The Silent Struggle of Feeling Overwhelmed

I never thought I would admit it, but the truth is—I feel completely overwhelmed at work right now.

The environment is healthy, the people I work with are amazing. What overwhelms me the most is the fact that my ADHD medication only works for so long before I start to forget things. I have REALLY; bad ADHD. Six months ago, I decided to start taking Adderall to help me focus in school. It was one of the hardest health decisions I’ve ever made.

Adderall and ADHD carry such a stigma. It’s crazy how some people don’t want to admit ADHD is something they struggle with. I know that when I miss my medication, I’m all over the place. I’m literally like squirrel! everywhere I look. Sometimes people are talking to me, and I’m completely checked out—not because I want to be, but because I just can’t keep my thoughts together.

A few days ago, I forgot to take my Adderall. About an hour and a half into clinic, my coworker noticed right away. I was scrubbing instruments when she asked if I had broken down my rooms. I stopped, dropped, and rolled to clean my room—but I had already left the instruments half done. I broke down my room, stocked it, worked on my samples, and then went back to scrubbing instruments.

My sweet partner came up to me and asked, “Have you taken your medication? You’re all over the place,” and giggled. That’s when I realized I had forgotten to take it—I was a total hot mess.

I don’t want to say I rely on this medication, especially since I’ve struggled with addiction in the past. But I will say this: since I started ADHD medication, I’ve done so much better in school. I’ve improved at work. I can finally do two things at once.

My biggest battle, though, has been epilepsy. My right frontal lobe has been the most affected since seizures began in 2019. The right frontal lobe plays a huge role in how you think, feel, and act. It’s tied to personality, behavior, creativity, imagination, attention, problem-solving, and decision-making. Ever since the seizures started, I haven’t been the same. I get upset quickly. I get frustrated quickly. Sometimes I don’t know where to turn, because I don’t want to hurt my family with my words.

Every day I pray that I won’t have another seizure. Seizures can take your license away—and mine has been suspended four times. AAA even kicked us off our policy and put us on third-party coverage because I was too much of a liability.

I have what’s known as nocturnal seizures—they come in my sleep. I don’t know what’s happening until I wake up. Mine are clonic-tonic (full body) seizures. My longest one lasted six minutes.

The first time it happened, Alex thought I was having a stroke and called 911. The ambulance took me to the hospital, where the doctor called it “a fluke” and sent me home at 3:30 a.m. Alex had just started falling asleep when he heard the same awful scream. He says that when seizures hit, I scream—and it’s so horrifying it reminds him of a movie where someone gets stabbed.

I know that description is heavy, but I never want anyone going through this to feel alone.

At one point, I discontinued CBD for six weeks and had twelve seizures. I truly believe CBD is what keeps them under control.

I wish I didn’t have epilepsy. I live in constant fear. My aura starts off with what’s known as “the doom of death”—the worst panic attack you could ever feel. It’s like the moment right before a car accident, or when you lose someone you love—an awful, unexplainable feeling. When that hits, I know what’s coming.

I hold on to Alex, praying I don’t end up in the hospital. But every time I do, they revoke my license again—even though all my seizures happen in my sleep. Losing my license crushed me emotionally. Driving is freedom. Driving is necessary. And just like that, it was gone.

I’ll never forget the day the doctor sat on the edge of my bed and told me she had to report it and my license would be revoked. I cried and explained I needed my license for work, commuting from San Diego to Laguna Hills. She didn’t have a choice—it was about safety. I understood, but that didn’t make the pain easier.

But this story doesn’t stay sad. I’ve been seizure-free for two years now! I know that might not sound like much, but for me, it feels like just yesterday. I’m constantly hyper-aware, afraid it could happen again—but I also hold on to hope.

I’ve refused to sleep alone since this started. The fear of not waking up or suffocating terrifies me. When that first seizure hit, everything in my heart told me this was my new life. I had to accept it and face it without fear.

I’ve asked God so many times why He allowed this in my life. But every time I open my Bible, I see verses reminding me I am the apple of His eye.

That phrase became my anchor in sobriety, too. I even tattooed it on my skin: “Apple of His Eye.” The tattoo is a cupcake with an apple on top, the wrapper covered in crosses, and three seeds inside the apple representing the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

It’s wild how God works things out. I never thought I’d get sober, yet here I am—walking in the truth that I am the apple of His eye. That promise will never leave me.

Now that I’m crying, I think it’s time to say goodbye for now.

To everyone who has believed in me, supported me, and loved me throughout this journey—you are the real MVPs. Thank you to all my baby dolls.

-Prissy