The Unravelling-Part 1 and 2

 I alluded to writing feverishly at stop lights and the like the other day, and in these “files” I’ve finished that post. It’s on the high side of the oversharing scale. In one run my mind went through every scenario of it never seeing the light of day, because “I know you share a lot, but people are gonna think you’re slowly unravelling” (surprise, we all are). On that same run last night I came full circle and realized that of course I could share it, that’s what I fucking do, but that it needed some context, lest y’all check me into the loony bin.  The next morning while editing the original to get rid of some of the punctuation and auto correct mistakes, I stumbled upon something that I wrote at least a decade ago and I was floored. It was basically the same post from 38 year old me. IIt didn’t describe the feelings as much as the recent piece but it was completely the same vibe. So I dug in, and started going back to see where it all started, a great big David Byrne, “Well, HOW DID I GET HERE!” I’m going to release this in three parts over the next few days. This is Part 1. I’ve written Part 3, and will get to Part 2.

Part 1: Is there such thing as adult onset ADD? Asking for me.

I don’t know that I believe in ADD. I mean I have every single symptom but depending on where you’re sitting and what day it is, you may say I’m mildly manic depressive or just depressed or as I’d like to think. Normal. I think most people are like this on some level so I don’t give it much thought. Besides coffee (a stimulant) I don’t take any medications nor think that I should. Really all this happened a lot later than I’d have thought an actual diagnosis would have started so I sometimes wonder if it’s my bodies way to fight stress. 

I didn’t grow up this way, or at least wasn’t aware of it. I was a good student and beyond 5-6th grade my behavior grades weren’t terrible, I talked a little too much and always wanted to be the center of attention but nothing that entailed getting paddled at school. Did they paddle kids in your elementary schools?  Say what you will about corporal punishment but the threat of getting hit with a board was ample motivation to not act an ass. 

7-12th grade I also mostly flourished as well. I carried over a “I don’t fit in here,” mentality that I imagine stemmed from moving from Michigan to Mississippi before 2nd grade that then carried over and amplified when I changed schools after 6th grade , but maybe I just thought about things too much. I’ve always done that. I’ve also always felt like I didn’t fit in, but do any of us really?

I’ll spare you a full play by play of the years 1978-1989. I was mostly happy and mostly successful on most of the levels.  Looking back though, one thing stands out. I never had to work too hard for a lot of things and had enough genetic ability to get things done at the last minute. 

I remember an all nighter in my  sophomore or junior year  finishing a science project categorizing leaves. I remember being in my room pinning the leaves to a board and completing the busy work of writing a notecard about each leaf I had picked up around the yard that day after school. I remember calling in requests to WQUID in Biloxi so I could also make a mixtape at the same time. I remember being stressed but knowing I’d pull it off. I always pull it off. 

I graduated with all the grades and the honors and none of the interest in anything. Biology had been my favorite class as well as a couple of English classes. I was either going to be an eye surgeon or move to Memphis and start a band, two very similar paths. 

After much cajoling or maybe a bit of “the hell you are,” I decided to come to LSU. I think somewhere around 10 of us from my class did, as many of the kids  who went to my school were from Louisiana anyway. 

The first things I learned about college were that I was almost immediately rewarded for procrastinating. Big classes that didn’t take roll taught me that I also didn’t have to go to class. So I didn’t.  Other than my side gig of rock and roll immersion, I never did find anything to interest me. I was a chameleon that could get mostly B’s in everything from history to photography to economics to anything but math. Mostly I avoided having to try to hard I think. I ended up with a History degree based on slight interest and newsflash, an ability to write. 

Ever since I can remember I’ve also been driven by this “my way” ideal. That I can do things how I want to. Some sort of willful defiance against some sort of status quo, a pseudo frat boy  punk rock aesthetic I was inventing as I went along not because the man was keeping me down but rather a deeper feeling of self confidence that I could figure it out. 

This would have all been fine and well with a focus to execute at the utmost of my ability, but as stated earlier, I was blessed (cursed) with the ability to achieve slightly above average results with a minimal effort. This isn’t bragging, it’s an unfortunate truth.  Yes, I wanted  to be a musician, but did I practice guitar for hours on end?  No. I got to a slightly above average level and rolled with it ebbing slightly above or below that level depending on how many beers I’d had. 

Once, when I was 19 or 20 my dad, a physician sat me down and told me that “None of his kids had become a doctor.” This was all fine and well except that my youngest half sibling was 10 years older than me, had graduated and was clearly not a candidate. I scanned back to my catalog of “things I kind of liked” and science was in there somewhere. So I enrolled in science major’s Chemistry and proceeded to not go to class and wonder why Chemistry was so hard. One D later and my med school dream was over, but really I never really wanted it anyway. 

As things progressed through the 90s, the unwiring as I’ll refer to it as, continued. Sporadic drug use combined with constant alcohol abuse disguised as “part of the rock and roll brand” I was creating, created just that. A rock and roll idea. Not a plan. Not a focus, not an improvement. I continued working and excelling in the restaurant business, of which I was completely overqualified for.  This makes you look like good and let’s you move up as far as you’d want to. If you’re willing to endure the hours. 

During this period of my life, another recurring life theme began to play itself out. That of “not going all in due to the fear of committing and missing out on another better opportunity,” aka an eternal one foot out the door attitude. You never knew when Warner Brothers might be coming to sign you to a deal. If you’d have looked at the lack of solid planning or working on getting better, you’d have known they were never going to call.

As the 90’s ended I slid deeper into substance abuse, and felt like nothing was going to play out my ways. I drank, I rocked, I wandered aimlessly both mentally and career wise.

#hugsandhi5s

PART 2:

This was the post I wrote the weekend after the Louisiana Marathon. I had felt great about the weekend, and really felt pretty good about where I was in the world. Things are never perfect, and this became evident on a Friday afternoon.

I struggle with organization and structure and because of this, my co-workers have to deal with that. It’s nothing I’m proud of, but I’ve tried unsuccessfully to fix it. Almost like clockwork, every 90 days or so, I shit the bed. No one dies, and it’s not the end of the world, but it rocks me and then I’m constantly thinking about it.

This is one of the only posts I’ve almost not shared. I think mostly because at the time I was pretty overwhelmed with the reality of what was going on that caused it.

In the past 2-3 weeks, I have looked deeper into who I am and what I need to be doing. I am pretty sure I know, but when I wrote this, I was questioning everything, and doubting it all as well…that will be Part 3

Here goes…

Do you ever just grow tired of explaining yourself? Either to others or hell, just to yourself?  Clearly if I’m asking this. I must be exhausted from it. My life can feel like climbing up a cliff of sand. One step forward. Ten steps back. 

Most of this has to do with my internal battles of what work is and being a part of a team. There’s a reason I’m into individual sports and spend a lot of time alone. 

“Suck it up,” they say. “You get paid to hang out and work with your friends!”  “You just have to figure it out!” This doesn’t help.    In fact it does the opposite. I now know how kids feel when they can’t explain the unexplainable rush of emotions they sometimes feel. How they sometimes just want to scream and let it out without explanation or being told how to feel and do. 

And so I put my head down and try again, slowly unraveling, falling behind, procrastinating and waiting for enough pressure to execute at the last minute, sliding into home just ahead of the throw again, killing the third base coach’s spirit and patience again and again and again. 

Each time I hang on a razors edge of walking into the sunset, an unemployable thinker wishing he’d just be more organized and each time, I trudge back in to give it another shot, wondering if it’s even worth bothering. It feels not unlike the time in my late 20’s where I was four steps past the point of addiction, thinking that there would be set be a day  when I wouldn’t drink, but secretly knowing that day didn’t exist. Same exact feelings. 

It’s knowing you’re capable and at the same time not being able to get out of your own way or be engaged unless you’re excited or care deeply about the activity.  This just in. I’m hard to excite and caring doesn’t seem to be enough of a motivator anymore.

I assume it’s ADD or something. Dopamine receptors left empty or filled with shiny things I pass on the street, leaving the daily things to be done, forgotten and ignored. Even when I’m interested and execute, it’s not enough because then I expect a level of perfection that’s neither definable or reachable, so I self sabotage.

So I trudge. And I disappoint and I underperform and underachieve and put my head down and try again and rinse and repeat the loop three months later. A quarterly TPS report saying that “If you could just not do that, that’d be great.”  And I do it again. A double album of chaos and frustration. And that’s just side A. Three more sides to go!

Inevitably it brings up the conversation of “What would even make you happy? Satisfied?” To which i never have an answer. Or rather the answer is something most respond with a “well you can’t do that.” or “well you’re doing A and that leads to B which kind of leads to the thing you want so that’s the same thing.” It’s not the same thing. So I’ve quit answering and in so (not) doing, ended up less driven, less goal focused, less good at doing the things I’m invested in, and not knowing why I continue to do them.

So again I have the choice. To grind and improve for a few weeks knowing the gentle unseen slide is coming or walk away and figure out something new, knowing that this will be inevitable as the Louisiana humidity, gone for a day, thicker than ever the next day. It always feels as fixable as trying harder.  But even knowing it’s coming and knowing what I should be doing doesn’t make it happen. I mean it does for a week or a month, but never for good. Unfortunately there is no such thing as “once and for all.”

Sometimes it’s suggested I talk to someone about it. Get it all out I guess. But this isn’t a cry it out scenario. It’s the wiring I think. I know the strategies. Hell, I write about the strategies. I just struggle employing them. I don’t want medication as my one foray into that yielded nothing. So I work. I sleep. I run and I survive.

But survival some days doesn’t feel the same as living.

#hugsandhi5s