A gay indie boy living in suburban South West London recounts his trials and tribulations dealing with sex, sexuality, growing up and getting older

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

What is the point, really?

I'm really not sure if I'm losing the will to live or not these days. I find it hard to accept that someone who is as smart as me is not successful. I don't find that an arrogant thing to say, I just find it intensely sad. I have this brain that thinks and knows and has so much inside it and yet I realise I've failed to communicate whatever I have inside.

I can't see the point in going on if I am doomed to be a failure. All my life I hoped and hoped for the best and I just can't accept things as they are. There is no middle ground for me. I feel like a complete failure and what condemns me even more is the complete inability or will to commit something in this life that will make a lasting impression. I cannot write a novel, or a great song or something that will set the world alight. I've failed at that.

I get frustrated at myself nowadays. You see, I recently discovered that I lived with undiagnosed ADHD for my whole life. They didn't pick it up in childhood because I did so well academically, and the educational system provided a stimulus I could respond to. It can happen with intelligent adults, they said, and only becomes apparent when they don't cope as well as other people in later life. When I found out, it made a lot of sense. My constantly racing thoughts, impulsive and risky behaviour for the sake of stimulation, my inability to focus on one task long enough to make a half decent go of it – even cleaning the house becomes a series of distractions for me that makes it an impossible task – disorganisation, speaking out of turn and blurting out whatever's on your mind...

Now every time I have 'a great idea', I start to wonder if it is a good idea or if it's just my ADHD flipping the switch to yet another thought. I am very, very frustrated and really, really sad. All those hopes and dreams I ever had, all those great ambitions, was that just a product of the way I think too? Did I hurt so many people in my life because of this uncontrollable way that I think? And if they knew would they have took a second thought before reacting?

I don't know. It's impossible to know the answers to those questions. But knowing this thing I can't help but think every time I sit down to write a story or do something artistic, I can't because I just think that I know I will change my mind halfway through, so what is the point in beginning? And what's more is just knowing that all sense of 'career' is just another difficult confusion for me; something I don't want to commit myself to in case I change my mind.

I can't see my use, my function in this world anymore. I don't feel needed anymore, I just feel sad. I can't help but feel I am being wasted and yet there is no way to stop the wasting, the getting older. There is no way of pausing before death comes and there is no way of stopping working and breathing to catch your life before it disappears before your eyes.

I'm stuck. And I'm sad and I'm really, really lost.

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