It is the time of year when I take stock of my life, before my July birthday. There have always been sections I could not look at. The worst parts of my life thus far. For me these were my teen years from 13 to 21, and my mid-30s. The 20s were marginally better but only from the standpoint of physical danger.
Those were both dark enough it is surprising that I survived. For three decades I have lived with a degree of caution, and when I took alcohol and other drugs out of the equation, much more so. But in those periods I was hanging far far out on a high ledge. I can’t remember it all that clearly and I have an excellent memory.
I was out of the house by 14 and on the streets. The large comfortable house in Bedford Village. The tough streets of the lower east side and Berkeley. Before it was all gentrified.
In 1970 they made me take an IQ test to get into the only high school I actually attended. I was four standard deviations to the right of the center line. They never told me the exact number, but i know the cut was 145 to gain admission.
I was also pretty and built like a scaled down 5 foot tall bombshell. Somewhere in the haze of intrigue and betrayal that was my childhood, I decided that being a party girl would get me where I wanted to be faster. Which was probably a good thing because there were no sexual harassment laws back then, and girls that looked like me were always party girls if they had no man to guard them. Or perhaps a lack of self esteem to guard themselves.
I don’t mention this out of ego. Neither attribute saved me from one iota of pain in this world. In fact that is one important take home message: when the wound is deep our better qualities won’t save us.
There was another aspect too—I am and was severely ADHD. My brain was starved for dopamine and going to close to the edge of a cliff gave me a solid hit. It was also what I was seeking in alcohol and drugs, but they never delivered.
Back in the day there were those known as “garbage cans” because they would take almost anything without even knowing what it was. I was one degree to the good side of being a garbage can.
I soon discovered that I like stimulants and loved psychedelics but hated barbiturates, hypnotic sedatives, and downers of all kinds. Which makes so much sense for someone who has ADHD. It wasn’t even on my radar till this spring, 60 years later. They did not diagnose girls or adults with ADHD until the last decade or so. I won’t take any pharmaceuticals for this because I have had my quota of hard drugs for a lifetime. I am happy with coffee, water, and understanding of my own limitations.
I am not officially sober. I am not in a program. I was just done 20 years ago. And have no desire to go down that particular hole ever again. As I relax into the place where I can accept the entire past more comes back to me. Along with understanding of why.
Not everyone who has walked where I have survives. But I think that the person I am today is one who adds to the greater good on the planet today. The shift began in my 40s and took two decades.
It is hard to find true peace when there are “dark spots” you can’t bear to look at. Sunlight is the only disinfectant for the spirit.
I appreciate your honesty. I reached my lifetime quota a while ago and have been on the best trajectory since. It’s a journey. Thanks for writing.