How I used to puff my chest up, strut around. Walk into a shop and get those knuckles facing forward (figuratively) and alpha-monkey around until I could get home and tired-alpha around a bit before I could go and recover mentally by destroying myself physically on the bike.
Sustainable living.
Restless
That itch; the need to move. The need to do, always. Something. Anything. Not this; anything else. That itch that you’ve forgotten something, that the door is unlocked. The feeling that there’s one last appointment you’ve forgotten, one essential item, one thing that will just ruin all your efforts.
That itch is what characterises my adhd. Itch doesn’t suffice.
It’s fishhooks under the cheekbones.
That’s how I feel my motivation. A pull, in the gurning muscles, toward something; anything. Plan every second so you never have to sit and feel that pull.
Oh god the exhaustion but the inability to stop. You hate it but you have to move because the alternative is just…
The alternative is hard to describe since I spent 42 years thinking everyone felt like this all the time.
Can you imagine a hangover without the sickness? Or that pang to get another drink as the last one fades? 40 minutes after your cigarette and you want another.
It’s like that but significantly stronger. That’s why quitting alcohol and cigs and anything else was easy if I just decided to; they pale in comparison to my body’s natural juices.
That pang to move. It’s withdrawal. This type of dopamine dysfunction comes when you are withdrawing from chronic abuse of heavy drugs. And some of us were just born with it.
The motivated few.
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