I know you’re having trouble. It comes with the territory.
I know that you put the kettle on the stove and that’s when your mind reminds you that you need to shower, to pick up groceries, to go get the mail and chat with the neighbor. I know.
I know that you leave the house and go back three times before you drive away. I know that even after you’ve driven away you’re likely to go around the block and stop in again to get that last thing you forgot. I know that you’ll get where you’re going and there will still be something missing. I know you’ll get home thinking you’ve managed to take care of it all and walk in the door only to see the one thing you were going out to deliver or get fixed that had to be taken care of and likely the reason you were going out in the first place. I know
I know that when you go to the grocery store you’ll get five things that weren’t on your radar when you left home. I know that one of them is likely to be something you’ve never bought before, and when you get it home you’ll be at a total loss to explain why you bought it.
I know that when you get home there will be a very good chance that the thing you really, actually needed will not be among your groceries. I know that this can happen to you even if you have a list and that one thing is on the top of the list, circled, with asterisks, and underlined, written in a different color of ink. I know that those are likely the reason you missed seeing it on the list in the store when you were determining that you had everything. I know.
I know that before this day is out you will say something you didn’t think through completely. I know that you will have meant it in a completely different way than it was taken. I know that once you’ve said it, the way it will be taken by others will be obvious to you but before you say it there will be no realization that it could be taken in any way other than the truly obscure context you first thought of it in. I know it’s going to happen, I know.
And I know that you will feel pain because of all these things and more. I know that you will feel sad, lonely, unloved. I know that you will be willing to become a hermit in order to not feel that way ever again. I know that you ache in ways that seem completely and wholly unbearable if you must endure them even just one more day.
I also know that tomorrow when you get up there is a good chance that you will remember that one thing, that one time, that one moment when it seemed like you had it all together and it was working perfectly, this life of yours that is riddled with ADHD. And I know that you’re going to say to yourself, “Hey, I survived all that other crap. And I might get it all right today. This might be the day.”
And I know one more thing.
I know that you are correct. This might be that day.
Go get ’em!