Life on the Cliff
An allegorical story of my undiagnosed ADHD experience
For a fleeting moment my mind rests in the residual fog of dreams. Quickly, I realize that I am awake. My eyes are closed, but my nervous system is already on alert. I know that this morning (like every other morning) I will wake up to find myself on the ledge of a narrow cliff, looking over a deep, rocky pit.
I have come to know this scenery well. I have also come to know the rules here. As soon as I open my eyes, I have to start moving. There are no breaks allowed on this side of the mountain; at least not for my body. I start to focus and step carefully so that I don’t slip. I am very familiar with what it feels like to land on those sharp rocks. In fact, that is my inevetable story. I wake up, I go, I fall, and at some point I climb back up the cliff. A cycle of perpetual movement and pain that is my only constant.
Sometimes the cause of my fall is as simple as tripping and sliding down. Sometimes, a huge gust of wind pushes me over the edge unexpectedly. Other days my body is so tired that my balance fails, and I flop hard onto the rocks. Then there are select days on which I feel re-energized and determined. I might even decide to run along the cliff. I can make it pretty far, but my legs always give out in the end. On most days, however, I don’t even remember how I fell down. I just open my eyes and find that I am already at the bottom.
Although it is impossible for me to actually die down there, it does continue to hurt each time. I bare the scars of countless broken bones and deep gashes on my skin. Not to mention the trauma of falling memories that constantly haunts both my body and mind.
As I climb back up, the voices of other people drift down. I know that when I reach the top I will see them. They are usually standing together, far away from me and the cliff. Every once and awhile they venture close, and wave. But, I am pretty sure they don’t even know the rocky pit is there.
I often watch them as we all move forward. They occasionally stumble or fall down. But, over on their side, the rules are different. They are together. Endless chairs are available; and they have an uncanny ability to simply pause their bodies and rest. When they do happen to see me, confusion fills their faces. I imagine they are wondering something to the extent of, “Why is that girl always having such a hard time? She is just walking. After all, we’re walking too.” I have tried to explain the dangers to them in the past, but they can’t even see the rocks when I try to point them out. It’s exhausting, and I need all my energy for the cliff. Plus, their non-chalant optimism often causes me to question my own continued experience.
Life goes on. The rules of my physical reality continue to be that I must live in perpetual movement on the narrow cliff of this rocky pit. The hardest part, the part I wish I could make everyone on the other side see and feel, is that it’s just a matter of time before I fall in again.