Breaking up is usually hard to do. But for Adult ADHDers, the curtain comes down on love so frequently that we often spend an entire relationship just wondering when it will end. Sometimes we ADHDers need to offer ourselves the same understanding we ask of others.
It wouldn’t be so bad if I was the only one totally pwned in this relationship, but did my cat have to be brought into it, too?
Life would be easier, certainly happier, if the dating foibles I scribe about on CARLESS weren’t true. As it turns out, they’re so true sometimes these days I feel like the butt of the joke of my own love life.
When you’re a gay man in your late thirties, gone are the days of bashful flirting, banshee sex, and breathless waits for him to call. In their place, the gnawing feeling that you’ll soon resort to calling men at random out of the phone book, yelling into the receiver, ‘You suck!’ One by one by one.
I made eye contact with Benyamin as we entered the happily uncrowded, low-top tabled back room. A smiling Middle Eastern man with a one-word nametag, I knew immediately the Bissell in his hand spelled trouble.
When Cincinnati Jamie pulled up in front of the Hilton one evening in October with a spent Austrian airline pilot in the passenger seat, I tried to be demure. As he got out of the car, I told Herr Pilot, ‘When I blog about this, I promise only to refer to you as number three.’ Jamie’s response? ‘He didn’t know there was already a number one and two.’
The first step to getting healthy is admitting you have a problem. There’s no getting around it, I am hopelessly addicted to Cincinnati chili. I find myself making excuses for being in Lincoln Square, eight miles from my downtown home, to accidentally drop in at Cinner’s, Chicago’s only authentic Queen City chili parlor. Just such an accidentally intentional trip is how I ended up discussing vaginas with fellow local blogger Jasmine Davila
Here’s a tidbit you’ll never hear on Oprah: a spiritual awakening can be the biggest pain in the ass. Especially for attention-hungry, emotionally grasping, codependently needy bloggers like me. Because when you get right down to it, enlightenment doesn’t equal recovery.