking me if I was dating yet. Each time, the answer is “No”. The store owner is usually incredulous that I haven’t begun yet, but I’ve been taking my time.

Saturday, I thought I would be clever. As I was stuffing import Japanese mochi into my shopping cart, I answered her question before she asked, telling her that no, I haven’t started dating yet, but I’m thinking that I’ll be starting soon. Not missing a beat, she replied that she had a friend who has a daughter who’s looking for a husband. Would I like her to introduce me?

I stood frozen. At first, I thought she was kidding. After all, I was kidding. I smiled and waited for the punchline, but then my smile froze on my face as I saw she was waiting for my response. She was very, very serious. Suddenly, I had no idea what to do. All coherent thought took flight out my ears and left me empty as a birdbath in winter. She assured me that the girl, who is Vietnamese, was very pretty. When I didn’t jumpstart my mouth into motion, she then began to let me know that I was a very nice guy—as if I deserved this meeting.

It was the most singularly peculiar event I’ve ever had happen to me. It was so far outside my cultural experience. Soon, the birds of my mind returned to roost, and I began to think many things at once. How old was this girl? Does she speak English well? I need somebody who can keep pace with my conversations. Is she LDS? Having religion in common is important to me. But I had no idea how or even IF I could ask such questions in that circumstance. Instead, I began to blush, then managed to say I wasn’t ready for that yet, but I thanked her for her kindness.

Over the weekend I spent a lot of time thinking about this event. What I decided was that, although the things I initially worried about were legitimate, the truth is that I couldn’t believe somebody thought I was worthy to be offered as a potential mate. I didn’t feel impressive enough yet. I had more more books to write, more money to make, more possessions to acquire!

It’s true that I’m so used to ADHD and being subpar compared to peers that I’m used to failure and other people’s disappointment. Yet this moment was the complete opposite. This dear lady thought I was good enough for formal courtship, and the experience terrified me.

This past weekend showed me that I have forgotten some of the lessons I taught myself over the years to love myself and not get down on myself. I was looking through the glass darkly, seeing only the negative. In fact, I was so convinced that I was unworthy for marriage, I couldn’t believe what was happening was truly happening.

This has both bemused and disappointed me. How many people get an actual arranged marriage proposal? Yet there I was worried only about how many unfinished projects I had! As I move through this week representing myself, I will make special effort to quiet the negative critic who resides within my head. Success is built upon realistic assessments of our skills and a positive belief in our potential, not on negative opinions based on fear.

~Dˢ

Beating Off Depression with Distractions

Comorbid is an icky word. Say it with me. “Ko-’Mor-Bid”. It means people with mental health issues usually have to carry more than one condition on their backs. I lug around ADHD, Major Depressive Disorder, and Adult Tourette’s. It’s a lot of fun, and you should see the muscles on my legs. Atlas would be jealous.

Last Saturday, Tourette’s was the issue that ruled my day. I had so much work to be done, including posting an article on this blog, but instead I was in slow motion. Everything was harder to do than usual—as it usually is when my brain feels as if popcorn was leaping to life underneath it. Tourette’s triggers boredom and frustration, which my ADHD self has a low tolerance for, and I wasn’t accomplishing what I needed to accomplish, so depression was starting to press in.

By the beginning of the evening, I knew my day was doomed unless I did something about it. I had boosted my protein intake to help reduce the ticking, but my depression was still strong. Distraction was in order. In moderation, distraction can be a very effective coping strategy for fighting depression. Here’s what I did.

I posted a creative photo of Utah’s recent snowfall. (Creativity helps offset depression.) It was a small step, but it felt like an enormous wall. Then I added new commentary on an old Facebook memory. (I considered it a warmup exercise. It is also creative, which helps boosts endorphins.) This was another small step forward, but it came easier than the first step. Next, I wrote a critique of Facebook’s recent news filtering initiative by pointing out how ludicrous their friend algorithms are. (Now I was cooking and thoroughly distracted.) That post earned a negative comment from a reader for it’s randomness. Inspired by the rebuttal, I also posted a wacky Star Wars fangirl video by a local mayor taking office. Now that was random. And weird. Wow. What a strange video. Lastly, throwing caution to the wind, I opened a discussion on how Facebook would decide which political side of the government shutdown was fake news.

Then I got to work. The depression was abated. My ticking had faded. None of my friends showed up as planned that evening, so I suddenly had time for more productivity. We can leave discussions of how pathetic I must be to be happy to work on a Saturday night with no romantic prospects for another time.

The one regret I had for the evening was tearing apart on Twitter an article about gender dominance in picture books. The journalist of the article from England engaged me—which proved to be a very informative conversation—but because it takes so much effort to mentally function when ticking, diplomacy often falls by the wayside. I usually try to avoid polemic discussions, but didn’t that evening. I didn’t post anything that was irate or hateful, but I wonder if the journalist was as excited to read my glib insights as I was in typing them.

What I didn’t do that evening was clear out my brand new paper pile monstrosity, or write a book, or finish research for my Pokémon book. I didn’t even watch TV or read a book for entertainment. Social media and freelance work took up my time. If I were to do the evening again, assuming I can have precense of mind when ticking, I would set a timer for each event, and limit my social media to one platform. Facebook would have been enough. I, also, read far too much news, so that distraction needed to be reined in as well. However, I did successfully fight off depression, which would have robbed me of several days of productivity if I had let it take root. That was my focus.

Sometimes our solutions aren’t perfect, which is why I’m sharing this with you. I don’t have a solid grip on my mental health issues. I can’t snap my fingers and make them go away. It is a constant battle, and it consumes so much time. However, by experimenting and analyzing, we can hone in on the solutions that work best for us. Don’t let yourself get discouraged, and take the small victories where you can. Comorbidity can be very difficult to deal with. You need a positive attitude to keep up the fight.

~Dˢ
⁂

If you need some ideas on coping strategies, you should read my book on fighting suicidal depression.

Another Pot Slaughtered in the Name of ADHD




I may need to change my name to Douglas Cootey, Pot Assasin. I’m not sure who drew first blood years ago, or why we battle in the kitchens of my life, but for decades we have vied for dominance. I must admit it is not usually the fairest of fights. The pot is striving to fulfill its destiny, sitting on a burner, heating the contents inside. Then I come along and slay it.

The worst incidents usually involved ramen or eggs with smoke detectors going off, but the absolute worst was the time when I set water to boil, became distracted in my studio, and came out of my reverie when strange pinging sounds began to irritate me. The water had long boiled away and nothing was left but for the pan’s bottom to return to its molten state on my burner. In every case, Adult ADHD was totally at fault, I promise. I set out to cook, then became woefully distracted.

This stuff was ancient history, though—far back in the 90s. I’m not a clueless tweenager anymore. I am conscientious and careful when cooking. I cook and bake everyday with no disastrous incidents. Well, except that one time soon after the divorce where I boiled eggs so long the water evaporated and the shells popped off the toasted eggs, but that was six years ago. And who doesn’t overbook eggs after a divorce‽ If failure is the furnace in which we are made, then I am the world’s greatest chef!

Then ADHD struck again. I was making pudding for the next day. (See? I’m super organized!) The ingredients were lined in a chronological row, the measuring cups and cooking utensils were set neatly by the stove, I turned the burner on, placed the pot on the burner with the confidence of a surgeon lifting a scalpel, then became distracted talking to somebody in the other room. Just like that, another pan slaughtered.

Look, I know what you’re thinking. I am likely a candidate for eternal takeout, but that sounds like defeat. Besides, burning a pan once a decade means that there are 3649 days of brilliant success in between disasters! I also console myself that I removed the pan before the nonstick coating heated to ash. After a rigorous scrub, the uniform heat coating on the bottom was only burned away in a few places. Although it is true that I had to replace the pan since it wasn’t mine, and now I have a shiny new pan with a blackened bottom—all the rage this year—nothing caught on fire, no smoke detectors went off, the house wasn’t burned to the ground, and the next pan helped me make the most delicious batch of tapioca pudding. That every bite of the pudding had the smallest aftertaste of failure was only the merest of setbacks.

Generally speaking, I make light of these ADHD glitches because dwelling on them invites depression and low self-esteem. This time, however, my ego felt bruised afterwards. First of all, there were witnesses, which never helps, but also, it wasn’t my pan to ruin. So I made a new batch of pudding, added “Replace Pan” to my ToDo list, restored my good graces by following through on replacing the pan the following day, then wrote this blog. Consider this article my confession. My ADHD sins are now absolved.

With ADHD, mistakes are going to happen. We don’t need others chastising or mocking us. We put ourselves down enough when we screw up over and over again. Such stupid mistakes, baffling gaffes, and flamboyant stumbles! Sometimes it seems as if no amount of preparation and caution will prevent them. My best advice is to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, make restitution, and move forward. ADHD may be a life sentence, but it doesn’t have to be a punishment.

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