I was nesting in the home I loved, comforted by the certainty that construction on the home out my window would eventually cease.

Now I simply live in temporary housing that is made unlivable between the hours of 8am and 5pm.

When you realize nobody with an honest interest in understanding you shall ever be around you in your life again long enough to be capable of doing so.

I wonder what the odds were last March (there are only so many times you can hear this without repeating it), when I said out loud for the very first time in memory, “I’ll just kill myself,” (shocking even myself into pondering whether I really were suicidal (I wasn’t and turns out I never have been)) that the very next thing said to me would be, “Good, nobody wants you here.”

If doctors were in the least bit equipped for thinking laterally, they’d ask old folks about the histories of their progeny. Were this the case, my father’s doctor would learn that he’d endowed me with his ADHD, while my mother’s would find out she’d dressed me in her dysthymia. Leaving dysthymia untreated must blow.

Still fathoming five years actively allowing my insides to spill out into darkness like tentacles feeling their way through foreign soil to tactilely trace the unknown, with all the curiosity of a sheltered child being welcomed into Disney World, without anything reaching out to touch me back.

Not sure which nose it was… but grade school ☾𐂂 would walk around on one wearing a shirt just like this.

Now I kinda want to pen an autobiography that not a one of you could possibly understand and call it My Ungrokkable Self

Perhaps I ought condition myself to give everyone the performance they’re looking for, like yesterday… and this morning. My ungrokkable self is tired of caring and a performance is the quickest way to pat them on the back and send them out smiling.

When you’re hanging out at Cali K9 waiting to be noticed, having arrived late (something you’ve done many times over the last 1 1/2 years you’ve been taking Kota there), when, finally, someone comes over to ask just the right questions. “You meant to be here? This your first class?”

“Nope, last.”

When you force her to read nonsense like this in a text because how the fuck else were you going to describe it: “Just sucks I have to rock my bog-sunken tires free from this tractionless hellscape in order to get moving again.”

When you remember keeping your parents address longer so you could continue voting against Newt Gingrich who was coming for your brother’s happiness.

Fresh armchair (couch, in honesty) theory: the aforementioned lateral thinking training, which leverages everything we detest about Lazy ADHD, installs the very neural pathways utilized by everything we celebrate about Creative ADHD. You can’t make darkness without light.

I wish I had done better at being a bridge between popularity and pocket protectors when I was in high school.

Wanna max out that Lateral Thinking attribute for your character’s latest build? Add some undiagnosed ADHD (27 years’ll do) and then try accruing fourty-fucking-something years pivoting out of any action your character ain’t in the mood for.

When you remember you failed whatever that stupid writing comprehension crap they make you do before officially signing off on your two-year core being satisfied in some American Universities (I remembered because I was recalling the last time you have to play 5¶ essay before becoming a real boy).

Reason #422 that I will not be your prototypical client:

Let’s say you’re my gym. You’ve been working with me for quite a while. You haven’t seen me for months (when the bottom drops out you become low priority). I finally decide to come back in today… 25 lbs lighter w/o 6.8% of my fat.

When you realize it’s been twenty years or so since you’ve had a friend’s phone number in your phone (or a friend for that matter).

When, now you’ve passed nearly as many years friendless as you have all friended up, you realize just what an unstoppable f$&king force you might prove to be should some spontaneous game of Balderdash ever overtake a room.

Y’all have no idea how f$&king draining being an enigma can be. So f$&king deflating to realize your neural network has plied its way into an algorithm configured in such a manner as to render your reality without a single soul available within to understand you or your perception.

Honestly, the philosophy major I was gonna be had I started at Oglethorpe instead of Tech would have been the most accurate.

If you’ve identified that annoying, repetitive ticking currently keeping you from settling into something, and the source happens to be the chaotic rush of CO₂ bubbles crying freedom before bursting against the aluminum can containing all those H₂O molecules who should be so lucky… U might be #ADHD

I keep thinking of things to say, thinking I'm gonna post said thing, realizing what I'm thinking of saying is mostly noise pollution, and losing all interest in whatever TF it was I almost said. Almost feels like flailing. Human connection deficiencies are kinda fucked.

When you realize you could totally use one of those social-media-content-creator-subscription thingies to make bank by allowing folks to subscribe to your account for access to all your content… of your dog… … …for access to all your content of your dog. #FML

Derailment Classification: Existential
Trigger: Any fresh, seemingly beneficial, potentially rewarding, idea (the fulfillment of such ideas being the clay bricks out of which one builds a life of satisfaction)
Nature of Derailment: Fleeting question
Fleeting Question: What's the fucking point?

Raise UR hand if U feel like turning yourself in2 a hermit 4 the better part of a decade (social net., pop. 2) while living on a neural cocktail that takes 1 part #ADHD, 1 part #Dysthymia & a pinch of #OCD could trick UR counselor in2 thinking U register on the #spectrum.