I was diagnosed with ADD when I was 35 years old. I went to see my psychiatrist by referral due to my ongoing depression, and had no idea he was going to do anything other than listen to my sad stories and write a prescription for what I hoped was something to make the heavy stone I felt resting on my heart easier to bear. He asked a few random questions about my home life, my marital status, my kids about my work, and of course how “I felt about all that”.
I did what I always did. I rambled on. I guess (like I always do) I was trying to cram as much into my allotted hour as I could to paint the clearest picture of my life to him without leaving out any major or minor detail that could lead him down the wrong path of diagnosis. I told him about all my successful and unsuccessful jobs, even the jobs I tried out for only a few days before deciding to move on! I told him about my horrible home life as a child, about my loss of love as a grown up, and how my life lead me down the path I eventually followed. When I was done rambling an eerie quiet ascended over the room.
Now I never have been, or never will be uncomfortable with a quiet lull in a conversation, but this one felt… Continue reading