CIADHD

CIADHD

I grasp, to some degree, the mysterious world of sleeper agents. Let me break it down for you. Living life diagnosed with authentic ADHD, I’ve wandered through days, even weeks, without medication. And let’s be clear—this was way before the modern shortage of Adderall took center stage. Why? Well, blame it on ADHD.

So what’s the experience like, you ask? Picture this: reverting back to your regular meds after a long pause feels like an uncanny blend of movie magic and reality. Think of secret agents on-screen, stripped of their memories but equipped with hidden clues to resume their missions.

Because, trust me, once those meds hit your system, you’re in for a wild ride. You unearth, stumble upon, or get nudged towards something—a fact, an action, an object—completely alien to you. I’m not talking about ‘forgetting,’ where your memory just lapses. No, this is real-deal ignorance. You’re absolutely clueless about its very existence.

And let’s squash any misconceptions: this is not a wild night you can’t remember. It’s not a Bruce Banner or Larry Talbot situation where you turn back to your normal self, only left with fragmented memories of chaos. Instead, you discover a minute yet meaningful act, thoughtfully and deliberately executed. By you. Yes, you.

For instance, take my own tale. Days ago, I was frantically searching for an SD card packed with critical data. My family can vouch for it. My vague memory said I shoved it in my shirt pocket, all the while thinking, “What a ridiculous place for something so valuable! It’ll either end up washed or lost.” Time ticked by as I scoured my space, desperate to find this high-value, high-speed card, knowing the odds of backup were laughably low. Why? Ah, the loop of ADHD.

Fast-forward to yesterday. Picture me at the gym, in the locker room, donning my gym gear, medicated and mindful. And what happens? I flip open my earbud case, and there it is—the long-lost SD card.

See, those navigating the maze of unmedicated ADHD are just as capable; our thoughts just bounce too rapidly for even us to crystallize them into memories. But some of us—those seasoned navigators—hold onto a fleeting awareness that our future selves will fret, will retrace, will agonize. And for them, we pause. We help.

So, here’s a nod to you, alternate self. You rocked it. But now, do us both a favor—invest in a proper media case and, for heaven’s sake, meet the clothes hamper, will you?