Alas, Poor Grant, I Knew Ye… Not at All.

I don’t know me. This thought had troubled me over the weekend. I have reached the ripe old age of 51, and, I don’t know me. No one knows me. I mean, some know me kinda sorta on Twitter. I am pretty much the same in real life and those who have met me, know this.

But… I don’t know, ‘me’.

I feel as though my whole life has been shrouded in amnesia. Like I have been living in someone else’s body like a parasitic entity learning how to be human. Or, stuck in a phantom zone. I feel fraudulent, in any case.

It is now 8.5 months to the day from when I started taking dexamphetamine. I know my brain is changing. My tastes are changing. I am fitter than I have ever been my whole life.

And I am scared by all this because I don’t know this version of me, and where he is headed.

I spent my whole life with a dysfunctional brain, and that I have made it this far, is nothing short of a miracle. Fortunately too, in some ways. However, I could have done without prison. Yet it needed to happen for this new me to evolve.

One troubling thought I had was that I have spent my whole life doing things on my own. Tragically, until now I was none the wiser. For it never bothered me. Now it does. Some days I wish I had not been diagnosed as ADHD.

I plodded along through life latching on to whatever and whoever held my attention for more than 10 minutes. Yet, I always ended up on my own.

While pondering relationships I have had with friends, girlfriends and family, too. Is that I realised I have never had solid relationships with any of them. My whole incapable life. This troubled me, a lot.

But, as I sat here on the weekend, alone. Like I do everyday. I had an excruciating urge to get out of the house. Then an even more excruciating question ruminated as to, ‘Where would I go?’ because I’d still be alone. I would get no joy, no matter where I went.

I literally have no one to go and visit or call to meet up for a coffee or beer.

I do have one family I visit who are like family to me. Those on Twitter will be familiar with me being Mr 10’s reading tutor. This family were there for me when mum was sick and when she died. And visited me a number of times in prison.

I love them dearly and they’re really the true definition of friendship. And I would not hesitate to leap the fence for them in a time of need. However, I feel as though I am living vicariously through their lives. A ghost in the room. A fly on the wall.

Back on July 9th I made one final post on Facebook. I didn’t deactivate it, even though I should. Having had it for 13 years, the remaining 22 people who are on it only know my past self. The unmedicated party animal who always threw caution to the wind.

I had been posting about Project Beefcake and my ADHD journey on it like I do on Twitter. Yet, I got absolutely none of the encouraging support I have had from friends on Twitter because it’s nothing but crickets chirping on Facebook.

Then it got me to think about those relationships. Out of the 22 people on my “friends” list I only know where one lives, their phone number and had hung out with them in the last 6 years. This is Mr 10s mum, by the way.

The others were people I once worked with in retail who I simply have nothing in common with, any more. Mostly, they were also people I drank with back in the day. This is the thing that saddens me about my relationships is that all were connected by alcohol with no substance.

I have never had a real relationship with a woman. The whole shebang; living together, holidays and so on. You know, like normal people. I have had a couple of girlfriends. Some were stunning women, too.

But, the same as my socialising. Every girl I had met and started a relationship/dated was also connected to alcohol. Since I had no other hobbies or interests, except going to see bands and that obviously involved more alcohol, too. So no healthy long-term relationships ever evolved.

I only have to scroll through my Facebook memories and see nothing but a sad and sorry rum diary unfold from my past. Every single memory was what misadventures ‘Drunk’ Grant had got up to the night before, or on the weekend.

Once upon a time, I used to let people simply walk all over me. Not so much in recent years. When I look back, I can’t help but feel a tinge of anger toward those who mistreated me, some, for years.

I had this one “mate” who for the good part of 20 years called me, ‘Loser’ and even taught his toddler daughter to call me that. Which she did right up until her teen years. I no longer see these people.

There were others like him, too. From school through to my jobs, even at university. At one point I would become a joke to someone, and I would simply let them. Even those I knew in bands. I was always doing drunk jackass things for their entertainment.

People always had the perception of me that I was in fact an idiot, a loser and I never did anything to change it. I lay down and let people walk all over me. Until now.

I have never been deliberately violent or aggressive toward anyone or inappropriate toward women. I have always had manners and respectful. Argumentative? You bet.

When I think back to the hundreds of thousands of arguments I have had with people, it too, also comes back to alcohol. On top of that, ADHD.

The hard part knowing my brain has been dysfunctional is that if the day comes I must stop taking dexamphetamine, for any reason. ADHD comes back full swing just like it does when it wears off.

There is no cure for this.

Like I said to someone on Twitter over the weekend. Out of the friends I have on it, I wished they all lived here in Brisbane. Of course, some do. But more so the relationships I have established with many on Twitter are ones I wished I had got a life time ago.

And as someone said in reply to me. Yes, it is harder to find friends the older you get. Especially when people have their own established families and a lifetime of friends and you don’t, like me.

How do I fit into a new person’s life being solo at my age? To become another ghost in someone else’s home. A fly on the wall.

More to the point. How does this ‘new’ me find a new life at 51 years of age? How do I find others like me?

I have no answers for now.

Published by G.D. Ison

I'm a neurodivergent heavy metal loving motorcycle riding cat owning writer living in Brisbane (Meanjin), Australia. Always was, always will be Aboriginal land. I hold a Masters degree in Creative Writing from the University of the Sunshine Coast and a Bachelor degree in the same, obtained from the Queensland University of Technology. I also hold a Bachelor degree in Visual Communication (Design) from Griffith University College of Art. Considering those academic achievements, I actually failed high school.

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