I screamed a lot as a child. It was a behavior which earned me the nickname "the screamer" on top of a reputation for doing just that. Screaming. Then screaming some more. And then some more, until I was mentally and physically wiped out. It was the first of many labels I earned in my life.
I've given a lot of thought to labels throughout my 40+ years on this earth and rebelled against them on a quest to prove them both wrong and right. I don't really know why I've invested so much time and energy contemplating such a fruitless topic. It seems the more you focus on something the more power it has over you. But I have a thinking problem, in that I can't NOT think. My mind is like a hijacked train racing down a bumpy, even winding, track to nowhere. I hold on tight, sometimes fearing for my life, but mostly just trying to prepare for the crash. And in one way or another--it always crashes. Leaving me a little more bruised and broken each time. But then I sit and wait. Wait for it to start up all over again. Maybe I'm a masochist. Sure. In fact, I can just slap that on me next to all the other labels that were either bestowed upon me or I willingly claimed as my own. Do labels define a person or describe a person? I don't know. I could make an argument both ways, courtesy of that crazy mind of mine which seems to have the innate ability to look at something from all sides, leaving me frozen, with my eyes wide open, acutely aware and even more confused then when I started down that particular path to begin with. What I Am sure of is that I don't like labels. Why? Because just like the ones you affix to a piece of paper or envelope--they stick.
I don't remember much about growing up. Apparently that's an odd thing because my many, many therapists over time really like to focus on that "problem" and generate a multitude of theories trying to answer the unanswerable why. But I do remember some things. And it's not always pretty, but it's never really horrible either. So what's the problem? And why can't I seem to get off this fucking train?? Why can't I find the emergency lever, pull it, and just jump off? Why do I still sit, frozen? Frozen and screaming? I don't know.
I remember a time, a time when I was maybe 3, being sent to my room. I was angry. Very angry. I have no recollection as to why. I never seem to be able to remember why. But I was angry. I picked up my favorite record and smashed it against my closet sending it shattering into large chunky pieces. What propelled me into such a tailspin that I completely lost control? What would compel me, just a young child, to destroy something I loved, something that was very much a part of me, because then, just like now, music was my salvation, my heaven, my soul. Once again, I don't know. But here I am, a grown woman, still trying to figure it out, because I can't get off the train and the monsters in my head just won't stop screaming.
If you haven't yet guessed, I have ADHD. Because of that, and perhaps other factors, I am a perfectionist to a fault which generally means I have a habit of starting something but never quite finish. It would be a dreadful reflection of who I am if I delivered anything less than the best, right? So it is with that acknowledgement that I start down this path of imperfection and indeed confess I may never finish or ever even come back to this "story" after today. So what are you waiting for? Jump aboard with me. Just make sure you fasten your seatbelt. It's going to be a bumpy ride.
