|Focus (standard:drama, 1488 words)|
|Author: mykemyk||Added: Jun 25 2005||Views/Reads: 1839/1087||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|The mind is a complicated piece of machinery. Most are happy to keep it polished and well oiled. Some cannot keep from tinkering with it...tweeking it...to the point it no longer runs as it was designed. For those, the journey we call life can be a fright|
The clock on the nightstand said 5:45 a.m. I had not set it the night before...I had intended to oversleep...just as I'd done the previous four days of the week. Instead, I had been awakened by the absence of darkness.Daylight had, somehow, managed to sneak past my tightly closed eyelids. Once up, I dressed quickly...trying to trick my subconcious into believing I was actually excited at the prospects of getting help. I had agreed to therapy, although I saw it as being nothing more than an exercise in futility. Yes, for years, I have gone days without talking...consciously choosing my own company over that of others. That being a "given", why would I go anywhere to "talk" to anyone about not "talking"? Did my wife really think that, once seated before a licensed "mechanic of the brain", I would be able to say, "It starts with a sort of humming sound...then "Ka-chink, Ka-chink", and my brain suddenly sputters and quits?" As I drove along the interstate, I made another valiant attempt to convince myself that I was, indeed, doing the right thing. I had absolutely no idea what to expect. Would my therapy be like a "bad episode" of The Bob Newhart Show...would "Jerry The Dentist" poke his head in during the session and ask how soon "Doctor Bob" would be done so they could go to lunch? Would I sit beside an old man with spittle running down the side of his face? Out of habit, I began to script a scenario, a little something to help keep my mind off the fiasco I was about to find myself in the middle of. In it, I play the part of a "textbook patient" who has, after considerable coaxing, agreed to give a brief presentation to a group of doctors and therapists that have traveled the globe in search of such an experience. I see myself walking into a large conference room. One long table runs the length of the entire room. On both sides of the table are chairs. With every seat taken, others have lined the walls of the room. As I step to the podium sitting at the head of the table, I clear my throat to begin. "The inability to focus is an acquired taste. For most, it is easier to accept whatever activity presses itself against the pane of our psyche...clamoring for attention...begging for acknowledgement and acceptance. From the beginning, I knew I was the exception, rather than the rule. As a child, my mother hated waking me. It was not that I refused to awaken...for I have always been an abnormally light sleeper. She detested having to leave the kitchen, walk to the foot of the stairs, and repeatedly call out to me. I learned, after a while, to simply allow one leg to escape the covers, long enough to drop my foot, heavily, on the floor...feigning activity. Usually, it was enough to slow her trips from the kitchen. As an adult, I learned to use the same sort of process...a glance, thrown in the direction of those speaking to me...a raised brow, as if what they were saying had peaked my interest...my mind simply “dropping a foot on the floor”...the reality being that my mind and thoughts were still lying under the covers. Looking back, I find myself honestly amazed at how popular I was, while keeping so much of myself hidden. It was not that I feared people knowing me...it was, and is, that I simply do not have the interest, or the desire, to be known. I wish, for the sake of interest, I could say that life, at times, has been a struggle. Of course, I could...but, I would be lying...and, I am now trying to be completely honest. I find it amusing that my “lack” of focus has, on many occasions, been seen as being “driven” to succeed at whatever task lay before me. As a teen, the girls saw me as one who was sensitive and ready to listen to what they had to say. I was not like other boys they had dated...I did no bragging...I did nothing to try to gain their interest. The next move was always up to them. The first girl I was ever with did everything but put my member inside her. We kissed until my lips were chapped...all the while; she kept telling me we would have to stop before we ended up going too far. As I Click here to read the rest of this story (73 more lines)
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