Bullseye Grace

What a storm today!

 No, not the weather.  How I wish it were that simple!

Whenever life gets too exciting, ADHD becomes such a beast.  Many days like this, I throw my hands up and tell God I can't take it another second.  "Dear God!  What am I supposed to do?!  This is too hard!"

Auntie Lorrie and James came to visit around the Fourth of July.  The ADHD flare up began before that visit.  Then, during the visit, as always, the symptoms screamed at us all, akin to a fire engine's siren, right as it overtakes.

Auntie Lorrie, for all her sweetness and patience, has trouble accepting Peter.  More and more each visit, I notice her reactions--each irritated sigh, each plea for him to stop, each look of disbelief.  It breaks my heart, even though I'm often just as irritated as my guests are.

Seeing the irritation of visiters reminds me of the uphill battle Peter has in gaining social acceptance.  Paul, his brother, is the most loyal, forgiving, accepting presence in his life.  Paul's tolerance astounds me sometimes.  Truly, he is an amazing example of God's grace.

And he doesn't even know it.  He only knows that he loves his brother and thinks he's fun.

That's not to say that he doesn't notice Peter's unacceptable behavior, or get irritated by it.  He does.  But he doesn't hold it against Peter.  He doesn't shout, complain, exasperate, roll his eyes, or comment.

Will that amazing grace change, I sometimes wonder, as they get older?

Like most ADHD kids, Peter lives in a selfish world.  When impulse control is missing, the sufferer resembles an irate toddler who wants what he wants...right now!  Forget the needs and desires of others.  They are rarely considered until it's too late, when the damage is already done.

At eight years old,  Peter no longer gets on the floor and shouts and pounds.  But he pursues.  With a shocking intensity.

For example, if he wants to go to the ice cream stop to look for monarch caterpillars, he talks about it non-stop, following the decision maker all around the house, pursuing.  Nothing will distract him.  Timeout will not deter him.  It may temporarily stop the pursuit, but once out, the verbal onslaught continues.  His mind focuses on just that one thing.  There is no ability to absorb the disappointment of a "no" answer.  Or a "wait" answer.

Everyone in the house suffers.  All joy deflates.

Lecturing about the extreme selfishness of the behavior does make Peter see his folly.  Then, he feels guilty for having made everyone miserable.  He knows the behaviors are unacceptable.  He feels unloved.  Unworthy.  Frustrated.  Angry, even.

But despite his remorse, he will continue to pursue the household regarding a trip to the ice cream stop.

At times, the behaviors seem evil--leading to hatred in those affected by the turmoil.  That sounds terrible, but if you had to live it, you'd understand.

Of course, we don't give in.  Our nos stand firm.  Our waits stand firm.

One might expect in a normal child that successive experiences like this will lead to greater self-control, over time, since the desired goal is never achieved.

But that's where the ADHD child is so different.  One of the hallmarks of the disorder is that the child ( or adult) does not learn from mistakes.

The very next time the child wants something, the same maddening sequence commences.

Another recurring difficulty involves occasions wherein the child is looking forward to a scheduled event, such as a visit from a relative, or a trip to pick berries, or a trip to the lake, or the arrival of Christmas, or the time for a cooking project to begin, such as the making of applesauce.

The child is so overwhelmed by his excitement over the event, that he asks repeatedly how long it is until the time comes to go, or to start.  The child knowing how to tell time doesn't help with this; the adults are still pursued to continually answer the "how long" question, despite attempts to ignore, or respond with "how long do you calculate it will be?"

Also, when the child is looking forward to something, it disrupts the normal activities of the day, leading up to the scheduled event.  School assignments are done sloppily, quickly, due to lack of focus.  The same with chores.  As the event gets closer, the child's frustration level grows, leading to recurring behavior problems, and to fatigue in other family members.

When an event finally arrives, and passes, Peter's brain doesn't then rest.  It craves more stimulation, which is why stimulant drugs work (as long as the side effects aren't too overwhelming).

Often, as soon as we're driving home from one event, Peter begins a verbal onslaught about the next one, if there's one scheduled--or he works to get one scheduled.  To his parents and to onlookers, this makes him seem like a bottomless pit of need and want--like the worst kind of spoiled child.  We can't ever satisfy him.

We can't ever truly rest, until he sleeps.

Currently, Peter's flare up is caused by Vacation Bible School, and by the fact that Lorrie's visit and VBS were only separated by one week.  This left no time for a return to equilibrium.

Time and again I conclude that living with an ADHD child means life must be exceedingly boring, and predictable, in order to be tolerable.

And yet, a boring existence isn't what God planned for us.  He gave us four seasons, so that change comes regularly.  He gave us seasons of life, wrought with joys and challenges, so that we are always growing, changing, adapting--so that we always have something to look forward to.  To what extent should we modify the natural course of life?  And how fair is that to our other children?

Now, what I describe here is a particular type of ADHD--the hyperactive/impulsive type, as opposed to the inattentive type, or the combined type.  My husband, in contrast, has the inattentive type, which means he will lose things, forget things, and have trouble organizing and prioritizing.  That is a whole other set of problems, which seems to lead to more workplace-related, or schoolwork-related issues, as opposed to social or behavior issues.

As always when the day has been this hard, I sit and contemplate what I could have done differently...done better.

And the answer is the same, usually.  Nothing...other than possess a super-human patience.

I can't control all aspects of our life.  There are so many variables beyond my control--like when someone has vacation and chooses to visit, or how the church calendar is set up.

My half brother, with whom I grew up, had the combined type of ADHD.  Actually, it's only in retrospect that I know what type he had.  During that time (he is 38 years old), they only had one name for it--ADD.  The three types weren't identified or understood yet.

His symptoms led to a household in regular turmoil.  My mom and step-dad were perpetually stressed.

I haven't seen my brother in seven years, and even then it was only a brief visit at our parents' house.  I only know him now by how my mom describes him.

Professionally, he is successful, having created a unique niche for himself in the computer world--one that seems to complement his ADHD bent, rather than conflict with it.  Personally, however, there are still huge struggles.  He is on anti-anxiety medicine, since his ADHD is combined with anxiety, as is Peter's.

I don't know what Peter's future will hold.  Oftentimes, I worry that his selfishness will persist into adulthood, leading people to label him as a jerk.  I know his heart.  He isn't a jerk, by any means.  There is kindness, tenderness there.  But it is drowned out, so often, by the neurological workings of his brain.

My task (I think God is showing me as I write) is to rise above my own feelings as my needy, verbally-aggressive son follows me down the hall, into the bathroom, into my bedroom, asking, demanding, pursuing.

I need to hone in mentally to the tender, kind-hearted son I know is inside there.  I need to see him, as though he were a bullseye.

The other part of my son--the nerves and synapses and chemical imbalances part, I need to disengage from. In disengaging, I will give up my anger, my frustration, my sometimes-hatred.

Focusing on my bullseye, I will live love.  And Peter will receive love, rather than condemnation.

This will take practice and prayer.  And there will still be failings on my part.  But I will have a focus to return to...always my ever-sweet, ever-sensitive, bullseye Peter.

Bullseye grace, I'll call it.