Dealing with myself

Having a dual diagnosis of ADHD and OCD is difficult, to say the least. While some would question a classification of mental illness for what used to be considered behavioral and/or parenting issues, having had to deal with it all my life, I would not. I suppose it would be different if what I dealt with was debilitating and obvious. My greatest struggle is that, for all outward appearances, I appear to a completely well adjusted, normal middle-aged man in full control of all my faculties. I have no outward ticks or physical abnormalities; I do not speak pedantically or with darting, furtive eyes; I do not laugh at awkward moments, or cry for no apparent reason. I come across as intelligent, thoughtful, and sensitive. I am well spoken and understand, to a greater or lesser extent, politics, economics, current events and happenings, and am gaining a deeper understanding of my place in the world, and my relationship with God. I care deeply about humanity in general, and have learned to be a good friend, husband, and father. Yet, so much of that comes at the great cost of the demanding and tiring maintenance necessitated by the requisite to maintain a bearing that reflects the normalcy demanded by the social order. As I struggle to deal with severe ADHD, accompanied by clinical depression, and OCD, accompanied by anxiety, this travail is seldom seen by others, though rarely is it less than just below the surface.

When the cost of maintenance becomes too great, the façade begins to crack, and people begin to experience a cognitive dissonance, as what they have come to understand about me is brought into question, and they begin to see something in me that does not match the carefully crafted persona I have fashioned through years of painstaking and deliberate construction. Worse still, there are times when the safeguards I have put into place to insulate others from my ‘eccentricities’ falter, and I unintentionally subject others to either my manic good nature, or my frustration, spilling out as flashes of irritation, and, sadly enough for a teacher of impressionable children, sarcasm and cynicism. While the latter is less likely to occur, it does happen occasionally. Oddly, if it happened all the time, people would become used to it and would be able to discount it as ‘there he goes again.’ However, when it is only the occasional break in an otherwise positive demeanor, it can be confusing, disconcerting, and cause for concern. While I know what is going on, as do those who are close to me and privy to my thoughts and peccadilloes, others do not have the same inside knowledge. For those, I can occasionally present as a man divided against himself, double-minded, and erratic. I am none of these; but without an intimate understanding of my inner workings, what else can those outside my inner circle surmise? While I used to do so, I no longer have the temerity to judge them. What they perceive is someone out of balance; and for most people, perception is truth.
I have the great desire to insulate others from myself, but I cannot. I have to earn a living. For me, that means teaching thirteen- and fourteen-year olds American history. Interacting with impressionable middle school students can offer a difficult and complex situation for someone dealing with both ADHD and OCD,. Still, it is what I do; it is what I want to do; it is what I feel called to do. I am a gifted storyteller, able to integrate enthusiasm with history, fact with fascination. I have learned to bring history alive, and, when I am right with myself, there are few who do it better. I do not say these things easily or lightly, and I have learned to use them to the fullest of my ability. However, when I am struggling through the miasma that sometimes breaks over the levees I have carefully maintained, the unwary and uninitiated can get wet. Of greatest concern to me is when the breakwaters are breached and I am initially caught unaware. That is frightening to someone whose professional career depends on dependability, and is contingent on a stable and consistent deportment.

Fear is a great motivator and educator; it can, in a normal and ordered individual, cause one to seek redress and learn valuable lessons from mistakes made. In those who have spent an average of seventeen years hiding their disability from others (in the case of OCD) before initial diagnosis and treatment (and been successful most of the time), and dealt with ADHD for most, if not all of their lives, fear can cause one to seek better ways of hiding; we have understood that, though we are experts at learning from our mistakes, we often continue to make them. While it is humiliating and frustrating to us, it can come off to others as recalcitrant or resistant behavior; I only wish that were so, as that is something I could chose to bring to an end.