aamagic139 - Tumblr blog

[aamagic139]

It is our duty as feminists to protect and respect women in Hijabs

[aamagic139]

This is the money pentacle. Reblog and unexpected money will come to you!

[aamagic139]

Inactivity

I havent been very active but ive decided to do a 100 days of productivity challenge. I know its summer but theres so much i can do to prepare for next semester! So more content coming soon!!!!!

[aamagic139]

This Day in History: Juneteenth is the oldest known celebration commemorating the ending of slavery in the United Sates. Dating back to 1865, it was on June 19th that the Union soldiers landed at Galveston, Texas with news that the war had ended and that the enslaved were now free two and a half years after President Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation.

[aamagic139]

[aamagic139]

I adore Misha Collins....

Ok, so I was on Pinterest and saw a post about Misha Collins on Larry King and how you could just kind of see him shutting down throughout the interview and getting annoyed so I decided to check it out.....i always see him like goofing off with the actors in supernatural. But seeing him in this I realize how extremely intelligent he is. He is well spoken and is amazing at like dealing with the subtle jabs Larry King is dealing him....but I definitely can see his attitude coming out but he is still answering questions and I just love him for real he's such an amazing actor and person....

[aamagic139]

This story is chilling and makes me cry. This woman has so much strength

I was 6 years old when my two older sisters went to Palestine to “visit family.” At least that’s what my mom told me.

I was born in Chicago, like my sisters, but our parents are Palestinian, born in Jerusalem. I was four-months-old when our father died — he worked at a gas station and was shot during a robbery. After that, the four of us moved into the basement apartment of my mom’s mother’s house, where my sisters and I shared a room.

I worshipped my oldest sister growing up. She was rebellious and loved pop music and makeup, which my grandmother and mother couldn’t stand. We were raised Muslim, and while my mom didn’t make us wear hijabs — headscarves — to school, we did when we went to mosque on the high holidays. Every other day, we wore long-sleeve shirts and pants or knee-length skirts.

I don’t have too many memories of my sisters, but I do remember how much my oldest sister loved Usher. She was 13 and she’d sing along to his music on the radio in our room. She bought a poster of him, shirtless, and pinned it to the wall next to our bed.

He didn’t last long. My grandmother saw the poster one day and ripped it off the wall. She was screaming at my sister, and my sister yelled right back — she was feisty! But it didn’t matter; Usher was gone. And a year later, so were my sisters.

My mom said they were “going on a trip” to Palestine, but even as a 6-year-old, I’d heard rumors about a diary entry. Something about my sister kissing a boy behind a tree, or writing that she wanted to. I remember large suitcases and both of my sisters weeping as we said goodbye. I cried too, but I was more mad at them for leaving me. Who would I listen to the radio with late at night?

Still, I assumed they were coming back. So when my mother told me that they wanted to stay in Palestine, I got really upset. I missed them so much.

The only time I got to see my friends was at school.

In 8th grade, our class took a field trip to tour the high school. No one wore uniforms, like we did in middle school! I could even wear my skinny jeans there. Yep, as strict as my mom was, she did buy me skinny jeans that were super popular then. I remember being in the store and pointing them out and being stunned when she nodded yes, then paid for three pairs at the register. They were the only things I owned that made me feel like a normal kid.

But right before middle school graduation, I came home from school one afternoon to find my mother and grandmother rummaging through my closet.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

My mother was holding a garbage bag and my grandmother had scissors. They were cutting my skinny jeans into pieces and throwing them away.

I was so confused — she’d bought them for me! When I asked my mom why, she said, “They’re inappropriate and revealing. You’re too old to dress like this now!”

I was furious. All I had left were one pair of baggy jeans, which I hated. For the first time in middle school, I was relieved to have a uniform.

As soon as I graduated 8th grade, I started pestering my mom about enrolling me in high school. Every time I asked if she’d done it, she’d say, “Not yet.” In July, she said, “I’m signing you up for an all girls’ school.” But there was a wait list, so then it was going to be online school. I even did my own research and had pamphlets sent to the house, but nothing happened.

By September, all of my friends had started school but me. I woke up every day at 10am and watched TV, cleaned the house, and helped make dinner. I was beyond bored. Meanwhile my mom loved having me around. She didn’t work, and always said that it was important for me to learn how to be a good housewife. I cringed every time she said that — that was the last thing I wanted to be.

In fact, I really wanted a job, even if it was just working at my step-dad’s gas station. Anything to get out of the house. I even asked my step-dad if I could get a workers’ permit, which you can get at 15 in Chicago, and he said, “Sure!” But just like with high school, nothing ever happened. It was another empty promise.

My laptop was my refuge.

Facebook was the only way for me to stay in touch with my friends. I made up a random name that my parents could never guess and chatted with friends throughout the day. If my mom walked into the room, I’d switch the screen to a video game. She had no idea. Earlier that year, when I told friends why I wasn’t in school, more than one told me, “That’s illegal!” I kind of knew I had the legal right to be in school, but wasn’t sure who to tell. My parents didn’t care — it’s what they wanted!

A year passed, and the following summer, I was chatting on Facebook with a guy I knew from middle school.

When he wrote, “Want to go to Chipotle this Friday?” my heart skipped a beat.

I was super excited and typed back, “Sure.”

I told my parents that I was going to see my 24-year-old cousin. She was the only person I was ever allowed to visit. She’s also incredibly cool and promised to cover for me. I met her at her house, and then she dropped me off at the mall and told me to have a great time.

I did! He was cute, and super nice. I told him that my parents were strict and didn’t even know where I was. He was like, “No worries!”

It was the most fun I’d had in over a year. At the end of our date, I told him that I’d be in touch over Facebook, and floated home.

The next night, I was in the living room watching TV when the doorbell rang. My mom answered, and I heard his voice ask, “Is Yasmine home?”

I froze.

My mother started screaming, “Who are you and why are you at this house?”

He said, “I’m Yasmine’s boyfriend.”

I could see him standing in front of my mom, her back to me, and was trying to wave to him, like, “Go away! This is a terrible idea!”

She threatened to call the police, slammed the door, and then screamed at me: “Go to your room. You’re grounded!”

The next day, my mom went grocery shopping without me and locked the glass storm door from the outside, which meant I was trapped. For the next two weeks, I was literally kept under lock and key when she left.

And then one day, my mother said, “Pack your bags. We’re going to Palestine to visit your sisters.”

I’d only been there once when I was 10; I don’t even remember seeing my sisters then — all I remember is that it was dusty and dry. No green at all. I hated it. Plus, I speak only very basic Arabic, which is what they speak there.

I was dreading the trip. Saying goodbye to my little sister was painful — she was 8 by then. She was the only other person who knew, besides my cousin, about my date. I fought back tears and promised I’d be back soon.

My mom said we’d be gone for a month, but I didn’t trust her. On the way to the airport, I asked to see my return ticket. I wanted proof that it existed. She was indignant as she showed me the ticket, but it made me feel better.

My mother and grandmother and I landed in Tel Aviv, which was as hot and dusty as I remembered. I felt claustrophobic in the cab, which we took to Ramallah, the Palestinian capital. My grandmother has a house there, and both of my sisters lived nearby.

I was so angry about being there that I wasn’t even excited to see my sisters. I couldn’t believe that they’d left me all those years before. Now, they were both married with kids. But by the end of that first evening, I relaxed with them. I even told them what happened with my Chipotle date, and they started teasing me, like, “You’re such an idiot! With a white guy? Really?”

They thought that if he’d been Muslim, I wouldn’t have gotten into so much trouble. I wasn’t so sure, but it still felt good to laugh with them about it.

About two weeks into our stay, my sisters sat me down and started doing my hair and makeup. I was never allowed to wear makeup at home, so I thought it was cool. When I asked why, they said they wanted me to meet a friend of theirs.

Their friend was in his twenties but still lived with his mom, which my sister called “a problem.” I didn’t understand what she meant by that.

He arrived with his mom and uncle and started speaking to me in Arabic. I barely understood anything except for his asking me how old I was.

I said, “I’m 15. I just finished 8th grade.”

He looked perplexed. So was I.

After he left, I asked my sisters what the meeting was about. They explained that the way to meet suitors is through families. When a family thinks a girl is ready to be married — usually she’s part of that decision — they pass word along to other families that they’re looking for a husband. The couple then meets through the parents, and if it is a good match, an arrangement is made.

A week passed, and once again my sisters sat me down and started putting makeup on me. They said that another guy was coming to meet me. When I asked, “Who?”

They said, “Don’t worry about it. Just have fun.”

The doorbell rang and in walked a guy with his parents. I’m 5'8" and he was 5'4", nine years older, and missing half of his front left tooth. Everyone seemed very eager. I was repulsed.

I sat stone-faced the entire time they were there. As soon as he and his family left, my mom and grandmother said that they thought I should marry him. They said, “He has a job and a house.” That’s all it took.

I was furious. By then, I realized that they’d brought me to Palestine to get married and planned to leave me there. Instead of berating them, I immediately started thinking of ways to return home on my own. I had watched SVU. I knew this was totally illegal. I just needed to figure out a way to reach a detective in Illinois who could help me escape.

I also knew then that I couldn’t trust my sisters — anytime I complained to them, they’d just say, “It’s not so bad! You’ll learn to love him!”

He and I met two more times that week and each time, I hoped he’d figure out that I was being coerced. But then, during that third visit, all the men went into one room while the women stayed in another.

My sister, mother, and grandmother were chatting with his mother and sisters when I heard the men read the engagement passage from the Koran, which announces a marriage.

Startled, I said to my sisters, “What are they doing?”

My oldest sister said, “They’re reading the passage.”

I shouted, “No!” and fought back tears.

My worst nightmare was becoming a terrifying reality. I ran into the bathroom, curled into a ball, and dissolved into tears. How could my family do this to me? I thought about running away, but how? My mother had my passport. I had no money. I was stuck. I started thinking about different ways to die. Anything was better than this.

After his family left, I could no longer contain my rage at my mother. “How could you do this to me? I am your daughter!” I shouted. Tears were streaming down my face. I could see my mom was upset, too — she was crying, shaking her head. I think she felt bad about it, but she also felt like it was the best option. I felt so betrayed.

And just then, my grandmother marched into the room and slapped me. “Don’t disrespect your mother!” she said, before turning to my mother and saying, “See? She needs this. How else will she learn to be respectful?’

That’s when I learned that my grandmother had set the whole thing up. She’d met this man’s family at a mall the same week I met him! His parents owned a restaurant and spotted us shopping. They approached her to see if I was an eligible bride for their son. She told them yes, but that I had to be married before she flew back to the States. He had no other prospects, so they were excited I was one.

I never liked my grandmother, but I didn’t hate her until that moment.

The wedding was planned for September 30th, a week and a half away. I was still desperately trying to figure a way out of it. I told my mom, "I’ll find a way to leave.” She replied, “Either you marry him or someone way older who won’t be as nice.”

My sisters said the same. “You’re lucky.” As much as I dreaded what was happening, they made the alternative sound even worse.

A few days before the wedding, my oldest sister finally revealed that she was also married against her will. “I was kicking and screaming the whole way,” she told me. “But I learned to love him. You will too.”

I don’t remember the ceremony — everything is such a blur — but I do remember pulling away when he tried to kiss my cheek and my mother hissing, “Kiss his cheek!” I refused.

At the end of the wedding party, both of my sisters were so excited about my first night with him. They even said, “Text us afterwards!”

I hated them.

The first night was awful. The only thing I’m thankful for is that my husband was not a violent or aggressive man. It could have been so much worse. I get terrible migraine headaches brought on by stress, and I used them to my advantage in the weeks that followed.

He took that first week off of work and we spent most of it with his family. I did the best I could to tolerate being around him and his family while I tried to figure a way out of this mess. To do that, I needed to get on the internet.

When he went back to his job as a mechanic, he’d be gone by 9am. I’d get up, have breakfast and go to his mom’s house to help her clean and make dinner. She had a computer, so one day, I asked if I could use it to talk to my mother and she agreed. Instead, I logged onto Facebook and messaged a friend from 3rd grade and told her where I was and what had happened.

She wrote back immediately, “That’s illegal!”

Once again, I knew that, but I didn’t know what to do.

I had another friend I met through Facebook who lived in Texas. He was Muslim. I told him what happened, and he wrote, ‘You need to call the embassy!’ He even sent the number.

My heart was pounding as I wrote it in a piece of paper and shoved it into my pocket.

On October 14th, I was in our apartment in the afternoon when I finally worked up the nerve to call. I used the Nokia flip phone my husband gave me to talk to him and my sisters.

An American-sounding man answered the phone and I blurted, “I’m a U.S. citizen. My parents brought me here against my will to marry a man. I want to go home.”

After a moment of silence, he said, “Wow, this is a first. Hold for a moment.” He connected me to a man named Mohammed, who asked me for my parents’ names and address in the states.

I gave him all the proof I could think of that I was a US citizen. I didn’t know my social security number and didn’t have my passport. He said that was okay, but he needed proof that I was actually married. He asked for the marriage certificate. I had no idea where it was. Then he asked me for my husband’s last name, and I realized, I had no idea what that was either.

Mohammed told me he’d be in touch once he verified all my information. He called me several times over the next two months. During that time, I learned my husband’s last name, which was legally mine as well.

As I waited for news, I got lots of migraines.

On December 3rd, Mohammed called with the number for a taxi service and the address of a hotel. He told me to be there the next morning at 11am.

The next morning, I waited for my husband to leave and shoved all of my belongings — including the traditional wedding gold my husband’s family gave me — into my suitcase and called the number. That’s when I realized that I didn’t even know my address. I told the driver the name of the closest big store and then stayed on the phone with him, telling him when to turn right or left. He still couldn’t find me, so I ran down to the main street to flag him down praying no one would see me.

I held my breath for the entire 30-minute ride to the hotel. There, in the parking lot, I spotted a blond woman sitting with a guy in a black van.

“Are you with the US embassy?” I asked.

They said yes, and then she patted me down, explaining it was for security purposes, to make sure I was not strapped with any bombs.

I said, “Do whatever you need to do!” I didn’t care — I was so close to freedom.

When they put me in the back seat, I pulled off my headscarf and fought back happy tears: There, with these two strangers, I felt safe for the first time in forever.

We went to the US Embassy in Jerusalem where I spent the day filling out paperwork in order to enter into the foster care system back in the States. I had no idea what that meant other than from this one cartoon show called Foster Home for Imaginary Friends, but agreeing to enter foster care wasn’t hard — at least it was a new start.

That night, a diplomat accompanied me to the airport with two bodyguards, and I was placed on a plane to Philadelphia.

On my next flight, I flew from Philadelphia to Chicago O'Hare and sat next to a 20-something guy on his way to his friend’s bachelor party who asked me how old I was.

I said, “15.”

He said, “You’re too young to be on a plane by yourself!”

If he only knew.

At O'Hare, I had twenty minutes to kill before I was supposed to meet two state officials in the food court, so I went to a computer terminal and logged onto Facebook. I had two accounts at the time: one for friends and one for family. I wanted to see what my family was saying.

A three-page letter from my second oldest sister was the first thing I read. She said she never wanted to see me again, that she hated me, and that if anyone asked her how many sisters she had, she’d say two instead of three. I was devastated.

Then I read a group chat between my two sisters, my mom, and my mom’s sister.

It started, “Yasmine ran away.” “What? Where?” And then someone wrote, “She’s ruining our reputation!” Not one of them wondered if I was okay.

My aunt asked if I had taken my gold. When my sister said yes, my aunt replied, “She could have gotten kidnapped or robbed!”

That was the only mention of concern for my wellbeing.

As painful as it was to read those words, it made me realize that I had made the right choice.

The people I then met in the airport food court introduced me to a woman from Illinois’ Child Protective Services, who took me under her wing. It was 11am, 24 hours after I ran for my life into the streets of Ramallah to escape my forced marriage.

I first moved in with a woman who fostered several kids, and stayed there for six months. It wasn’t ideal — she was very religious and made us go to her Baptist church with her on Saturday and Sunday. But it was still better than what I’d left. This was confirmed when I had to face my mother in court to establish that I should remain a ward of the state, which is what they call kids whose parents aren’t fit to take care of them.

The first court date was two weeks after I arrived. When I saw my mom, I froze. She was sitting in the waiting room and refused to acknowledge me. She didn’t make eye contact; it was as if I didn’t exist. I felt an awful mix of hurt and rage.

A few months later, I had to testify in a courtroom. My mom was there with her lawyer. He showed photos from my wedding and said, “You look happy! And your mom said that you wanted to be married.”

I had to explain to a room full of strangers that I was faking that smile to survive and that my mom knew the entire time that I didn’t want to marry that man. On the stand, I said, “My mom is lying.” That was so painful to have to say — I wept in front of everyone. All the feelings I’d kept inside just poured out.

After that hearing, I officially became a ward of the state of Illinois.

By then, I’d already started ninth grade. I didn’t like my foster mom much. I stopped going to church on the weekends, but she wouldn’t let me or my foster brother stay in the house alone so we were locked out until she got home every weekend and weekdays too. It was hard in the Chicago winter, but the agency didn’t think I was in immediate danger, so I stayed put. Teens are hard to place.

By January 2014, at 16-years-old, I’d been in and out of three foster homes. My strategy was just to survive foster care until I was 18, when I would finally be on my own. So when a couple called Carrie and Marvin came to meet me one weekend, I didn’t hold out any hope.

Carrie and Marvin had two biological teenagers, both with developmental delays. They understood kids and were super warm, but it still took me a while to open up. I really wanted to make it to 18 living with them, but I never dreamed what actually happened next.

When I hit my one-year anniversary with them, they asked me if I wanted to be adopted. I was shocked! I figured I’d leave at 18 and just be on my own — I never thought there was an alternative. But they told me that they wanted me around forever. I cannot tell you how good that felt — to be wanted, by an actual family. I said yes.

No more waking up at 6am to someone saying, “Pack your bags — you’re out!” For the first time in my life, I could put things up in my room and it was okay. It was the first time since being in that van with the people from the embassy that I felt safe.

I saw my mother one last time in court, at the final termination of parental rights. Carrie had asked her for childhood photos of me, and amazingly, my mom handed them to me there.

It was a cold exchange. She was expressionless. At first, I was insulted. It all seemed so easy, her giving me up. But it was really nice to get the photos. She didn’t have to do that.

Now Carrie has them around the house. It makes me feel like I’m really part of her family, like I’m her kid.

I finally reconnected on Facebook with my sister a few months ago, the one who’d said she hated me. She admitted that she wished she’d had the nerve to do what I had done. Now I understand why she was so upset: I got away. She didn’t.

I just graduated from high school — the first in my biological family to do so! In September, I’m going to Illinois State University and just learned that I won a full scholarship, which means my tuition will be waived for the next five years. I plan to study mass communications, and may want to do something with computers, considering they are literally what saved me.

Regardless of what I end up doing for a living, the thing that makes me the most excited is that I get to choose — what I want to wear, who I want to date, or even marry, and ultimately, who I want to be.

[aamagic139]

bye i hate the sexualization of underage japanese girls so much i hate it with every fiber of my being it gave so many people a shitty excuse to treat me badly in the past like anyone who likes ‘‘‘‘‘lo/licon’’’’ can go die

[aamagic139]

Although I do feel like there were very specific warning signs around the Florida school shooter (saying he was going to be a professional school shooter, being reported to the FBI by someone close to him etc) I don't believe this has to do with his mental illness issues. This is a seperate situation. Just because someone has a mental illness, doesn't mean they're going to go out and commit violent crimes. You all don't want to be judged for what you want to be, yet judge people for things they cant control which is fucked up. People need to recognize there's a difference in these things mental illness doesn't equal violence.

Don’t armchair diagnose mass shooters and other killers. The misconception that all violent people must be mentally ill (and the following conclusion that all mentally ill people must be dangerous) has horrible real life consequences for visibly mentally ill people.

Schizophrenic people are 14 times more likely to be a victim of a violent crime than committing one because people assume that we’re homicidal and dangerous and may react very negatively to visibly mentally ill behavior, partly due to all the media portrayals of schizophrenics as violent killers.

50% of people killed by police are disabled or mentally ill (and the victims are disproportionately black or other people of color) because the unusual behavior of visibly disabled and visibly mentally ill people is read as inherently threathening and dangerous.

Please consider the real life consequences of reinforcing the association between mental illness and violence - people are dying because y'all want to blame all evil in the world on severe mental illness so that you can clearly separate yourself from it. You’re harming an already extremely vulnerable and marginalized group of people and it’s time to stop!

[aamagic139]

How to Handle Having TOO MUCH To Do

So let’s say you’re in the same boat I am (this is a running theme, have you noticed?) and you’ve just got, like, SO MUCH STUFF that HAS to get done YESTERDAY or you will DIE (or fail/get fired/mope). Everything needs to be done yesterday, you’re sick, and for whatever reason you are focusing on the least important stuff first. What to do!

Take a deep breath, because this is a boot camp in prioritization.

Make a 3 by 4 grid. Make it pretty big. The line above your top row goes like this: Due YESTERDAY - due TOMORROW - due LATER. Along the side, write: Takes 5 min - Takes 30 min - Takes hours - Takes DAYS.

Divide ALL your tasks into one of these squares, based on how much work you still have to do. A thank you note for a present you received two weeks ago? That takes 5 minutes and was due YESTERDAY. Put it in that square. A five page paper that’s due tomorrow? That takes an hour/hours, place it appropriately. Tomorrow’s speech you just need to rehearse? Half an hour, due TOMORROW. Do the same for ALL of your tasks

Your priority goes like this:

5 minutes due YESTERDAY

5 minutes due TOMORROW

Half-hour due YESTERDAY

Half-hour due TOMORROW

Hours due YESTERDAY

Hours due TOMORROW

5 minutes due LATER

Half-hour due LATER

Hours due LATER

DAYS due YESTERDAY

DAYS due TOMORROW

DAYS due LATER

At this point you just go down the list in each section. If something feels especially urgent, for whatever reason - a certain professor is hounding you, you’re especially worried about that speech, whatever - you can bump that up to the top of the entire list. However, going through the list like this is what I find most efficient.

Some people do like to save the 5 minute tasks for kind of a break between longer-running tasks. If that’s what you want to try, go for it! You’re the one studying here.

So that’s how to prioritize. Now, how to actually do shit? That’s where the 20/10 method comes in. It’s simple: do stuff like a stuff-doing FIEND for 20 minutes, then take a ten minute break and do whatever you want. Repeat ad infinitum. It’s how I’ve gotten through my to do list, concussed and everything.

You’ve got this. Get a drink and start - we can do our stuff together!

[aamagic139]

as a procrastinating overachiever i feel like i don’t necessarily “half-ass” things, it’s more like a “3/4 ass”. like overall did i do pretty well? yeah. did i reach my maximum potential though? i think the fuck Not.

[aamagic139]

Not bullying? He told the other student to hit him if he didn't do the work!!!!!! HOW IS THIS NOT BULLYING. DISGUSTING FUCKS UGHHHHH

The first thing I saw on Facebook today was a local news article stating,"Teacher who allegedly wrote 'FOCUS' on ADHD student's forehead faces $3M lawsuit"

Then I see comments like this:

“Ok seriously, this is bs and I would be seriously pissed if it were my kid but it sounds like the parents are looking for a pay day.”

“Honestly we need to go back when nuns taught in the classroom if you didn’t fallow along you got your butt busted or your knuckles slapped with a ruler”

“While I agree that it is horrible, the term bullying is incorrect. Bullying is repetitive in nature. As written, this appears as a one time event.”

“Yep everyone’s money hungry these days and too lazy to work to support themselves so they try to find an easy way out!”

After I responded with: No, this is an unacceptable situation that happens to children with ADHD.

This person responded with: But it is acceptable for people to reproduce and pass along these genetics or not lock people away when they smoke or dink during pregnancy or let kids live in a chaotic household and watch too much tv?

I was bullying was by teachers and my classmates. 

Time number #?: When I was disinterested during class, I read a book. When the teacher caught me, she took me to the hall and left me there with no explanation of why I was being punished. I was first grade. It took me years to understand why this and other situations happens. After that, I never read a book until I was in seventh grade. 

Other children have had it way worse than me. Mine situation was very small and minor compared but it still cause problems with my ADHD. I have trouble with spelling and reading. I still can’t say certain words right or I pronounce them differently. Whatever the lesson my first grade teacher took me out off, I don’t know what it was about. 

The amount of ignorance in the comments is disgusting. I’m currently very upset and on the verge of tears. THIS IS NOT ACCEPTABLE. NOT NOW. NOT FUCKING EVER!

Tagging @adhighdefinition and @actuallyadhd for any advice they may have. 

Here is the article: (X) 

[aamagic139]

Just hope ppl knoe this can happen....i used to take otc sleep/nighttime meds (Nyquil, Advil pm, unisom etc). They would habe me so wired, jumping out of my skin. It scared me, why is this going on? Is something wrong? Im also a recovering opiate addict (over 2 years clean) and though most people get noddy or sleepy etc with opiates, it was the only time I felt motivated to get things done. At the time, I was also being treated for misdiagnosed bipolar disorder and taking medications that made me feel spacey, lacking emotion, and just kind of like a zombie. Along with no treatment for my adhd and other stuff in life. When I finally went to a Dr that was unaware of my previous bipolar diagnosis (tried new psychologists/psychiatrist and if they knew I was previously diagnosed w bipolar, they wouldn't look into anything else, even though I was feeling like a zombie, which isnt normal for someone on the right meds with bipolar. Tried like 15 different meds and always felt that way.) Anyways, I had been talking with him during the diagnosis process and ended up talking about this reaction to otc sleep meds, and how 99% of prescription sleep medications were always on the far left or fat right of the spectrum (didn't work whatsoever and made me more awake/wired. Or else they didn't help me FALL asleep, but I would sleep like the dead for 10 hours and wake up groggy, unable to really function for like 4 or 5 hours after waking up). He told me this could be related to a person with adhd. That because our brains are wired differently and the neurotransmitters in the brain of those w adhd, that this can happen to a person with adhd. It was such a relief to hear, as I worried what was going on with me for so long. Being honest about all of this stuff helped me to get my correct diagnosis. Everyone, if you feel, in some way shape or form, that your diagnosis from a doctor is incorrect (the original diagnosis I got was given from a therapist after 5 minutes, which is so far from ok. But she talked to me about how I had gotten extra money and instead of paying my brother like I was supposed to, I spent it on myself getting a dermal, new outfits etc. She asked if "I felt good while spending the money". Well, ya, it felt good to treat myself! She says, that sounds like mania, you probably have bpd. Check yourself into the temporary psych unit and get on meds. The Dr at the unit didn't so much as talk to me about it. Merely saw her notes and put me on antipsychotics.) So, they arent always correct. If you have any doubts in your mind, feel like the doctor may not be correct please please please seek out another opinion. I'm also a double major in psych and in abnormal psychology rn. Our professor is a clinically licensed psychologist. She has told us many times that it's hit or miss, they can never know 100% if they have the right diagnosis, meds etc. Tell your doctor, seek other opinions, be honest with them to be sure that you are getting treated for the right thing and gotten the right meds.

Doctors aren't perfect, especially in mental illness situations. They can only know what you tell them. There are many disorders that the symptoms overlap, and many meds and doses available for many different disorders. Please tell your psychologist/psychiatrist/therapist everything, even if it seems like it may be unimportant or unrelated. You know yourself better than anyone else, and if you feel they could be wrong, talk to them. If they arent willing to listen to you, change psychiatrist/psychologists/therapists because it's important for them to listen to you and take your feelings into opinion. Don't just accept that this is right, that they know all, that they told you something and it feels wrong to you or isn't working for you that you are the one in the wrong. Again, I have to stress.....THEY CAN ONLY KNOW WHAT YOU TELL THEM AND CHOOSE TO SHARE WITH THEM. EVEN IF IT SEEMS UNRELATED/UNIMPORTANT TO YOU, IT COULD BE THE DIFFERENCE IN A CORRECT DIAGNOSIS AND A MISDIAGNOSIS. DON'T JUST ACCEPT THAT THAT'S HOW IT IS. MAKE SURE TO QUESTION THINGS THAT FEEL WRONG AND TELL YOUR DOCTOR ASAP!!!!

So many years of my life could have gone differently if I had been honest about my doubts and feelings with my bp diagnosis. I wish I had spoken up and told all those specialists my doubts rather than accepting something I felt as wrong. Hindsight is 20/20, though, so I just want to share my experiences to maybe help another person

Is it an ADHD thing to get tired when you drink coffee? I've only ever had coffee twice because both times I fell asleep soon after.

This happens with some ADHDers, yes.

(Some ADHDers get really anxious or jittery, and others have zero reaction. We’re all different!)

-J

[aamagic139]

I'm kinda only posting this cuz I know nobody will c it and I need to get it out of my head into a somewhat public forum of people who don't know me personally.....

I feel like a failure. I'm always screwing up my life. I can't keep myself concentrated/interested in anything. I'm constantly floundering because I put everything off until the last second. I hate myself for it. I want to change. But i try to change and just give up cuz I dunno how to. I want to do well, I enjoy college and learning etc but it's so hard for me to concentrate on it or have the effort to do it. I've been to therapy and I am on meds for adhd but I need to change my behavior now, now my brain and I just dunno where to start. I look into stuff on here and Pinterest about habits and study skills etc, but but never sticks. Ugh. I'm just so frustrated and at my wits end rn

[aamagic139]

Gonna be a hard one...

Ok so, I finished my first week of class (obviously on Friday lol. But its labor day here and so no class today, luckily! I screwed up on my insurance so I had to go a few days without my adhd meds. Just thankful it happened so early in the semester!)

Anyways, so I have a philosophy, abnormal psych, environmental science (lecture 2x a week and 2 hour lab tues at 8 am) and an English course this semester. Now, I have usually onlu taken 9 credits, aka 3 classes before this. However I wanted "full time" this semester and so I am taking 13 credits (the science is 4 cuz of lab others are 3 each). But I am already feeling a bit overwhelmed. I had 3 chapters to read by tomorrow, along with a short little snippet of a project with like 5 things about an environmentalist. Then I have to read Plato's allegory of the cave and write a response, and read/take notes on 2 chapters of abnormal psych....and this is all IN THE FIRST WEEK, FROM THURSDAY AND FRIDAY CLASSES. Not to mention that i have adhd, I'm a non traditional (been out of high school a while. Not gonna say my age here cuz I'm embarassed but ya. Lol) but it means I live in a duplex/side by side house w my bf, who's also a non traditional (albeit younger than me) student. Which means we have house stuff to deal with, including yard work along with cleaning and all that (which im not great at to begin with) and also, working at least 20 hours a week to pay the bills. I feel like this semester is going to be a test of my resolve. A test of how badly I want that degree. I just keep reminding myself that some people have it so much harder, that I know I am capable of doing this. And to remind myself WHY I am doing this....

I got my 2 years clean and sober from heroin/opiates on August 3rd. I do have a criminal record due to mistakes I made while using. I'm very honest and open about it cuz I feel like it helps to change the stigma associated with it. Also, because my hope (dream?) Is that she. I graduate, I can start working in h.r. departments and starting a program to help recovering addicts find better jobs, as well as going back to school. It's so frustrating to know your application wasn't even looked at cuz you checked a stupid box saying yes, I have a record. They don't even give you a chance to explain yourself. That I made a mistake while addicted to drugs. I wasn't the person I am today and I want a chance, even if it means lower pay, more rules, stricter policies, WHATEVER. So many good people I know have gone back to using, or even selling, out of frustration with how the world treated them. If they were just given a chance....ONE CHANCE maybe they wouldnt be in prison, or strung out, or even dead. So I pray to open peoples eyes. To give people who are doing their best to change for the better, a chance.

And that is why I work hard and don't give up on getting my degree and being a better person than I was 2 years ago, and being a better person than I was yesterday.

[aamagic139]

Also, how to adhd on YouTube is absolutely freaking phenomenal. She has like, saved my life, not only academically but dealing with life when you have adhd in general...

Hi! I have decided to make this masterpost, putting in one place everything that I have found ADHD - related!

For some links, I have listed some of the things you can find there, choosing those that I thought were the most useful, but check the whole site because everything is great!

BASICS: 

what is ADHD.

types of ADHD.

adult ADHD.

adults vs kids ADHD.

women and ADHD.

ADHD test - please, tho, don’t take this for granted and please don’t self diagnose, talk with your doctor about the results!

the best ADHD related youtube channel. - adhd in girls // sleeping // relationships // how fidgeting is useful.

signs of ADHD.

debunked myths.

things nobody tells you about having ADHD.

7 Everyday Struggles Of People With ADHD.

STUDYING:

studying with ADHD. (problems+solutions)

15 study tips for students with ADHD.

more study tips.

even more tips.

another list of tips.

exam tips. // grade tips.

math accomodations.

writing help / websites.

APPS.

ADHDtricks - format study material // blue tack // trouble understanding // readable web .

FOCUSING:

keep your focus.

food to help focusing.

chronic procrastination.

hyperfocus.

fight distractions. 

focus right now.

more focusing hacks.

MISC:

boredom. 

sleeping. // tips for better sleep. 

medications + avoid side effects.

meds’ side effects (and how to reduce them.)

more about meds.

ADHD strenghts!

read some life experiences!

planning. + great planning site.

relationships.

2 hour glitter jar calming video + how to make one!

some satisfying videos.

aquarium calming video. 

WEBSITES:

CHADD.

ADDA - adhd starter kit!

ADHDtogether.

kidsinthehouse’s ADHD section.

ADHD reddit.

Totallyadd.

verywell’s ADHD section.

ADDtitudemag.

ADHD study tumblr.

Social networks! Use facebook to find support groups and pages, use Tumblr to connect with others like you and use Twitter to find out about new articles and resources with the tag #adhd!

Thats it! Hope you have found this mp useful, feel free to add things!

+ other links:

useful programs masterposts.

how to write an analytical/scientific essay.

cute ‘n unusual stationery.

dyscalculia resources + advice.

how i take my math notes.

my pics.

[aamagic139]

So me. Omg school supply sale time is my favorite time of year. It's like Christmas but better. I legit bought enough notebooks n folders for both me and my bf for this semester and next, and if we take summer classes, and possibly for the entire rest of our college career....

Me: *Has a drawer full of empty notebooks*

Also me: *Goes to a store* omg notebooks