ADHD-FRAUD

No I think that acronym should be changed to LOAD. Lack of administered discipline. The ADHD fraud is how psychiatry makes “patients” out of normal children. It’s what Drs. Baughman and Hovey think anyway.    It’s intellectual dishonesty assisted by drug companies to manipulate using defective science. 

Truth is that there is NO available test to determine if a child has ADHD. None. 

Adults are probably relieved to hear that their child has ADHD so they can raise their arms up in futility and say, “I knew something was wrong”.  The majority of children that are diagnosed with ADHD have other disorders.  

Death

Death lingers longer for the living. The dead somehow get through it faster.  When you know you’re going if you have that much time to think about it what do you think about?  Does your life flash before you like a drowning man?  Or do you panic? Do you after suffering a long time welcome death with open arms?  

What would I feel if my life ended now?  

My Sister Carol McQueen

My sister Carol McQueen was my closest friend growing up as a teenager. Her boyfriends would befriend me and my girlfriends would befriend her. They knew we were as close as siblings could be. They knew it because of the way we talked about each other and how we behaved when we were in each other’s presence. 

 I am not overstating the fact that we both had the utmost personal regard for each other. When she did well I was as proud as can be and likewise when my star shined she put a magnifying glass on it.  She knew me better than anyone including my parents and my closest friends. I knew that her counsel came in the form that she was a great listener and never judged me no matter how I may have bungled a personal situation.  

I wanted her to like my friends especially the women that I picked as a romantic interest. Her innate talent of being able to know peoples insides despite what they were exhibiting on the outside was uncanny. Carol had a sensory acuity that could sense things before they transpired. Like when she told my parents two weeks before her death that she wanted to donate all her vital organs to those that might need them.  Which in retrospect was so extraordinary because after all it was 1969 even though this is a common practice now it was not then.  No one could fool Carol and for me it was like having my own soothsayer all I had to do was run upstairs and knock on her door. When I left her to resume the somnolent state I could always retire in peace.  

Oh and she loved Steve McQueen she liked him not because of what he said but what he didn’t. Most of you know that Jack Briant is my pen name my real name is John (Jack) McQueen just to keep the record straight. More about her life in the next installment.  

It's Not What I Think

How often I formulate what something might be even before I experience it. How can I with little or no sample size determine that I don’t want to go somewhere when I haven’t been there before?  I take evidence that has little or no bearing and construct in my head how the time might go. 

When I am lucky enough to move past the resistance to isolate and put one foot in front of the other I am always glad that I did. The trouble is that I have a short memory the next time a new opportunity presents itself.  

It’s not what I think and that’s the rub as conscious thinking is just a quagmire like the sticky floor in an old movie theater I hear the sound of my soles pulling off the tiles and I forget where I’m going. It’s not what I think because thought is faulty and intuition is the only guide that is unstained and pure. 

Breakaway

It’s time to breakaway. I feel I have trapped myself into a pattern of thinking that just doesn’t work for me anymore. I have to fly out of the cage that I think I belong in. The   door is open it’s up to me to take off.  No one knows what’s better for me no matter how much they love me. I love being loved but too often it has been a handicap for me. I know that my creator has given me a brain that is oft times out of time with conventional thought. I am tired of living within the imaginary lines that have been drawn for someone else. I need to practice what I preach. It was told me that what other people think about me is none of my business. It’s time I hear these words now and leave my pencil and eraser for indelible ink.    

   

The Price of Love

Being in love has a dear price. It’s so much easier to just love someone but when you’re in love the swing of the pendulum of euphoria and misery can have us flying thinking there is no ceiling as we climb higher and higher. Inevitably though what goes up must come down.  The pain of the descent is for some just too much to bear.  If the love is unconditional we get back on our feet and take to the skies again and only death can separate us from one of God’s greatest gifts true love.  

  

My Father

 After writing about it I have been able to let go of the resentment that plagued me towards my father. He is doing his best to maintain some semblance of a faded life that has no more to look forward to except the next meal. His worries are few although they loom large in his shattered mind. Where are my keys, my wallet? When are the Yankees playing next? What’s for breakfast, lunch and dinner? 

I hear the click click as his four legged walking stick moves inexorably closer to where I am. It will take some time however not to dread the sound but embrace it as a test as to gauge where my patience and tolerance reside in that very moment. My father sired me and for that I am grateful to be his son and the past must stay in the past as he did the best he could with the resources he had.