Born This Way

It's lunch time. I gather up my wallet, phone, and kindle then head down to the cafe. Once again, I realize I have no appetite although I know if I don't eat in a few hours I'll find myself gritting my teeth, my shoulders so tense they're practically up to my ears from the raging headache I'm not aware of until I'm so tense it's exhausting. I grab a juice, water, and sandwich, pay the cashier and casually walk through the large, noisy, cold seating area down to the small arrangement of uncomfortable couches in the atrium.

I'm disappointed to see there is a meeting taking place in my spot, but I snag the furthest chair from the meeting and settle in. I'm starting a new novel about... magicians? I can't even remember, but it doesn't matter. I read to escape. I begin reading - my mind is pulled away by the chatter to my right - I focus back to the text - again I hear their conversation mixed in with the novel, complicating the story in my head. I take a sip of my juice and suddenly I'm bombarded - the tv on the wall - the women walking past me - the distracting gait of another across the room. Six different conversations intersect, jumbling in my head, disarming me.

Frustrated, I try again to pay attention to story of these teenagers... geniuses? Sigh. I'll have to go back, I'm not picking it up.

Most days this is my life. Some places are easier than others. Some days are easier than others. Sadly, as hard as this is - today is a good day.

You can't really imagine, can you? You think I don't like the book or I'm not trying hard enough, but the fact is as I type this I'm thinking about the keys jingling across the room, the girls laughing to my right, the man talking to them as he passes - I'm interrupted for a pleasant exchange with a coworker - and still I'm somehow able to finish my train of thought. You don't expect to hear I was diagnosed with A.D.D. after days of thorough testing when I was 10, that I was on medication from ages 10-17, but not liking the reactions I was experiencing I took myself off the drugs and just forced myself to cope. You don't expect to hear I coped like that through college and work until I was 32. You can't comprehend the mental acrobatics I do every moment of every day just to stay on task, on topic.

At least I assume you don't. I assume this because if you understood you wouldn't joke about it. You wouldn't ask if I've taken my meds, you wouldn't tell me you've often thought you might have it. I'd like to think you'd respect me for the daily struggle and all the things I still accomplish. I'd like to think you'd wonder instead how I can go without time just to relax and still manage to stay so cheerful.