By Ken Patterson
'I'm continuously in a fog. I simply do not appear to imagine rather well. i'm a guy who has consciousness Deficit illness and that i invite you to take an impromptu journey via my existence. yet wear your fog lighting and carry on for the ride.'
- Ken Patterson
In his own account of existence with awareness Deficit ailment (ADD), award-winning writer Ken Patterson richly illustrates the best way the indicators of upload curtail the facility of an clever guy to reach the main usual of life's occasions. via episodes of adolescence, academic reviews, employment, army profession, and relationships, he unearths the sophisticated complexities of dealing with events most folks take for granted.
This exciting and compassionate booklet unsparingly describes a existence distorted by way of impulsivity, distractions, obsessions, and anger. Illuminating, and deeply insightful, it's going to fascinate a person who has come into touch with ADD.
Read Online or Download ADD and Me: Forty Years in a Fog PDF
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Additional info for ADD and Me: Forty Years in a Fog
But no matter how hard I tried, Julia told me that she didn’t want to talk to me anymore. I followed her to Sonoma State University. I secretly left her gifts: an expensive camera, a micro cassette recorder, and a fine oriental carpet. I wrote her volumes of poetry she never received. She cried. I drifted into an obsessive coma, not aware of the world anymore, focused only on rekindling my sister’s love for me. In desperation, I used a tractor-trailer from a job to move a twenty-foot-long sign with her name on it.
He just took the yelling, though. Even Sgt. Wolf seemed to realize that his yelling had no real effect on William. With William’s noble stance and commanding but stoic presence, I tried to imagine him as a warrior preparing for battle or a man who lived solely off the land and was about to bring down some majestic buck. I’d never known an Native American before, and I thought it was cool to be bunking right beside one now. I never really learned anything about William or his people, however. William didn’t say much, but he sure did show me a lot.
Without any planning on my part, I wheeled around on this drunk, this intruder into my dreary domain. I held a chef ’s knife pointed in anger at my father. I have to hand it to my dad; he didn’t back away in fear or beg for forgiveness. ” “Get the fuck away from me,” was all I said. I sidled toward the kitchen door and then backed out with the knife still in my hand. I was barefoot and it was the middle of the night, but without thinking, I shoved the knife, handle first, into one of my back pockets and jumped onto my orange Kawasaki dirt bike.