I realize now I come by it honestly. One of the smartest people I know, Dad didn't finish high school until later in life when he earned his G.E.D. He'd spend hours, days or weeks on projects which rarely ever saw completion. Mom would often follow up with finishing touches, such as sewing curtains in lieu of doors on Dad's "custom" kitchen cabinets. He even built three-quarters of a sailboat which dominated the garage for a couple years before finally ending up as a spring bonfire. I don't know if the fire was Mom's idea, but I don't think she was upset to get her indoor parking space back.
But I'm only guessing at this point. Only a professional can diagnose and treat a condition like Adult ADD. That's why I see Dr. Bow Tie.
I shudder when I think that I almost chickened out of calling for an appointment when I was originally referred to him eight years ago. I consider taking that step of swallowing my pride and acknowledging I needed help as one of the smartest and strongest thing's I've ever done for myself. Dr. Bow Tie helped me make sense of a lifelong pattern of frustration, starting even before my kindergarten teacher told Mom that I'd never make it though school. (Fortunately this was balanced by other teachers who were more or less understanding and accommodating at helping me realize my potential.)
At Dr. Bow Tie's request, I had my sister send all my old report cards. Read in chronological order, I never realized the story they told. But Dr. Bow Tie wasn't surprised. He explained there's not a "cure" for ADD, but there are ways of accommodating. I learned how to play to my strengths and understand my weaknesses. I truly look as this experience as a turning point. I still see Dr. Bow Tie once a year. He calls me his "poster child" and, with my permission, he says he uses my story to help others.
Dr. Bow Tie is a cute older gentleman, his tidy office and fastidious dress is at odds with his wild white hair that calls to mind a gay Einstein. He's pretty much what you'd expect a psychiatrist to look like.
Okay, I do have a reason for telling this story. It's because I left Dr. Dilf's office last week with another newly diagnosed psychiatric condition added to my file. As I sat on the examination table, Dr. Dilf slowly and passive-aggressivley spoke what he was typing as he keyed it into his computer:
"Patient has a phobia of statin medications and is advised to seek counseling."