Editor Takeover; More Talk About Brains

It’s Tracy’s Birthday this month and Cenpatico is getting a corporate facelift so, once more I will jump in and pick up the slack for one of my favorite Columnists (They’re ALL my favorite!)

So what should I write about? I hadn’t planned to write anything besides the Editor’s Notes this month. I’m tired. I just traveled 5,000 miles (for foster care events). My brain is kind of fried. Hang on. I wrote about my son’s brain last month and I am helping Cenpatico with a book for caregivers about trauma that has a focus on brains…so….let’s talk about squirrels!

My ADHD doesn’t really work that way, but it’s kind of close.

As I write this, it is 2:14 am. I am typing on one laptop (checking my Facebook and email messages like a stock trader on Wall Street), watching episodes of “Community” that I don’t own yet on another laptop and “Raising Hope” fills out the line up on my TV. All of this and I am also listening to music through my headphones. Sounds manic, doesn’t it? It is. But it’s how I focus, how I feel content, how I feel full.

I’ll give all the therapists and psych majors a chance to chew on that.

I was diagnosed with ADHD during a time when every kid who got bored in school was diagnosed with ADHD. I actually had it, but I’m not entirely sure pumping me full of Ritalin was the answer to my problem. Those are the lost years. I’ve written about this before. “The Zombification of Chris Chmielewski” would be a boring book but might make for a cool animated movie. Maybe Zach Braff could voice my character?

I did all the typical things you would expect an 8 year old diagnosed with the medical coverall of the day; ADHD would do. I spent countless hours being driven to and from the hospital. I talked to an endless line of “professionals” who swore they could figure me out. I looked at a few years’ worth of Highlights magazine issues. I watched seasons of “All My Children”. That part is a little embarrassing, not as embarrassing as Susan Lucci being snubbed all of those years, but embarrassing nonetheless. I was shown charts and spectrums. Asked to interpret stories and pictures that showed my mind’s direction.

I don’t know what they gathered from all of that time spent poking and prodding. I also don’t really recall anything that went on from when they diagnosed me until I stopped taking the pills I was prescribed when I entered care. It’s a shame too. There was little league, scouts and a mess of other things I’m sure were worth remembering. I have flashes of those times and everything before and after remains intact but those lost memories, be them big or small, belonged to me and they were swiped clean by whatever funny pill of the day they decided to throw at me. I guess I still hold some resentment for that but I think I have gotten over it for the most part.

Looking back, for me, is a waste of time and energy. I have too much to do and too many people depending on me to dwell on the past. Doesn’t eliminate its existence, it’s just something I don’t lend any credibility to in my day to day life. Some people are prone to exploring and re-exploring whatever trauma they may have had and foster care is a big trauma, I choose to not go back. I lived it and now I’ve dealt with my feelings that came from it. Life is short, looking back is an exercise for people other than me.

I don’t begrudge those that have to look back. Everyone handles life differently, that’s what makes it worth living. There are things we can learn from those who feel compelled to look back. There are things we can learn from those who internalize. There are also things we can learn from those who simply shake it off without negative repercussions. Everyone’s journey is valid and worthy of telling, that’s my gig, to tell their stories in the hope that the next generation can find some answers. Or the folks charged with caring for these kids can derive some practical solutions to what are seemingly intense and complicated problems.

That’s why I utilize the columns by sharing some of my own experiences; they mean very little to me at this point. Other than a reference point for stories I may cover, my past isn’t nearly as important to me as my future but if you can take something away from what I have gone through, than that’s worth the inconvenience of looking back.

The pills stopped when I walked into foster care. No one asked about them and I didn’t offer up any information about them either. I was free.

I credit my caseworker and foster parents for making sure no one ever made me take medication again. The benefit of the time period and area I was in foster care, was a time that a kid like me could voice concern about their care without any penalty. I feel like we’re there again but that’s a column for another time. The people who took care of me, listened when I told them I could do more without medication. They watched me to make sure it was true. They checked in with my new school to see how I was behaving there. They put in the work.

Because of their effort I was able to begin to develop into the man I would become. Without that confidence and lack of a drug that hindered me, I began to flourish.

I became part of my life after that. I was finally present. That ability to actually BE in the room when I was in a room allowed me to fully engage in sports, join school clubs, excel in the school’s newspaper and yearbook staffs. It was a really good time to be me. I took on a few more friends, began to get involved in my new community and I even helped my foster Mom at a few thrift shops. No pills turned out to be the greatest thing that ever happened to me.

I think (and I don’t give my opinion often) that if more foster parents would simply talk to the kids that come into their homes and find out WHY the laundry list of drugs that came with the kid are there in the first place. When they finally asked me why I was on Ritalin I gave the answer I had always been given; “I have trouble focusing and sitting still”, then I gave the reason I thought I was on Ritalin; “My creativity scares the hell out of people. I’m bored in school so I entertain myself by telling jokes to the class. I have a lot inside of me and no one wants it to come out. They are trying to hold me back.”.

That answer may have changed my life, because they HEARD me. This is why my foster parents trumped all the other kids I knew in care’s foster parents; all those other kids were told to shut up, I was asked to open up. That made all the difference. My foster parents could have stuck to the script (pun intended) and I could have remained zombified. Instead, they talked to me. Maybe that’s all it takes sometimes?

I’m not here to tell foster parents and social workers how to do their jobs, that’s not my job. My job is to give you insight that you may be able to apply to kids you deal with. After all, I am that kid.