WHATEVER WAS I THINKING?

At age 64 I think I am finally giving up the pursuit of perfection in my being. At least, I hope I have. It is a strange thing to be diagnosed at 50 and to have it explain the missing achievements of the past.  So, as I look around my bedroom at the stacks of clothes not put away, books not read, drawers left half-open I find that I finally want to let go of the feeling of failing for being able to keep it things in the perfect order that I have been brainwashed into believing that they should be.

I am absolutely certain that the number of broken bones I have incurred, the cuts, the falls, the clumsiness can be attributed to the ADHD. While my career as a ballerina was in no way affected since it was never a goal, I can see why so many things in my life happened the way they did. Crazy parental behavior played a part in it, also. By the time high school graduation arrived I had lived in no fewer than four states, twelve cities and, at a minimum, fifteen houses, apartments, and hovels. This does not include the few empty houses my mother broke into so we wouldn’t sleep in an alley somewhere.

All of this has led to a strange affliction of self doubt, feelings of total insecurity and an absolute tendency to say whatever is on my mind at the most inopportune moments. It has also created an individual that has survived much of with a wicked sense of humor, a cornucopia of useless knowledge and a level of guilt that I am now totally willing to pass on to some void in the sky.

Meanwhile, the pile of books sets untouched, the clothes are easier to get to and I have to go now and do something that doesn’t require me to sit still for more that 10 minute.