All Over Again. On a Loop.
Somewhere between Los Angeles and the Grapes of Wrath region of California sits the amusement park Magic Mountain. It’s the home of Montezuma’s Revenge, one of those giant, old school roller coasters that you can see from the Highway. It’s out in the open, and it looks like it’s being held up by scaffolding and screws, which for some, only adds to the excitement … or terror … you choose. It was the first milestone on our 5-hour trip to visit my paternal grandma, and it always marked the beginning of the dopamine-poor drive through the dry, desolate, brown center of the state. That’s when I started the snacks and asking how many more minutes.
(My parents said they should have named me “How many more minutes?” because I was always asking that question. That is what they call a “clue.”)
For me, each day now is like being buckled into Montezuma’s Revenge and riding it over and over again. It never stops until I sleep.
It’s not fun anymore.
I’m up. I am down. I scream. I lose my stomach. I’m up. I’m down. I’m exhilarated. I go up and up, I pause, then fall. On a loop. I’m ready to throw up. It’s like the Colorado weather. If you don’t like it, just wait a minute. I see it in my husband’s face when I appear. That 2-second pause while he waits to find out if I am at the top of the hill or descending the rails screaming to be let off.
(Have I mentioned he is a Saint?)
Many people talk about the proverbial “emotional rollercoaster.” But usually, it describes moments or events in their life. That one relationship with the hot, but crazy girl. That learning curve at the new job. Having a baby. Waiting for the college acceptance letter.
Most people don’t have that several times in one day. But most people aren’t me. Most people don’t have ADHD.
In this moment, it feels too hard. But, if I wait a minute, I’ll be back down that hill, laughing my head off while I catch my breath. I turn to the person next to me, but I forgot. I am on this baby all by myself. I am not alone, though. My peeps, all 1.5 of them, are down on the ground, holding my purse and funnel cake and waving at me.
They know how to get off this mofo. I don’t. I just have to ride and ride and ride.
Yesterday, it hit me. Just, how much time and money I invested trying to figure this out? I probably could have put a kid through trade school with that dough. I should have. That would have been a better net benefit to society. How many self-help books, programs, and now, podcasts, have I consumed? How much prayer? Meditation? All the workbooks about not giving a rat’s ass and owning my power and knowing my worth and chakras and shamans and all that self-empowerment sh*t! Yet, I am still scared to death of that next hill I am racing toward.
Because I am so very, very flawed.
But yesterday, the truth sunk its teeth in me, finally. Holy Sh*t. It was physically impossible. My brain won’t let it stop. That’s why. I have ADHD. That’s why. I need treatment, that’s why.
So, I ride and ride and ride Montezuma’s revenge, trying to time the moment when I can jump off and go home. It’s not today. It wasn’t yesterday. Tomorrow, I'm just not feeling you.
But I can do this a while longer. And so, I just keep on riding.