Brilliant … But Bouncy

Why Isn’t He Taking Care of Himself?

Something breaks inside of me when I see Dylan playing video games at night.

I think, What is he doing? Why isn’t he studying? Does he think he has nothing better to do? Look at his bedroom! It’s a disaster! He hasn’t cleaned up anything since 2008. And what about his hermit crabs? Has he fed them? Does he even know if they have water?

Lately, I’ve been pushing Dylan to take control over his own ADHD. The Healing ADD book on CD has been transferred, in part, to his room. So lately, I’ve had the additional voice screaming in the back of my head: WHY ISN’T HE TAKING CARE OF HIMSELF?

And of course, this happens every night. Some nights, I mention the crabs. Some nights, I mention studying. Lately, I’ve frequently mentioned listening to the ADD book.

But on this night, something NEW broke inside of me.

He was playing video games at 9:30, as he often does. Sitting on his bed in his messy bedroom, having been forced to re-do his algebra work earlier in the day – but otherwise, not having done a single thing to take care of himself.

I started in: “Why aren’t you listening to the CD I gave you? I have to get it back to the library. Have you listened to any of it yet?”

“No, but I was going to.”

I don’t know when I snapped, exactly, but I snapped. I had Chris’ words ringing in my ears, about negativity. I had my ex-friend’s words ringing in my ears, about my negativity. I didn’t know how to be positive or encouraging. I couldn’t remember a single positive, encouraging thing to say to anyone about anything – least of all, Dylan.

So instead, I quit.

I quit being responsible for Dylan. I quit being responsible for his ADHD. I quit being responsible for his moods, his work, his room, his study habits, his school, his teachers, his hermit crabs … his life.

“I’m done!” I screeched, tossing things around the room.

I threw the hard copy of Healing ADD down the hall, because I wasn’t ever going to finish reading it.

“Can I have the CD book?” Dylan asked. I told him he could get it out of the car if he wanted it. I was done reading about ADHD.

I don’t even have ADHD.

So in spite of my great enthusiasm for learning everything there is to learn about it – and in spite of my hours and hours and hours and hours and days and weeks and years spent researching Dylan’s behavior and trying every solution known to mankind – I quit.

In haste and anger, I scribbled four words on a post-it, and handed it to Dylan.

It said (in all caps): DIET, EXERCISE, MEDICATION, SLEEP.

“THIS is all you need to know,” I said. “Good luck.”

I’ve done everything I can do for Dylan.

It is now time that he steps up and does it for himself.

With nothing to read, nothing to do, nothing to think about, nothing to worry about, and nothing left to say, I went to bed.

As I drifted off, a strange thought entered my brain: This is how it begins.