A Rant with Sprinkles of Hope
Do you want hazelnut sprinkles, or coarse sugar on your donuts?
Trigger Warning: Suicide, Grief, Anger.
Please read on your own terms. Check in with yourself and your capacity before continuing. If you need support, don't hesitate to reach out to a helpline. There's no shame in asking for help. You are still needed on this planet.
My journey with my ADHD brain has been a rollercoaster.
That might be nothing new for some — if not most — of my fellow neurodivergents. Especially those who can relate to some of the deepest lows where the unique scale of mental health issues in neurodivergent people can take you. Still, after all, there might be nothing really extra special about my case.
Born near the bottom of society, but still more privileged than the majority of this planet’s population, just because of my light skin color and birthplace. Yet still more privileged than half the population within the privileged once, because I was born a man.
And yet I was cast out for most of my life as someone who just doesn’t fit in.
Too naive. Too much faith in humanity.
Too sensitive, too emotional
Too passionate, other times not passionate enough
Too focussed on random stuff, yet not focussed enough
Too lazy, too ambitious.
Too insecure, too much.
Too loud, too quiet…
Oh, I can relate to everyone who’s ever been cast out for who they are.
All misunderstood, exiled, dehumanized, mistreated groups of people. I will never truly know how it is to be less privileged, meaning racially segregated or hated for how I look. Yet I can relate. And that puts me in a terrifying position. Because…
WHAT HAVE I accomplished with my privilege so far? Did I waste my potential? Did I make enough space for others? Did I make too much space, and hold myself back, just because I feared offending someone with my honesty or voice?
I’ve been scolded for speaking my mind before. Let me make this clear: Not when I was rightfully called out for speaking from racist, colonial, and privileged belief systems I wasn’t even aware still shaped my words and thoughts, even though I felt myself at the bottom. I’m talking about being “put in my place”, silenced, sent to the corner, for speaking up. Too honest. Too rebellious. Too aware. Woke even?
I guess this is a rant about the world, but also about my own brain.
I had no idea what this would be about when I started writing.
Let’s see where this leads.
The world is not at fault here. Even though it is too easy to blame higher powers and dynamics for how unfair I perceive certain things. No, the world existed a long time before I was born, and it will continue to after I ceased to exist. Same goes for planet Earth, even when the manmade climate crisis finally consumes humanity. This planet will remain until the sun expands to its orbital line, billions of years from now.
Washing away everything we ever built. Sounds like I stole this from a Neil deGrasse Tyson speech, but really, it’s the conclusion I’ve come to from my own experience.
I am highly aware of the fact that life can just end one day. Suddenly and without a warning. I’ve felt the damage that severe depression can do to the body. How it shapes the mind into an inescapable prison at its lowest point… When death feels like the only sensible escape.
This said: I am still here.
Why?
Sometimes I ask myself that over and over again.
Should I sprinkle in something optimistic here? Maybe.
There are many reasons for why I am still here.
From the fear of actually going through with the act my thoughts imagined, to the unbearable grief of losing my own brother, who did indeed give in to those same thoughts. The pain of that reality is something I carry with me every single day.
But there are also real, beautiful things.
Like writing. Crafting. Making art. Collecting bottle caps with cool motives. Writing in my journal in new writing systems, glyphs or runes.
I am alive because I choose to live. Even though it is terrifying to do so every day. And I don’t think that’s going to change. What might change, though, is how I treat the thoughts themselves.
S̨él̼̍f̣-̠M͡aͨ͒͢n̮ͮi͔puͨ̐l̬̊ͧa̭t͔̎̅i̤͐on int̊o̖ͩ͢ t͍̅ͮh̨͖e̔ M̰̲ȉ͉̟n̲͇̒d̵̆-̎͘͜P̄ris̘̭ò̰̳n͔ͯ́
Growing up, I had no idea how even small comments or bursts of anger could impact a child’s mental health. How they could shape their view of the world. Having real consequences for every day life as an adult.
Learning about those aspects.
Educating myself on the complexity of the mind.
Going to therapy, support groups, grief counselling, and more.
All of that is good and necessary, but it doesn’t change the fact that I still have to live this life. With all its limitations, possibilities, and terrifying horrors.
I’ve questioned almost everything I ever thought I knew. Like why using slurs against gay or disabled people, even “just as a joke among friends”, can still be harmful to others. Or why saying someone’s a “pussy” or “whining like a girl” is just sexist. (If you take anything from this, consider that context matters. Just be mindful with your jokes.)
And then there’s the belief I grew up with:
That as a man, I had to do everything alone.
⇝ Be strong.
⇝ Never break.
⇝ Never cry.
⇝ Never ask for help.
That belief is one of the most self-destructive and toxic paths a man can walk. Especially in a society that wants to be pluralistic but still expects binary behavior. Also I never fit any of this. Too weak. Too feminine. Too easy to fall apart. Tears? My default state. Still. Those beliefs didn’t just vanish from my mind.
I’ve discarded the idea of duality — of gender, of sexuality, of thought, of political orientation. Everything is possible. In all its wickedness and beauty. But even possibilities have their limits, when it comes to the default mode of the mind:
“Setting the tone,” when it comes to the development of mental health conditions, has heavy implications depending on what you grew up on. I won’t go into all the details here. But I’ll say this much:
My household was unstable, chaotic, and unpredictable. I knew nurture, closeness and emotional support to some degree. Sometimes as a distant romanticized memory. I also knew what it meant to rely on myself — more than I should’ve had to. To be responsible for the pain of others, even when it wasn’t my fault. When I had to put my feelings second to those of my caregivers. None of this came from a place of cruelty or bad intent. Most of the time it came from their own unresolved mental health problems, generational trauma, overextension and a heavy mismatch in expectations from one another. I just happened to be born in between. But the scars it left behind still run deep. I yet have to free myself from this dynamic that shapes my decision-making as an adult.
Maybe eight years ago, I went on a walk with a friend. That was right after everything I thought I could rely on had changed.
There used to be a strange kind of security in my family.
Even though home didn’t always feel safe,
it still felt safer than the world outside.
There was a bond that felt unbreakable,
despite all the stress, despite the infighting.
That bond broke.
And when parents separate,
children suffer in the spaces between.
I think I was in my early twenties when I began exploring my mental health problems. But I’m losing the thread… Yeah, so… I was walking with a friend late in the evening in the new city I moved to with my siblings and one of my parents. It was dark, the streets alive with people, as we were headed to a university party. We spent more time talking about life, goals and depression, rather than partying. We were both introverted. After the party, while waiting for the bus, I said something to him that’s stuck with me ever since:
“I can finally see the bars of my mind prison! I can almost pull them apart and break free!”
Having these kinda euphoric moments aren’t anything new or special for me. The kind where I feel like I could take on the entire world, where nothing can shake me.
But in hindsight, that “finally” wasn’t as final as I initially thought.
Since then, I’ve had dozens of those moments,
thinking I was so close to stepping through.
Maybe I even slipped through the bars already,
only to find myself in the neighbouring cell.
A new version of the same cage.
It’s like I’m breaking sideways, from cell to cell,
instead of just finding the door into the hallway.
Scars don’t heal.
They fade.
Slower than I’d like.
You probably know what I am talking about. Most people have experienced difficult moments in their life. Neurodivergents and neurotypicals alike. May it be a quarter life crisis, a break up, a “oh-shit-I-forgot-to-do-my-taxes”-moment, or that time when you used a wood axe to chop a log from its side instead the proper way, slipped and hit your foot. Because why would I wear proper footwear like steel-toed boots?
I got lucky. Everything could be fixed and healed quickly.
Did I ever touch a wood axe again? Briefly. Just to hold it. To remember a time when chopping firewood was my only coping strategy for handling intense anger and frustration. Other people just do sports. I had to almost chop off two of my toes.
Yea. I know. It sounds incredibly thoughtless to do that. But in my defense, my ADHD brain doesn’t think about the consequences when it comes to fast dopamine boosts from impulsive behaviours. Yet in contrast, it makes me extremely talented to think of hundreds of potential consequences for absolutely mundane activities and putting me into a full stop dissociation mode.
Danger, though. That can feel really good at times.
Balancing on a tree that fell into a lake… what could go wrong?
Getting wet? That’s it, right?
What spiky twigs? What sharp stones?
Nah.
I got this.
Why deal with this important form, when I can procrastinate it until the due date, and do it high on adrenaline from the last minute panic hyperfocus? You get the gist of it.
Life, as I’ve come to know it, though, isn’t about avoiding danger.
I tried that game too. It’s about the ride. The journey is the real adventure.
And no, not like in that recent Netflix movie Fountain of Youth — spoiler warning — skip this bit if that bothers you.
A rather unfortunate adventure movie à la Indiana Jones and National Treasure with sprinkles of wannabe Da Vinci Code. At best rant-worthy, nothing deep to take from it. A bloated cast of characters who didn’t really matter for the story, existing only to create artificial urgency or easy solutions for the chillest protagonists ever. The main character learns nothing, starts out chasing adventure, almost lets a billionaire villain gain ultimate power, doesn’t stop him (someone else does), and walks out of the pyramid like nothing happened. Already plotting their next absolute train wreck of an adventure. Ready to destroy historic artifacts along the way. Sunken ships, antique cars, a few scooters, even historic sealed old liquor sipped like it’s a soft drink. And most issues the characters run into? Solved by the billionaire throwing money at them.
Don’t hate me, this just goes against everything I learned about storytelling. But hey, if that can get John Krasinski and Natalie Portman to starr in it, then surely I can publish this essay. Right?
Spoilers over. So yea. I am talking about enjoying the ride. Because here’s the unsettling fact: Everything is decaying. Whether we like it or not.
But nothing will truly last.
Decay is inevitably the outcome of existence.
Entropy is what we have to live through.
The goal is to read the stories it tells in the process.
To be thoughtful of our surroundings.
Aware of the consequences of our actions.
And to accept that nothing is made for eternity.
A day after it happened the memories I had of my brother were already shifting. The way I remember the time before and during COVID-19 has also changed.
Sometimes I catch myself romanticising hard times, because compared to now, they seem lighter. But I’ve changed. I’m not that person anymore. I’ve grown. Some things I once found unbearable wouldn’t shake me the same way today.
Wait a second. There is a flaw in my reasoning. I’m not a video game character.
No XP bar.
No tech tree.
No “leveling up.”
If I gain experience and unlock new tools, I will not necessarily be better prepared for the next level boss. Because my energy capacities are shifting.
Today, I might write this essay. I might even publish it.
Tomorrow, I might struggle to speak to anyone.
Or face a conflict I’ve been avoiding. On another day, I might not finish a single sentence. The goal isn’t perfection. The goal is the way.
Growth isn’t a Perfect Line Upwards
I already talked about how growth isn’t linear before I introduced this fancy heading and the GIF probably annoying you while reading these words. But I want to leave a few more thoughts here:
Many of us were taught that success is for the successful and defeat is for the defeated. But just like in that wiggly chart, the successful can fall.
The defeated can rise. We climb back up, painfully, only to stumble again. Failure is part of the journey. And sometimes it’s extremely hard to get back up on our feet. We keep trying.
Did I Waste my Potential?
Back to my initial question I dropped near the start of this essay. Did I, though? Have I wasted my time and potential? Am I losing time by sleeping — time I could’ve used on working towards success?!
No. Rest is success.
Sleep is success.
A bad day behind me is success.
Brushing my teeth today? Success.
Drinking water, eating something, taking a shower.
Even postponing things because it’s just one of those days.
That too is success.
But also?
Doing the scary stuff.
The stressful, unrewarding-at-first stuff.
The tricky, uncomfortable and exhausting stuff.
That’s success too.
Because:
“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under the sun. A time to be born, a time to die; a time to plant, and to pluck up what is planted […] and a time to heal…” — Athelstan, Vikings
Yea, I left out the “a time to kill” part. Doesn’t quite fit my pacifist agenda here.
So… did I waste my potential? I have a radical answer:
If you’re not where you want to be, and you’re not doing what you want to do: Change something. Put yourself out there!
And if it all gets too much? Rest. Please rest! Postpone things. They’ll still be there when you’re ready. You’ll get back to them soon enough.
I’m still here. Because I’m not done yet. Because the last word isn’t written. The last breath not exhaled. The last smile not shared. The last hug not given or received. I am still here, despite a world on fire, despite the dread, the weight of current times, the never-ending crises that naturally bring a sense of hopelessness.
I don’t feel hopeful. I feel exhausted. But challenged enough to ask myself what I could do in this time. And I know that I am not alone. You’ve read this far, and maybe you’re going through something similar. We are all watching this time unfold, no matter where we are on the planet. Even though the boats we’re sitting in may be vastly different, we are not alone.
We are here.
I wish I could end this post with something more concrete. A list of applicable tips or strategies ready to go. But for a change, I just needed to write this down, as raw and honest as I could get it done. Though, what I have is this:
If these times are unnerving for you, and you struggle to not spiral over it… Reach out. Talk about it. Write it from your soul. Don’t let the dread silence you. Don’t stop resisting. Resist the voices that keep you down, the voices that try to dampen empathy. Especially when the smallest acts of kindness become an act of rebellion. When a smile can brighten a stranger’s day. A helping hand clears the way. When shared experience gives us something to hold on to, to connect over.
Everything is changing.
Always has. Always will.
And that’s as okay as it is not okay.
We just have to face it.
Together.
🌅
Lots of love, strength and Lídiant Wíalë ❤️
JayJay out!🎤
You want to read more? Check out my other posts:
Pictures and dividers in this post are designed in Canva by the author Justin J. Kiecker.
Hey! I saw your post on my homepage and wanted to drop by and send you some good vibes. Whenever you have a moment, I’d be grateful if you could do the same. I’m always happy to support and lift each other up!
Scars will disappear faster than you’ve ever recognised. There is a “threshold” to pass. After that, “Universe” will wash it off. And, a sacred Rebirth.
Separate the active and passive awareness. Let the active do the grinds, but make the passive reflect it like a spotless mirror. Watch yourself being “active”. That’s the gateway to “eternity”.