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Yo, everyone, ADHD here.

I don't have a professional diagnosis, as I cannot get my act together enough to even get diagnosed; being self employed, going to doctors isn't an easy option, so I tough it out. But my self-diagnosis? Reading all of the symptoms, they describe me to a T. In one study citing twenty symptoms, I score 17 for ADHD. So why spend money for a doctor to tell me what I already know?

My experience in school was a disaster; a history of 'can't concentrate', 'he has incredible potential if he can ever buckle down". It was serious. Report cards were D's and F's, finally culminating with dropping out and chasing one illusive butterfly after another, usually going from one extreme to another. Most of the major choices I have made in my life were impulsive. I had lots of energy and creativity, and went helter skelter in every direction. I never did anything half hearted; I did it with businesses I have started, family planning, and marriage. Fortunately, many of my decisions were the right ones, but when I recall how impulsive I was when I made the decisions, all I can say is, 'but for the grace of God'.

I continue to have these impulsive thoughts. A kaleidoscope of colors, one person described so accurately. Vivid colors that burst that sets me on a course which more times than not, will ultimately burn out. Brain storms. creative hurricanes or tornadoes (torpedoes?) I make plans for the next day and week based upon these mental maelstroms. Then I wake up and realize how impractical these brain storms are, and plunk. So all around me are half done projects. I used the phrase 'in a dithers' as often as others might use the phrase 'project complete'. Or maybe more poetically, 'Bringing new dimensions to the definition of 'funk'. Yes, that would be a good caption on the back of my shirt. Or maybe this one: 'CANNOT SORT'.

I am well aware that all of these maligns affect most aspects of my life. For good or bad, it is who I am. I don't know if this old dog can learn new tricks or not. I know in some areas I have irreparable burnout that I am struggling with it. I also am well aware that it affects my writing. I am very glad for word processing; I realize that if all my thoughts were a one shot deal like on a typewriter I wouldn't have a hope in the world. I can comb through an article a dozen time and still impulsively, hit submit'. Then read it over again and be filled with regret, and immediately leapfrog the article. But I keep on throwing it against the wall, perhaps genius and absurdity wrapped all wrapped in one, like the world's largest spit wad. (Perhaps Helium will give me my own personal delete button?)

No doubt I am hopeless. I do sometimes think that life would have been easier had I known about all of this somewhere back in the late 50's. But one cannot live with such regrets, as Popeye said, I yam what I yam'. So while I have any being left in me, I will continue to dream and create. Perhaps I will get an offer from some publisher than needs an off the wall writer that can bring new dimensions to the word funk' to travel the world and report back about all of the ironies of life. I promise no burnout! If so, I am yours, truly, panderer of the prostituted pen, inquire within'.

Learn more about this author, Mac a'Bhaird.
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