Page 23

Growing Sideways by Noah Kahan

“So, how have you been since our last few meetings? I know reaching where we did last time might have been tough for you.”

What a loaded question. I guess most of them here are—it is therapy, after all.

“Uhm,” I say as I grab my necklace, needing it to ground me as I think about what happened after our last session. “I’m not really sure how to describe what I felt after it.”

“Take your time,” she says to me. “Last session was a lot at once, and it’s perfectly normal to experience whatever you did after you left my office.”

Normal. Yeah, because normal is getting diagnosed with Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder, leaving your therapist's office, then going home and rearranging your entire apartment. I spent hours moving every single piece of furniture I owned, trying to make sure it was all the way I wanted it. I didn't sleep. I didn’t make dinner. I couldn’t slow down.

I needed the control back. I needed my mind to stop racing.

On the bright side, I built my new bookshelf that had been sitting in the box for months.

“I rearranged my entire apartment.”

She scribbles some things down in her notebook before she waits for me to say more.

“A few days after, I felt…foggy. I floated through work, and I could barely sleep at night because I couldn't clear the clouds from my thoughts.”

For the first time this session, I look my therapist, Dr. Elyse, in the eye, and I’m met with a neutral expression, a hint of sympathy in her voice so far this session.

She’s only a few years older than I am, and my decision to come see her has been the most terrifying jump I’ve ever made in my life.

If my younger self could see me here in England, willingly talking to a therapist after getting a diagnosis we’ve been waiting our entire lives for, she would probably roll her eyes and make a joke about it.

“Those are all completely normal reactions, Amelia. You were just given a diagnosis, so your brain was searching for a semblance of control. That fogginess you felt has been with you your entire life, at least from what I remember from a few of our earlier sessions.”

“I still haven't been able to sleep,” I whisper under my breath. “Part of me feels like an idiot for not knowing about this before now. When you told me my diagnosis it felt like the carpet was ripped out from underneath me, but looking back, it all makes sense, I guess.”

“Hindsight is tough, especially with mental health. Some people go through a denial phase. Others feel relief to finally have a name for what they’ve been struggling with. It seems like you were somewhere in the middle.”

I scoff. “I guess you could call it that.”

“Well, would you think of it as something else?”

“I’d call myself an idiot.”

“And why is that?” She scribbles some more things down.

“Because I always assumed these idiosyncrasies I had were personality quirks, but apparently, there’s a reason for why I am the way I am.”

“Most of the time there is, Amelia.”

“Oh, so everyone is just walking around with an undiagnosed mental illness?”

She tilts her head at me as her note-taking stops. “That’s a generalization. Not everyone, but more people than we know.”

I take a sip from my water bottle, my throat suddenly dry.

“How do you feel now as you sit in front of me? Did you think about what we talked about?”

I take a deep breath as tears filter into my eyes. “Do you want the truth?”

“I never want anything else from you, Amelia.”

“I feel like a failure. I feel angry at myself for not seeing the signs sooner. I feel like there’s so much regret swimming through my body when I look back at all the decisions I’ve made.”

“Why is that?”

“Because it doesn't feel like me who made those decisions anymore. It feels like my brain and the chemical imbalance inside of it is who has always been calling the shots. I don’t know where that ends and I begin. I don’t feel in control anymore. ”

“You are not your diagnosis. I need you to know that this is the first step in creating a healthy routine and managing your symptoms.” She crosses her legs in her chair and shuffles around before handing me a tissue box.

“With the right treatment, you’ll feel more in control.

I can’t promise our first attempt will be the right one for you, but that’s the nice thing about treatment.

We can figure out what works best for you and your brain because a diagnosis isn't a one size fits all.”

I nod, unable to say much of anything. I know I can’t leave this untreated, but it’s going to be a long, hard road trying to reframe the mindset I’ve had for my entire life.

I thought admitting I needed help was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but that doesn't even come close to the work Dr. Elyse and I are going to do in the future.

“I guess part of me does feel a little relieved,” I say as I blow my nose.

“That’s wonderful, Amelia.” More scribbles in her notebook.

“I really thought I was just a horrible person by making impulsive decisions like I did, not being able to hold relationships for too long.”

“I don’t think you’re a horrible person, Amelia. But don’t use this diagnosis to rationalize behavior that isn't healthy. You’re going to have to put in the work with me to try and properly treat this. Is that something you’re ready for?”

I nod, swallowing to try and help my dry throat.

“Good.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” She closes her notebook and rests her hands on it.

“Why has it always been so difficult for me to do the simplest things? I mean, it’s always been difficult for me to answer text messages or emails, and oftentimes, I forget about them until it’s been days or weeks and answering would just be rude at that point.

But sometimes, even something as simple as doing the dishes felt like…

Well, it felt like there was an invisible barrier in front of me that only came down when it wanted to.

And why is my memory so terrible? Why can’t I re member the simplest of things?

Are all these questions I have about myself able to be answered through my diagnosis? ”

“Well, some of those things can be explained. Some people with your diagnosis experience situations similar to yours. Others are different. It’s not a one size fits all kind of thing.

People often underestimate how difficult it is to simply wake up every day and live.

With the amount of decisions, interactions, and about a thousand other factors that we go through every single day, it almost feels like a miracle we have time for other things, for other thoughts, for other feelings.

When you add a diagnosis on top it, it’s astounding how we as humans can be so resilient in the state of brain fog, or the highest highs and lowest lows. ”

I take in what she’s saying as she continues.

“Amelia, your brain spends all day trying to keep up with everything it’s taking in.

It’s a lot for your mind to handle, and after spending all day on high alert at work or school or what have you, when you’re out of those situations, you have nothing left to give because you used it all.

Your brain works differently, and that’s okay.

Give yourself the space to really try and understand that, and don’t beat yourself up about the past.”

I can’t help the tears from pouring out. They’ve barely stopped since I walked out of this office last time, and finally having a reason to why I am the way that I am feels like a breath of fresh air.

I’m not broken.

I’m not a mess who just needs to work harder to get herself together.

I’m not someone who needs to work on her time management skills better.

I’m not lazy and unmotivated like my parents used to think I was as a kid.

And I’m not just forgetful.

I’ve barely been surviving. I’ve been giving all that I can, and I’m recognizing it’s okay to have been doing that, since it’s all I was able to do.

There’s something wrong with my brain, and after two decades of assuming I would grow out of it, I finally have a name for it.

I finally know why I’m like this. This doesn't erase all the horrible stuff I’ve done, but it can help me figure out how to fix it going forward.

This is the first step in the right direction, and I’m going to take it.

I’m going to put in the work to manage this, and then maybe I can work on building back the relationships I lost.

The girls were the first people I wanted to call as soon as I found myself sitting on the floor of my apartment, furniture everywhere, crying my eyes out all by myself.

Then, I had another reason to tack onto my mental list of why I need to put the work in, of why I need to rely on the help from Dr. Elyse and whoever else she might bring in to help me through this.

And she’s right. I’ve come to understand a lot about myself and my life over the past year. I thought being a kid was hard. I could never wait until I was grown up so I could be an adult and people would take me seriously.

But that isn't how it is at all. I’ve started realizing being an adult is doing your usual routine no matter how you’re feeling.

If you’re happy, sad, depressed, struggling, you still have to wake up every day, go to work, and pretend everything is fine.

The worst part is, you realize everyone is doing that all the time.

It’s not just you; it’s everyone. We’re all just masks floating through the world trying our best when we ourselves don’t feel like we’re doing enough.

Being an adult feels like having a never-ending to-do list where you check off something, and four more tasks pop up. It’s exhausting, and everyone is going through it, whether they’re aware of it or not .

It’s so fucking hard, and I’ve been struggling my entire life. Now, I have an explanation, if I can call it that. It isn't a miracle that’s going to fix all my problems and issues, but it is a start to figuring out what works best for me going forward.

Maybe things won’t be as bad once I figure it out, but the road to get there isn’t going to be easy. I’m going to have to wake up every day and work at this, even when I can’t bear to get out of bed.

“Amelia? Are you alright? Our session is almost over.”

I’m jolted back to reality as I look at Dr. Elyse. “Sorry. I got a little lost in my thoughts for a second.”

“That’s okay. What were you thinking about?”

“I was thinking about where we go from here,” I say as I grab my necklace. “Can you explain to me what that looks like?”

She smiles at me as she opens her notebook back up. “Of course I can. First things first, we’re going to continue our sessions. Routine is important going forward. I really think a set one could help, but we can tweak what works and what doesn't.”

“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath.

“And this might be an unpopular opinion in the medical community, but medication really is the best path forward most of the time.”

“Why is that unpopular?”

“Well, medication isn't a one size fits all, kind of like a diagnosis, but in your case, I think it could really help.”

“You do?” I ask, nerves starting to settle into my body, my foot bouncing of its own accord.

“Yes. There’s a chemical imbalance in your brain, Amelia, and medication can work to fix that.”

I nod, unsure how to feel about all this. “So I’ll be medicated for the rest of my life?”

“Most likely, yes. Symptoms might lessen as you get older, but it’s not a guarantee. How is this making you feel? ”

“Terrified. I feel like I’ve been going through the motions for my entire life, and to fix what’s been wrong with me, I have to take medication every day. I guess I’m struggling with the fact that I can’t fix myself, and I’ll be like this forever.”

“It’s normal to feel that way. Medication is not a cure, though, Amelia. It helps, sure, but the real work comes from you.”

“But what if the person I am when I’m medicated is different from who I really am? What if I don’t really know who I am, and I’m going to meet a new version of myself I don't recognize? What if I lose who I thought I was and become someone I don’t know when I look in the mirror?”

“Amelia, stop the spiral and come back to the present for me,” Dr. Elyse coaxes.

“You know who you are. Medication isn't going to change that, but it’s going to help your brain balance out. It’s going to help the fog clear.

It’s going to help to keep you focused when your brain normally wants to divert itself. Trust me on this.”

“I’m scared,” I admit as her timer goes off, tears streaming down my face. Everything is going to change, and I’m terrified I might not be strong enough for it.

“It’s okay to be scared,” she tells me. “It’s going to be a lot of change, and at first, it’s going to be weird and tough and terrifying, but that’s normal.

And you know you can always text or call me in between our weekly sessions.

I’m always available for you, especially during this time of change. ”

She scribbles something down on a piece of paper before she hands it to me.

“I’ve called in a prescription for you at a local pharmacy.

It’s fifteen milligrams of Adderall. This is your starting dose that we’re going to try out for a little bit.

I want you to journal your thoughts every day, and at your next appointment, we’re going to talk about how it’s helped your symptoms. We’ll adjust from there if we need to, okay? Does that seem alright to you?”

I sit with her instructions before I take my journal out and write what she said down—another thing she’s suggested I try. I’ve been keeping a journal on me, writing down notes to keep my brain on track, and so far, it’s been working well.

“I can do that.”

She grabs my hand as we get up and head for the door. “Yes, you can, Amelia. You can do this.”