“Getting it together” with my boys Zol and Addie

A thank you letter to my meds

A couple of months ago, I had the idea to write a “gratitude note” to my meds as though they were characters in my life. I wanted to give some sense of how I functioned before and after, side effects, and my particular social location — including the fact that I am fortunate to be living in Canada, where health care costs for the recipient are minimal. I hope some of my readers find this useful.

I am not offering medical advice, and anyone who wonders if these medications may be helpful should consult a physician. I am okay with describing how these two marvellous concoctions have affected my life.

Dear Zoloft (“Zol”) and Adderall (“Addie”),

Boys, I gotta tell ya — you’ve changed my life. I’ve needed you since I was four years old, and now here you are, making my life better. I think we’re lucky we both know Dr. Harriott; he listened well enough to know we needed to be introduced!

Technically, I’m taking your generic versions — probably less expensive for the government that way, given that I live in Canada, a place with socialized medicine and universal health care — but I can’t see how that makes any negative difference. I wanted to share with you how much you’ve added to this gay boy with cerebral palsy’s life since the COVID-19 pandemic started.

Zol, you’re the sneakier one…it takes you several days — up to two weeks, I’m told — to gather yourself, to really open up. But within about five days, you and I were good friends!

For the first time in my life since I was four years old, there is silence between my thoughts, there’s no longer the constant buzzzzzzzz of “Something is wrong, what is it?” (And now I have a name for this strangeness: clinical anxiety.)

I’m also more tuned in to what my body is doing — my anxiety is a physical thing, not just cognitive. I notice much better, now, when my heart beats faster; when I start cursing under my breath for no good reason; when even what I’m wearing feels wrong somehow and is provoking physical discomfort.

I am quiet enough, now, to know when something is really heavy on my heart, and the joys I feel are less frantic. I feel clearer spiritually now, too — I like to say it feels like there’s less “static” in my connection to God. Even my sexuality feels more manageable: I used to get worried that I was “too horny” — I’m not saying it makes sense! — but now that you’re around, I realise that anxiety affects how I experience my sexuality, too. Now it’s just as much fun, just as intimate, but I feel more balanced and less impulsive.

My doc did warn me about one thing: most guys who hang out with you find that that hike of physical intimacy, alone or with another(s), reaches the typical peak experiences much less often, and with much greater effort. It’s mostly fine; after all, I live with a mobility impairment, and sometimes if I’m on a day trip with friends, it will be at a slower pace and with less “ease” than might be typical for them, just because I’m there.

But let me put it this way: I’m so glad you don’t need me to go hiking any less, even if the usual summit is out of reach some days (my partner thanks you, too)! I might get slightly annoyed with you — just because I miss the days when I could reach the peak at will — but if that’s the only thing that bugs me about you, I’d say we’re doing pretty well, more than a year into our friendship!

Addie, my friend! I know your style is to show up at the party right away, extrovert that you are. I’m glad you’re okay being available in multiple dosages — people need to figure out how much of you they can stand! Sometimes, I notice that I’ll chew my lip more, or feel a little itchier than normal. (My partner says you provoke “body-focused repetitive behaviors.” Fair enough, and for me, they are not major.) Given that you’re kinda boisterous, I notice that when you’re in my system I often have ringing in my ears — probably because of slightly elevated blood pressure.

But for all your minor annoyances, Addie-boy, I gotta say: you’re pretty much the best personal assistant or care worker ever. So many times in my life I would wonder if I was lazy, stupid, or crazy because things just weren’t firing on all cylinders, somehow:

• Why did I forget that bill, again?
• Why is it so hard to complete tasks like cleaning my room, and why did my parents think my organization sucked so bad?
• Procrastination means I’m a weak person, doesn’t it?
• Do my thoughts always have to move this fast?
• Do I really interrupt people (or try to finish their thoughts) as much as they say I do?

You know as well as I do, my friend, that you were only authorized to show up for me because I had a problem with ADHD that all of the well-meaning adults in my life missed. Did I ever tell you that story?

Dr. H. sent me a one-page evaluation: In response to the following statements, mark how often they fit your experience over the last six months or longer. Well, ok, let’s go. I think there were 14 or 15 statements, and about halfway down, I started to think, “I have rarely felt so well-understood.” I finished the page, and when my guy came in the door and hugged me — I started bawling. I definitely have ADHD, and in technical speak, the way you help me out, it feels like I have a lot more of my executive function than I ever expected. You, my friend, are finally helping my brain “play fair.”

What do you know: I am not lazy, stupid, or crazy! Thank you so much.

Boys, I gotta tell ya — you’ve both changed my life so much, and so much for the better!

The one thing I often feel sad about is how long I — and all the adults around me — missed the fact that I live with clinical anxiety and ADHD. In other words, I missed so many chances, from early on in life, to meet you lovely lads. But I feel so grateful for my partner — fist-bump him or give him a hug next time you see him, yeah?— who let me know that what I was feeling was real, that it was manageable, that it wasn’t primarily a moral problem but had physical (and ancient) roots — as deep down, in fact, as my first conscious memories.

I guess, some days, I’m still grieving that we only became friends during the last two years. I can only imagine, at 41 years old, how much of my life would have been different with you around, and with better names for the alleged monsters, I was found under the bed and in my head but couldn’t find words to describe.

But because of you two, at 41, I’m “getting it together” in ways I never expected. Thank you for showing up — you’ve done me a solid. I know that lots of people have legitimate issues with where you boys live — in the Big Pharma complex — but to me and to so many others living with mental health issues and invisible disabilities, you’ve been a steadying presence, a big boost to our functioning and confidence, and even (don’t let it go to your head, ok?) a Godsend. I probably have half my life left to spend with you, and as wise heads often say, “Better late than never.”

My hat’s off to you, boys. Zol and Addie, thank you for everything you have added to my life. We’re a good team, and I hope and pray you’ll continue to help so many others as you’ve helped me.

Love, Robbie