AD HD (staying back)
AD  HD  (staying back)

i am wondering.  about how to proceed.
its a catch 22 i think,
well mostly it seems everything is a catch 22 really,
but this one is the one affecting me right now.

i’m wondering how to get through my day at school.
i keep getting in trouble
i’m a pretty active kid, i run around.
some might even say i run amuck,
i forget rules, i’ve been told that i touch people too much
touch things too much - jovially, bumping into them,
slapping them on the back,
grabbing their arm when i’m excited to tell them something,

and i move too much too,
and i’m always waving my arms in the air just to feel them move.
and i’m always saying    and
because things connect
and because   ‘and‘  links things
and things connect

touching things makes sense to me -
i can believe a thing is there
and real
and part of the world
if i can surround it with my fingers
or can feel it surrounding me.

at school we have tables to sit at,
my mom said they had desks when they were kids,
but we have tables,
and we sit in groups,
and we listen to the teacher,
and sometimes i stand and lean over the table -
instead of sitting in the chair.

its hard to sit still.
with my feet down,
touching the floor,
my hands in my lap or on the top edge of the table,
my back straight,
my head tilted just so
in order to listen
the way they expect me to be.

if i sit, my hands are always fidgeting with the pencils,
not tapping the table - i know that’s annoying - tapping on things.
i’m not trying to be disruptive,
i just don’t think of it as disrupting things -
this leaning i do,
quietly bent over the table
just near, next to the chair.
it lets my feet move a bit,
stretches my legs,
i feel less restless.
i can fidget less this way.
if i stand.
bounce a little on the balls of my feet,
rock back on my heels,
sway back and forth.
paying attention.
i know 12+2 = 14
i’m listening. really.

but i still hear   sit down   all day.
sit down.
i said sit.
i get told not to be in the way,
sit down,
sit still,
stop moving,
keep my hands to myself,
keep my words to myself,
protect my paperwork
from the wandering eyes of the other kids,
and also, keep my eyes to myself too,
sit down,
sit down,
sit down.
so much so
that when it’s time to get up from the table
after sitting so so ever so long
i bounce up,
springing up out of my seat,
ready to go to the next level,
the next thing,
filled with all the ideas and thoughts and words
and all the things i’m in the middle of learning and playing
that i’ve been holding back so tightly so i don’t get in trouble
with my tactile enthusiasm.
with my so many thinkings.

so i bounce up,
and i bounce into one of my friends from school,
and they are happy too
and all of a sudden
we’ve gotten louder than is acceptable
because our ideas are shoving their way,
tripping out of both our mouths,
and then the teacher shushes us both,
and my friend turns away,
able to stop,
able to control the fumbling rush,
and i keep going,
but now he’s not listening,
and now i can’t make it stop coming out,
and the teacher takes me aside,
and tells me to stop,
and if only i can finish my sentence
i will be ready to stop,
and it is cascading through my body now -
the idea has crumpled from my now quiet open mouth
down into my arms and belly
and is fizzing madly, volcanically
into my feet and fingers
and the teacher is still explaining the merits of silence
and the fizzing is getting more and more uncomfortable
and intense
and i’m starting to get upset
because it’s one thing to have an idea
and say it or write it or dance it or climb a tree about it
and shout it from the rooftops,
or from the top of the playground -
and it’s another thing to shove it under the water of my body,
holding it deeper and deeper and tighter and tighter
until it drowns.
dead inside my body.
that death hurts.
and it is scary.
and i’m filling up with dead things,
dead ideas,
dead thinkings i used to have about everything,
dead understandings of how the world is,
all my understandings are dying.
the contexts,
the compositions,
the motions of kinetic energy,
kinesthetic fermentations of knowing.
all of them dying.

and in those moments,
i feel like i don’t understand anything,
because every time i start to get a piece of something,
hold onto it
and begin to put it together with something else,
find the edges of one puzzle piece,
and another
and see how they fit together to make a whole picture,
i get shushed.
it hurts
and i’m mad
and i’m standing on one foot
and then the other,
and stepping on my own toes to keep it all inside,
pushing hard into the floor to make that fizzing go deeper,
drown quietly,
let go of the learning i almost grasped,
i really almost had it.
but my job is to be quiet.
and sit down.

but it’s fighting, it wants to stay.
this isn’t a peaceful process
this process of almost knowing something,
almost figuring it out,
almost finishing the puzzle of how the world is put together -
almost having it,
almost having something,
almost owning it as my own,
and then shoving it away with no chance
of figuring the rest out.
it isn’t peaceful.
and so eventually i stomp my foot.
and the teacher notices.

and since i’ve been told how to be polite i don’t scream,
instead i just shove my foot into the floor
cracking the facade of attentiveness
the teacher expects of me.

and she sends me to the principal -
or to the detention room -
or to the peace area -
or to whatever the place is called these days.

sometimes they have a dog to pat.
sometimes a worksheet to do -
but if you do the worksheet,
you have to sit quietly -
with your head not on your arms,
you have to pretend that all is fine
and that you haven’t just had an epic internal battle of wills and rules
and silent warfare.

sometimes if i’ve stomped really hard
or swung my arms around,
or bumped someone by mistake
or by uncontrollable excitement,
they give me a chance on an exercise machine
a grown-up one
a shadow of an idea of some kinetic energy
to soothe the deaths
and the repercussions
but then it is too late.
i‘m no longer enthusiastic,
or fun,
or happy,
and the exercise machine is not helping anything.
its too late.
the learning thoughts are gone.
dissipated, disjointed,
now they have rough edges
and now it’s really hard to find the shapes that fit together.

and then after all of that
they tell me actually i’m not reading well enough,
actually i’m not remembering enough of the math,
or taking-in the lessons
or the sounds of the spelling.
actually i’m not proceeding according to their plan for learning.
i’m not absorbing
or internalizing
the knowledge they’re sharing with me.
i’m not sharing their knowledge back with them
i’m not participating in their secrets of understanding
i’m not finding the puzzle pieces
i’m not connecting it with all the other pieces
i’m not fabricating the scaffolding
as they’re teaching it so according to plan.
and actually
i will have to stay back

all writing ©2020 unpublished works by Rj/Ruth wplk