Surviving ADD

On focusing: To prune a lemon tree

After procrastinating for several weeks after spring began, I’ve decided to clear my lemon tree of the innumerable shoots growing on its trunk. It’s well known that these shoots consume the nutritious sap the plant produces through photosynthesis, sap which could be used by the plant to grow more flowers, which will lead to a bigger, juicier harvest in a few years.

Focusing. Concentrating. Being in the zone. Ever since I can remember, my head has been full of ideas, like a motley cubist painting. Even though I had a task to accomplish or a path to follow, I’d come with many reasons not to finish my duty, but at the same time, many ways of finishing it. In my plans I could be detallist until boredom, seeing all the process in my mind, always understanding how to reach the end. But somehow, something always failed. Always.

I look at a bunch of shoots. Its color lighter than the older leaves, its aroma is also stronger and tastier. So I collect a bunch and macerate them in cold water, making a refreshing tea. The rest of them are left on the soil to decay. The micro organisms will take good care in freeing all the nutrients they hold and use the remainings to help the soil retain more water.

Sitting down in front of books to study always proved mission impossible. I wouldn’t know what to read for I didn’t take notes in the class… for most of the times I’d be absentmindedly sit staring at the board. Except for those moments when I’d decided I’d manage the subject completely, so I’d begin by researching and studying by myself and finish the semester being an expert. But I never knew the mechanism to wake up that decision in me all the times, nor I’d assure me an A with that method, so I began to think that if not knowledge, at least grades were ruled by anangké.

If I’d postponed this for a few more days, I’d find the whole trunk full of shoots pointing everywhere like the desperate hands of a drowning man. I’ve calculated that I have to clear the shoots at least every two weeks so quick they grow. This is the result of a rich soil that I have enriched even more with regular composting.

The suffering for this situation -although depressing me- never prevented me from finishing my careers. First Chemistry, then English Teaching, and last Agrarian Engineerings. Being an avid reader, I have a good general education also. But I had to wait until I was 31 to learn that “it” had a name: my children’s school was treating kids with my very same characteristics.

The ability of this plant to produce shoots disturbs me. They aren’t really necessary for species conservation. Au contraire, they reduce the possibilities of the plant to produce good fruits and seeds, thus compromising multiplication. However, it keeps growing shoots everywhere. Only my will to cut them every week or so stops the plant to end in a bunch of good for nothing leaves…

I found out that I suffer of Attention Deficit Disorder -ADD for short-. That is, my brain receives the information and processes it, but the starting shot never comes. That’s because “the boss” in the brain is unable to communicate with the “followers” due to all neurotransmitters are gone on vacation. So thoughts are pure Guernica. I mean, they are there, but putting them in order is like trying to align wild squirrels for an Independence Day parade. And the verb “to suffer” is key here. You don’t just “have” ADD. From losing the keys to living in a mess without realising, the consequences of the syndrome can drive mad the “ADD guy” as well as the people who live around him. Like in a soft Alzheimer, I won’t see enough reasons to take out the garbage, fix the faucet, replace bulbs, prepare my classes… “lazy”, “unorganized”, “ineffective” are concepts that tagged me in my one-year jobs. Even my wife once asked me to leave the house for good. And I understand her: nor her or my parents, teachers, business partners, bosses… deserve a burden like this. Neither are they obliged to understand that effort is not the key. Like when asking a paraplegic to “try just a little bit harder” or a blind man to “open his eyes a little more”, trying only brings frustration.

I stand up and look at my work. Leaves and branches are now on the soil around the plant, waiting to decay. The small tree is now clean and fresh, like after hairdressing. So I collect my tools and expect we -the tree and I- are patient enough to wait a few years for the first harvesting. The situation is not hopeless: I’ve learned that habits education together with proper medical aid helps to develop a normal life. And that, together with the knowledge that “it” has a name, brings back hope. Hopefully, I’ll organize my life, my business. Hopefully I’ll be a good father. Hopefully my wife will be proud she has me as husband and friend. It’s a matter of time, but harvest is still possible. And I pray that it comes as big and juicy as I want it to be.