my mind (now) — Paris Paloma
#365Songs: February 17th
If you know me, at all, it’s likely you knew I had ADHD long before I did. No, seriously. That’s one of the things about ADHD: undiagnosed, over time, you reshape yourself for a world not built for you. For me, ADHD is a superpower in some expressions and a source of perpetual frustration in others. I’m masterful at multitasking, though that can sometimes be experienced by others as distraction — I can process a lot of information at once, and then piece it together into a (likely false) narrative. But I’m shit at executive functioning, at prioritizing tasks, at controlling the impulse to speak and buy that thing I don’t need right fucking now and finish what I started if someone hasn’t provided a very clear deadline.
To get a diagnosis later in life is to rethink a lot of parts of yourself, how you’ve been received by others, how you’ve processed and interacted with the world. One ADHD tendency is to apologize for everything, all the time — sorry if I do that to you, often — and that over time undermines your own intent. What was out of my control because I didn’t understand myself was the anxiety that subtext’ed every apology — I don’t know why I did that thing, and I’m sorry if you received it wrong. To be an empath with ADHD is to constantly worry how others are receiving you, and that comes at the expense of just being. It’s fucking exhausting.
What did I do wrong
Will you tell me
What I did wrong
What did I
What did I do wrong
Will you tell me
What I did wrong
What did I
And then there’s Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD), which I’ve recently learned about, too, and that’s been a whole thing I’ve had to wrap my head around. Here’s a good definition I stole — if AI can do it, so can I.
“RSD is extreme emotional sensitivity and pain triggered by the perception that a person has been rejected or criticized by important people in their life. It may also be triggered by a sense of falling short — failing to meet their own high standards or others’ expectations.”
So that feeling that felt like imposter syndrome, that way in which I fall apart when I fear I’ve disappointed someone, the intense despair that strikes when I find myself falling short of my own potential? Turns out, there’s a name for it. And I have it. I’m thrilled to know, now, but that sure could’ve been useful a thousand years ago. Life, as an artist, is a series of rejections — almost daily, as everything we do is subjective and everyone has opinions. So while I shrug off rejections — no we won’t publish you, this idea isn’t working, we hired someone else, this scene isn’t working, you didn’t receive the grant — they do aggregate over the course of a day a month a year a lifetime, and that feeling of failure bubbles up.
Another way to look at RSD is that those of us who have it tend to people please or just stop trying. I do both of those, too. It’s nice to know I do that, and now that I know I do it I can do something about it. Maybe. At least try.
What did I do wrong
Will you tell me
What I did wrong
What did I
What did I do wrong
Will you tell me
What I did wrong
What did I
Another surprise about ADHD, at least to me, is that it’s also an emotional dysregulatory disorder. Y’all know I’m emo as fuck, love my sad songs, but I also get overly enthusiastic and then push that shit at you hard (this song! that film! omg look at that flower!). That, plus impulse control, means I want you to hear see smell this thing but DO IT RIGHT FUCKING NOW.
What did I do wrong
Will you tell me
What I did wrong
What did I
What did I do wrong
Will you tell me
What I did wrong
What did I
Turns out, a whole lot of us have ADHD and don’t know it yet. Particularly women, who weren’t even considered for decades. In a neurotypical world built and controlled by men, it’s no surprise that neurodiverse women would be all but invisible. But these invisible rejections have consequences, particularly in a world come undone at the tail-end of a life-altering pandemic while we’re all ignited with perpetual tech-induced dopamine hits that trick our excessively-dopamine-deficient brains.
So what does this have to do with a pop song? Absolutely nothing. I have ADHD, after all, and this song triggered my lack of impulse control so I started writing, and then I began to wonder what others would think of this song, so I started to apologize in my head, and then the anxiety kicked in because what if you all don’t like it, and so I got sad for a moment but then OMG THIS SONG IS ACTUALLY GOOD SO LISTEN TO IT RIGHT NOW!
What did I do wrong
Will you tell me
What I did wrong
What did I
What did I do wrong
Will you tell me
What I did wrong
What did I
