Rejection sensitivity dysphoria

I've been trying to birth this one for a few weeks. Seems that talking openly about rejection makes the ADHD brain anticipate it even more than usual.

After justice sensitivity, rejection sensitivity dysphoria is the other violent giant thundering around my neuro pathways. It is a very common trait of ADHD, affecting every ADHDer I’ve met digitally or in real life. It is an extreme, almost painful, emotional reaction to rejection, both real and perceived. You’ll see it manifested externally by concerted efforts to please, unexpected, explosive anger or good old fashioned moody silence. Wild ride, right? 

At its very worst RSD can lead to suicidal ideation; although I’m lucky it never got that far with me, before I knew what it was it made me the worst person to live with. Less a bear with a sore head, more a bear on fire. It was fucking awful, man, and The Muse deserves a statue in her honour for sticking through it. On bad days, a passing comment about the dinner I’d just cooked would set me off. The feeling when RSD hits is devastating and all consuming. It pushes me to avoid feedback all together; no point trying to cook a lovely dinner from scratch, we’re just having something, chips and beans tonight - and you can take your criticism up with Branston. Yes, Branston beans are superior to Heinz, and we shall fight on the beaches if you want to argue about it. 

RSD has stymied my ‘career’ for nearly 30 years. I jacked a guaranteed place at university to pursue a career as a white hot cocktail barman and caterer, only to stumble at the first sign of adversity and run 100 miles thattaway *points away from the hospitality industry*. I chose the safety and obscurity of retail for several years, until one miserable Christmas Eve where I found myself playing Scrooge to the staff while being threatened with horrific violence from the customers. Fuck that for a game of soldiers, let’s become an office drone. And now I’m basically Milton from Office Space; hiding in the corner with a beloved stapler, avoiding scrutiny and dodging promotion, such is the fear that it’ll come crashing down and hurt inside. I’m relatively well paid and the work life balance is very sweet, so let’s not jeopardise that in the pursuit of better. I am safe, I am comfortable, I am not upsetting anyone - I am gonna stay right here. A few years back the company had a restructure, and the mere thought of putting myself out there for interviews crushed me like oceanic pressure crushing a billionaire’s submarine. 

I loathe interviews. The formal setting, the prepared answers, the hoop jumping nature of the whole sorry process. Ambition leads to scrutiny, scrutiny leads to rejection, rejection leads to despair. Meet me down the boozer (I don’t know for sure if RSD is situational, but it bothers me far less when I’ve got a drink in my hand) and we’ll have a lovely chat about anything. Get me into the Peak Performance meeting room and I can literally feel myself upsetting you. That is probably demonstrably false (I’ve secured just as many jobs as I’ve missed), but such is the nature of RSD and perceived slight that I’ll beat myself up for days afterwards. 

It lingers too. Christ, does it linger. On Sunday, I got into it on social media over Brentford’s loss to Liverpool. A couple of people I don’t know threw a few nasty words my way (because I was blatantly right and they hated it, obviously) and I am still  lowkey stewing over it four days later. Any compliment or positive situation in the interim has not balmed the bruise of being called boring by some dope I don’t even know.

I’ve got by on a rich stream of self-deprecation for most of my adult life. Can’t take the piss out of the fat lad if he gets there first, amirite? Did I just say something stupid? I totally meant it because I’m such a laid-back slacker, man. Guess what? RSD leads to poor self-perception and low self esteem. I have not been self-deprecating all these years, I’ve been self-flagellating like Dan Brown’s albino monk. It’s proper tears of a clown stuff; life and soul at the party, intense rumination once safely behind close doors.That shit ain’t healthy. 

Finding out that RSD is a thing was legit life changing. Almost overnight The Muse and I began to understand it and identify it. It’s never going to go away, however knowing the triggers and subsequent behaviours means I can at least stop blowing up or melting away. It’s harder to quit beating oneself up after becoming so adept at it, but we ain’t flicking a switch here - we’re reassembling a machine. It’s going to take time - all of this takes time - but I’ve got that. Now tell me some nice things about this piece so I don’t ride the downward spiral, cheers.