Since I moved to this city I’ve become meaner.

I’m harder. At times, less optimistic. Tougher. I’ve ceased to make eye contact with passers by in the street. And there’s certainly no “Hi, how are you” with the expectation of a reply that I had learned during my time in the Top End. For the first three years of my time being mean in this city I would catch the train to work, read a book that I was only kind of into, and listen to the same angsty music that I listened to on my way to school when I was fifteen and hope that I was not playing loud enough for fellow passengers to hear. My own secret train guilt. I tried to perfect being the kind of person whose feet doesn’t move when the train makes a turn. Telling myself, don’t look up, just push and shove and move. Like when I played in the scrum. Now I feel a sense of personal superiority as I delight in riding my bike to work and leave the train to suburban fools.

In this city, when I’m alone, I am the most important person that I know. I dislike and accept that. I walk fast, walk so fast and eye roll the slow person walking up the stairs as I’m trying to make it on time to the job that I hate and can’t draw the motivation to get up early enough for. People ask me for money at train stations and supermarkets, drunk people piss on themselves, junkies throw up by my feet, children scream and I pretend they are not there. I’m alone in this city. I don’t know anybody.

Its the fashion capital so I have a go at dressing like an idiot. Go back to my home town and think ‘why the fuck am I wearing so much black and where did these accessories come from?’ I strut down the street briskly when I am only getting a coffee, taking myself out for breakfast, or a cheeky drink that will take the edge off of being alone all the time.

Still, in a city filled with so many people, I must not acknowledge them. This becomes somewhat difficult because there are so many interesting and attractive things, most of them wearing there sisters’ jeans and riding fixie bikes. Grumble at the extortionate city-tax bar prices but be too nervous to refrain from drinking. When somebody talks to me at a bar, I laugh coyly and blurt some rubbish about how stupid this city is, just because I’m not really feeling a part of it. Offend them. Know a lot of people, just barely.

I’ve become suspicious of ‘nice guys’ because I am no longer nice. I get nervous whenever I enter some part of the city that looks really local, fearing that the locals will sniff my scent and drive me out of town. I’ve learned that this city is big, but it is actually very small. Get drunk, meet new drunk friends, and never see them again. See a girl I went to high school with. Think about crossing the road so she doesn’t see me. Too late, caught. She looks great and I nervously chat about my life and mention my boyfriend inappropriately because I’m intimidated. Send e-mails to people back home whenever the airlines have a special. Grow terrified of my bank account as I furiously eat money with no friends. Bury my head in my hands at my desk when I think nobody is looking. Think about how stupid I was only a few years ago, abandon old dreams and make new ones. Find fog really romantic. Find unemployment really romantic. Drink on Thursday nights, because Thursday is the new Friday. Actually Thursday is less intimidating because less people are out. Take personal days in the tiny kitchen that is filled with gourmet condiments, and eat a bag of chips. Learn about coffee. Shop at a Farmer’s Market only 6 kms from the CBD.

Try to connect with a small circle of friends that I already knew before I moved here, people who were friends of friends. Realise that I never became friends with them in my old town for a reason and find a way to cut them loose. Hold onto and love my girlfriends back home, fiercely. Get a sickening feeling in my stomach when I realise that most of those friends now refer to me as an ‘old-friend’.

Have numbers in my phone that I don’t need. Have a zillion friends on facebook whose numbers and birthdays I don’t know and wouldn’t do anything with that information if I had it.

Give up a big house and a veggie patch to roll into domestic routine with my boyfriend in a small dust collecting town house opposite a train line. Feel like this is an accomplishment until I feel restless and want an Xbox. Feel like being restless is a thing I should feel, like it’s smart and good for me. Fall in love with a black cat but refrain from referring to each other as Mum and Dad of said black cat. Go home to friend’s wedding and dance stupidly and tell everybody the next day that I can’t believe how I danced, even though it was the most amount of fun I’ve had in months.

Fall in love with a new kind of ethnic food, probably only because it’s walking distance from my house, and fall more in love with brunch than I ever thought possible. Make connections with dogs on the street. Spend too much time contemplating life on long concrete walks. See the sunrise less than I should. Barely see anybody I like during the day. Forget to buy toilet paper and use tissues in the dunny. Take cabs at 3am. Bitch mercilessly about the state of the taxi industry in this state.

Meet nice people somewhere I didn’t expect. Have a conversation with somebody I never thought I would meet. Talk to somebody out of the blue. Enjoy these moments of fate immensely. Have more faith in humanity than I did when I lived back home.

Call a friend at home to tell them all about it but stop when I realise that they think I’m becoming a wanker.

Come home late smelling like smoke. Wonder how that happened, but really know exactly how that happened. Promise I won’t spend too much money shouting drinks for work colleagues whom I don’t even really like, spend too much money on drinks for work colleagues whom I don’t even really like. Send texts to everybody I miss who is not in town because I feel nostalgic for everything. Be lonely, ‘kind of lonely, and ‘sort of lonely’ for months. Long to find a girlfriend who can drink and smoke like me who is also somebody I like enough to watch movies with. Pay bills late. Revel in the fact that that I’m not afraid of a nasty red letter. Feel really proud of my menu planning and intake of fresh, in season, locally grown vegetables. Stop eating fruit once the corporate fruit box runs out. Get to know myself and be surprised by it.

Forget all the great reasons why I moved here, fall in love with the reasons I didn’t. Think-
Singing in the car, driving in the hills, shopping in my lunch break, having lunch away from my desk, BBQ’s after work with friends, game nights in back yard, dress up parties - lot’s of them, roughly twenty of the most fun, mildly screwed up, gorgeous (and I mean physically beautiful) girl friends who are never further than a twenty minute drive away, couple-friends, Nick’s face and mood when he gets home from a down hill ride that is just up the hill and not a weekend away, two cars, a veggie garden, deli’s - really awesome deli’s with delicious small goods and fresh bread only a walk away, being a non Italian in an Italian neighborhood, the sound of burnouts and fast cars breaking the sound barrier at 3 am on a school night, going to the rugby - the smell of the cut grass, the open fire and deep heat, my Nan, a quick cleansing drive to the beach followed by a run on the sand without fear of stepping on used needles, great pubs, schnitzels, the East End on a nice night, after work drinks, crazy karaoke nights that I am always to embarrassed to admit that I hate and love and the same time, knowing the streets, suburbs and shopping centers like the back of my hand, Villie’s pies, local wine lists, Haighs without the Collins St pretentiousness, down to earth people, my two best mates - never more than a hug away.

Revel in being alone, revel in learning a city. Hate every job I have. Hate every bar I go to. Love both of these. Love everything. Have really, really GOOD days. Stare at the city like ‘I got this.’ Swear I will eventually leave. Fall in love with it again. Hate it again. Be satisfied.

Buy a brand new car. Enjoy it. Remember how much money half a million sounded like a few years ago, when I was young. Pay that for a house in a shitty suburb I won’t feel safe in.

Accept all of this and realise that it’s exactly what I want. End the restlessness. Fall back in love. Cuddle the black cat. Be satisfied.

Oh Em Gee - Blogs about ADHD are borring!

So, diagnosis is confirmed, I have a condition known as Innattentive Adult Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. You'll see from my last post that I suspected that this might be the case and went about doing a lot of reading. I also thought I might turn to blogging about the subject - blog my journey through the treatment. But OH MY GOG, bloggers on this topic are soooooo self involved and boring zzzzzzzzz! So this is just about the last time I will write about my ADHD diagnosis (unless once I start the treatment I go on drug fuelled rants - could be fun right?). I thought I'd just share some of what I have learnt and we can move on....

• ADHD effects the 'executive decision making' part of the brain, it doesn't make you crazy or eccentric, you'll have to find another disorder to pin that on.


• Treatment for ADHD is via stimulants, and no you can't have any.


• Treatment will not be life changing, rather life enhancing, As my Psych said "much like if you had Asthma and you took Ventolin you just might become an Olympic swimmer".

So no blogs from me about ADHD and productivity, new found reliance list making, big noting my creativity, patting myself on the back for making appointments on time, projecting and feelin tetchy, my long suffering partner, what happens when I foget my drugs, my long life hoplessness which is now okay because the Doctor gave me a reason for it.... really there is enough of it out there.

Peace.

Adult ADHD!?

Early in my “serious” working life I went through a phased obsession with online personality tests. A wave of ego-fueled excitement would wash over me when into my inbox landed the Meyers-Briggs kind that allowed me to feign self-awareness and also discover I had more in common with Oprah than previously thought. According to personality tests, I am an introvert because I like alone time but also an extrovert because I publicly share this fact.

Last year I discovered a new sense of self-awareness that I wasn’t looking for however, through the NIDA course that I attended I learned a lot about myself and in turn grew my confidence and self awareness. I’m not awkward, I do not lack self esteem however recently, some old self doubts started to creep in and I felt like I might be getting depressed.

This new sense of self awareness and ability of self reflection opened up a whole new possibility to me that I never ever considered. There are many things that I am capable of and can achieve, but something stands in my way? Was it motivation or self control? Was I bored or depressed or could there be a neuropsychological underpinning for much of my mood and behavior.

Concentration, motivation and routine have always been difficult for me but I always thought that I was just a little bit lazy. University didn’t go so well for me, not one of my three attempts. I did reasonably well at school, I was clever enough to get decent marks with minimal homework (what could be done in the night before a task was due) and at work I’m much the same. I lose stuff, I forget to important things (like pay fines or put petrol in the car), I’ve learned to do things as soon as I think of them or I will forget. If you watched me do chores at home you would find it hilarious, I work like a fly buzzing seemingly erratically from one direction to another. I am always multi tasking. My brain zigs and zags all over the place. I have a quick temper and cry when I’m frustrated. I can’t commit to routine, I’m always more aware of back ground noise than the conversation I am in and the white space on a page is very hard for me to ignore in order to actually read the words. I am easily agitated (the sound of typing on a keyboard can force the need for me to take a walk around the block). I am an impulsive eater/drinker/shopper/talker, I fidget all the time, and I often blurt out impulsive comments at meetings. I use the wrong word or name for things all the time and I don’t even realise - I know what I mean and I’m surprised when someone picks me up on it. Numbers look the same to me, e.g. 3170 and 180 can look the same to me. My attention to detail is appalling (a problem given the job I hold). At night my mind races so fast I cannot sleep, so I sometimes have a drink or two (or three or…..) to slow down my mind or more recently, I over exercise. I am also tired all the time from the effort to focus.

Since the age of about 15, I have felt bored. Always.

Recently I discussed this with my GP. It was the bravest thing that I have ever done. I told her exactly what I have written above and I got a bit emotional but I didn’t cry. She listened and proposed the idea that I may have Adult ADHD and referred me to a Psychiatrist for a formal diagnosis.

30 years old and I find out that I may have ADHD. Huh! Words fail me at this point in time; I really don’t know how to express the frustration/anger/relief/excitement that I may have a treatable condition that accounts for so much of my behavior.

So on 7 April I will see the shrink and let you know how it goes…. In the meantime I will continue reading about the condition and share my thoughts with you.

Challenge: Just say it - How you feel

Today I feel like I need new hair.

Challenge: Just say it - Something you would like to say to your family

I love you but you're boring.