It’s been a bit – as it often is – between posts.

This year has been tough for everyone, but with the birth of my baby (an amazing thing) it has been exceptionally hard to keep up with my writing. On top of that, I have been recently diagnosed with ADHD. I’ve been struggling with it for a long time, but never knew. Now that it all makes sense, I feel extremely conflicted. On the one hand, it explains why a whole bunch of things have been so difficult for me for so long, and it’s nice not to blame myself for not being able to focus, or complete things, or regulate my emotions.

On the other hand, however, it’s been remarkably difficult to accept all the things I could have done if I had been diagnosed before the age of 28. Maybe I would have tried harder at school and university? Maybe I would have found it easier to make friends? Maybe I wouldn’t have learnt to hate myself so much.

In essence there’s a whole lot I need to do and much more growing to be done, but on the whole things are going okay and my son is beautiful. We’re not quite ready to put photos up of him right now, but maybe in the future.

I wrote this poem as my meds were wearing off. It is, therefore, very specifically an “ADHD” poem. I hoped to capture how I feel about the way my mind works and has worked for so long, but I feel like I will always fall short if I describe my brain with words. All I can do, however, is try.

Enjoy!

Lost in time

I

I write poems in the shower,
grasp hold of them,
and lose them forever – they sink
down the drain,
washed away
by distraction and discontent –
moods sway like trees in the breeze:
a hurricane I can’t withstand.

I write poems in the car,
watch them as they drift away,
holding them in my gaze
until they pass.

I write poems as we speak
and as the fragments of our mundane
lives meet together in the
space between our minds
they’re lost forever.

II

I thought I could hold onto you this time…











but I guess you’re gone.

III

Imagine all the things you
could have done
if you’d just

known

before

IV

I throw myself at the mercy of time whose treachery goes unnoticed as I lay, eyes closed, thinking of the things that weigh me down – those transient thoughts that haunt ephemeral dreams and chase me through the labyrinth of my mind.

Where is the beast? I’m yet to see it – after all, there are no mirrors in this place.

V

“What are you thinking about?” I ask her, years before I knew her.

“Nothing,” she replies, a blissful smile touching her lips.

“You can’t think of nothing,” I said, but she’d already turned away.

I never forgot that day.

VI

As I drive along
that familiar gravel road, I look
up at the others high above,
the concrete-and-steel-smooth highway
taunting me.

“I prefer it down here,” I say to no one,
grimacing as I hit a hole.

The car grinds to a halt
and I wait as the dust
settles.

It takes all of time, which
passes before I know.

As I reach behind my seat
I glimpse the others
flying past
years ahead of where
I’ll ever be.

“I prefer it down here,” I say again,
bracing myself for what I am
about to see:

Fragments of thoughts
shine as I open my
old and tattered case,
sobbing at the beautiful
tragedy of it all, but as
the glimmering remnants of
my mind sift like silken
sand through my fingers
I touch upon
the one remaining piece
(against all odds, still whole).

Smiling, I dust it off,
considering it: an in-tact thought –
a rare find (at least it is in a mind
like mine).

I sigh a familiar sigh.

It’s safer just to leave
it all behind.

As I set off on my
road again the sun
begins to kiss the stony ground
and before long, despite its
beauteous glow, the
thought is
gone.