My British friend and quasi-ADHD coach SARA PERRY visited me from Spain this past June for her very first time. To borrow a British term, Sara was “gob-smacked.” She had never seen anything like it — that is, my cornucopia of supplements. Sara’s blue eyes widened in astonishment. Her face matched that W-T-F expression I normally reserve for my teen son. After a too-long pause, her mouth agape, she finally managed to eke out:
“Why…?”
Since my brain resembles a Lamborghini with bicycle brakes, I had no answer. ADHDers have a short-term memory deficit. I couldn’t remember why. At least, not with all of them. I sorta kinda remembered the GABA helped with something like anxiety… (I think? Or was it sleep?). My journey in finding solutions to feel like what I imagine normal people feel like can be a long and winding road…paved with supplements.
ADHD expert Dr. Russell Barkley calls ADHD “an intention disorder.” I do have the best of intentions. But minus my Vyvanse prescription, follow-through can be iffy.
I’ll just get this humiliation over with. Below are three of the five areas in my home with my supplement stashes. One stash was a massive box in the garage — an amalgamation of several years’ worth I’d had to move out the house to create more room for my latest experiment in must-have supplements. So what if it took up more garage space than our holiday ornaments?
“This is at least $5,000 wasted in vitamins!” my husband huffed as he tossed my treasure trove into the rented dumpster in our driveway. He ignored my panic-stricken face. Telepathically, I was screaming: “I might need those one day!”
Many of you reading this may have missed the news flash, but there’s this thing called “The ADHD Tax.” This is the extra $14,500+ my ADHD tribes pay yearly because of our intention disease. (That dollar figure is based on pre-Bidenomics studies.)
Here’s how the ADHD Tax plays out: we intend to use a product, return an item, or pay a bill, but ultimately, we forget. Or procrastinate until it’s too late. Then we pay the extra fees and penalties. Or create the wall of wastefulness like you’re seeing above. This creates a cycle of guilt, self-blame, anxiety, and depression. There are studies indicating that hoarding may be another comorbidity of ADHD. Color me unsurprised.
My next book, SIMPLIFY: One ADHD Patient’s Bold Plan to FIX THE ADHD Tax & Reduce Societal Chaos--slated for a Summer 2024 release date—will explore these issues and my creative solutions, including life hacks, mental reframes, and work-arounds for ADHDers.
But back to SUPPLEMENT-PALOOZA. They say a picture paints a thousand words, so here goes:
Now, let’s talk for a moment about ADHDers and pill taking. The long short?
We forget to.
This is where the short-term memory deficits are a real bitch.
Whenever I get a new prescription or supplement, I have to place the pill bottle at my spot on the kitchen table. If I don’t, I will not remember it. In ADHD world, anything out of sight is out of mind (the exception being pets and people).
I’ve had enormous stressors over the past 18 months — the deaths of two parents, settling an estate, a job change — triggering three shingles attacks (yes, I’ve taken the 3 rounds of ineffective shingles shots, but thank you for your helpful suggestion). The drug that staves off my shingles pain within an hour, Acyclovir, requires me to take 5 pills every 24 hours. With my touch of the ‘tis—I’m ever-so-slightly on the spectrum—I can be unquestioningly literal. This blind spot in my self awareness is maddening. So there I was, setting my alarm clock to take an Acyclovir pill in the middle of the night and disrupting my sleep until a nurse friend told me I could just take the five pills during waking hours. What a relief! (Despite the five reminder alarms I set on my phone, I still forgot a few dosages.)
When my pills are out of sight, they’re out of mind. But my husband was growing weary of seeing my pill bottles at my place setting. I was determined to find a compromise. I searched on Facebook Marketplace until I found one: an antique gaming table with drawers in it (as seen below). Ever the optimist, I thought, If I can just keep my pill bottles in the drawer and make it my Atomic Habit to look in there every morning, this will solve a lot problems!
I should add, I also love antiques…and shopping. Dopamine, dopamine, dopamine…so I bought this beauty:
Problem solved! Or so I thought. In less than 24 hours, my son and husband were staging their mutiny against my beloved new table with its Lilliputian table circumference.
To save my table from their ever-present threat of conversion to firewood, I was forced to improvise: I hid our dinner plates. They’re literally sitting in a storage unit an hour away right now. I forced my family to eat their meals on the right-sized-for-my-new-table salad plates.
My solution was not well received.
The leather-and-wood antique game table now sits in our three-season room. It’s directly in my sight line from my spot at the kitchen table — the bigger table — which has returned to its rightful place…along with my pill bottles.