More pieces to the puzzle.

Like many adult Americans, during the pandemic I was diagnosed with ADHD.  I started taking adderall and it was absolutely fantastic.  Not only could I really do what I call "fire on all cylinders" but I also was able to function on a level that I felt was more in an "adult" capacity.   I know, whatever that means, right?  

I feel it's not necessarily an "adult" stage.  What does adult mean anyway?  (Great, now I have to google the actual definition of adult... hang on, be right back.).  Okay, Mr. Google says an adult is a person who is fully grown or developed.  I may be fully grown, but I don't necessarily think that I'm fully developed.  

Think about that - fully developed.  If we're fully developed, we are living in a state of status quo- nothing changes. What fun is that.  I'm still, at the age of 45 (and staring down the barrel of 46), developing.  Do I share the characteristics of a mature mammal, being able to bear and having born children, yes. But the definition of adult as a verb?  Which, btw, according to google is "behave in a way characteristic of a responsible adult, especially by accomplishing mundane but necessary tasks."  Or, "adulting" as it were. Can I accomplish mundane and necessary tasks?  Yes.  Do I necessarily want to?  No.  This brings about the question in my brain: am I necessarily an adult by not completing the necessary mundane tasks and just ignoring that part of my brain?  

I swear, I'm going somewhere with this.  I PROMISE.  Just stick with me, this is all about figuring stuff out.  Which is growing.  It's developing.  

By the definition given a person must be fully developed in order to be considered an adult.  I don't feel like I'm fully developed.  Maybe physically I am, but mentally?  I am still figuring stuff out.  I'm still figuring me out.  Almost daily (certainly weekly) I learn something new about myself.  Take yesterday for example.... wait.  Sorry, adhd.  I gotta go back to that for a minute. 

Yes, I was diagnosed with ADHD.  Last year I was diagnosed as being on the autism spectrum.   It was like everything all of a sudden made sense.  The fact that I am as easy to read as a picture book, emotional dysregulation, shutting down when I'm really upset.   The bursts of exuberance and excitement.  Everything made so much sense.  It was like a door that had been locked... I was finally given the key to unlock it.  Walking through that door was like the scene in The Wizard of Oz when the farm house crashes down in Oz, Dorothy opens the door and her grey scale world becomes technicolor.   

I would have to call it "shockabuku."  It was a swift, spiritual kick to the head that alters your reality forever.  Kacy and I picked the saying up from the movie Grosse Pointe Blank.  I actually think it's from a Buddhist term, but that's another rabbit hole that we're not going to go down right now.  

I've been slowly unpacking things through therapy for the past year, learning more and more about myself.  This is why I don't think I feel like an adult.  I know, I'm 45.  I'm technically an adult.  Physically, I'm there.  In fact, I'm a little more than there.  I'm middle-aged.  Mentally?  I ain't fully cooked yet.  Why would I mentally want to be an adult?   Can I pay my bills? Yes.  Can I function within society?  Of course!  I am fully capable of doing all of the adult things, but I feel like I'm not necessarily a grown up.  

This past week, I learned something new about being on the autism spectrum.  There is this term, alexithymia.  The easiest way to explain it is having difficulty understanding and describing your emotions.  Add anxiety into that and it makes me feel really bad.   I can't count the number of times that I have said to people "I don't have the vocabulary to describe how I'm feeling."  Come to find out, just this past week, there's a term for it!  It's actually estimated that 1 in 10 people (neuro-spicy and neuro-typical alike) deal with alexithymia.  It's more common in autistic people (they think 1 in 5) and it is also more common with people with depression as well.  

I have no trouble showing my emotions, but I have certainly had moments where I didn't quite know how I felt, how to describe what I was feeling let alone understanding what I was feeling.  I remember as a kid (and as a teenager too), my Dad would ask me why I did something or what was the matter with me and I would respond with "I don't know."  He would get upset with me and say: "I don't know isn't an answer."  Now, I understand that it is a perfectly good answer!  I didn't know how to express myself!  It wasn't that I didn't have the vocabulary, it was that I just couldn't figure out how to explain it.   It's not just all about mental stuff, though.   

Researching alexithymia I found out that autistic people can struggle to understand physical symptoms, too.  For example, changes in heart rate or a rush of adrenaline.  That can make us feel overwhelmed and make anxiety much worse.  It explains why I don't like crowds that much.   It makes it more difficult to regulate our emotions.  One of my cousins used to tease me that I would throw tantrums and scream "I don't want to!"  This was an autistic meltdown.  I was overwhelmed and I couldn't express myself any other way than to "throw a tantrum."   It also explains to me why I also always tested horribly because my anxiety would go next level.  I learned to deal with the test thing by just turning my brain off, generally not doing very well on them (unless it was a subject I was absolutely passionate about and then I would do perfectly fine).  

I opened the door and I got a few more pieces to put in the puzzle that is me.  I find it fascinating.  I also hope I never grow up because what fun is that?  Maybe you have it all figured out as an adult, but I know I don't and I'm okay with that.  It doesn't make me less of a person.  It just makes me more introspective.  It makes me want to learn more not just about myself but the world around me.