Stuck in the grips of ADHD paralysis

"It genuinely feels as though I am in a prison and all I can do is wait to be let out."

Hello fellow human,

In this week’s letter, I want to try to put into words what the days where I feel ‘stuck’ feel like. The days where I’m not feeling overstimulated, but I can’t move off the sofa. The days where I’m not feeling depressed, but I can’t think clearly enough to work. The days where I’m not burned out, but I don’t have the energy to do anything because the marching band playing in my head is sapping it all.

This week, I’ve been doing everything ‘right’. I’ve been getting lots of sleep, I’ve been going to the gym, I’ve been eating well, I’ve been taking my medication (though, notably not the ADHD medication that my psychiatrist told me I won’t be able to start for at least another three months because of the global shortages). And yet I have spent the first three days of this week, Monday to Wednesday, unable to do anything. I’ve been completely stuck.

Some days are like this, and I am learning to accept that. But being cognitively aware of what is happening doesn’t mean it is easy to process emotionally. Accepting this reality is acknowledging the years I have spent trying everything in my power, including extreme self-hatred, to make my brain do what I know it has to do for the day.

I always knew that the days I was burned out or depressed or overstimulated or emotionally dysregulated were difficult. I tried to go easy on myself and work out the root cause and how to feel better. But the days like this - the ones unpunctuated by nothing other than the sensation of being stuck in my own body and mind - were the days I didn’t allow myself to have compassion for myself. I couldn’t let myself find them difficult, because I had seemingly nothing to find difficult. Before I realised I had ADHD I put this down to a character flaw. I told myself I was ‘lazy’ and ‘stupid’. I used these descriptors to beat myself into doing things, and when that didn’t work (because often nothing does on these days), I would sink further into my shame spiral.

I am grateful to know that there is a reason why I have these days, and that they are objectively difficult. It makes the world of difference to understand, so that I can start to dismantle the internalised ableism that I built like a fortress within me. But the time between understanding and accepting can feel long and distressing. The frustration of cognitively getting it, but emotionally needing more time, is hard.

So, as to what it actually feels like. Well… the only word that I really feel compelled to use is ‘stuck’. And the lack of words, which usually come to me quite clearly (even if all at once) is exemplary. Feeling ‘stuck’ is being bombarded with all of the things I have to do (the laundry, the texts, the planning, the work) and the things I could do (the business ideas and the social plans) for the next five years all at once, without the ability to discern between them and therefore take action on any of them (no matter how small). My mind gets stuck, so my body gets stuck. And even if I manage to move my body, the mental stagnation doesn’t necessarily shift. It waits for me until I get home.

It genuinely feels as though I am in a prison and all I can do is wait to be let out. I know at some stage that this will pass and that I will be thrown into the depths of another drastically difference lived experience. I also know that I will probably deal with a week of emotional dysregulation as a result of not being able to keep up with my routines and structure (which as an autistic person I need to feel calm). But, for now, this is my reality. All I can do is try to adopt the coping skills I know help me to care for myself, do my best to stay away from those that don’t, reach out for support, and have compassion for myself.

I hope that, if you deal with this too, this letter brings you some comfort that you are not alone in the struggle.

Sending you so much love,

Charlie ♡