Today marks day three that I’ve been doing something new: I am forcing myself to stop carrying pens around with me. Over the years, I have amassed a plethora of pens. Some of them were gel pens, some of them regular ink pens. I don’t feel safe without one on me, and when I hold one and spin it in my hand, I feel ideas flowing through my brain.
At a young age I learned I was neurodivergent, though I don’t recall ever hearing such a term until very recently. As a child, I was diagnosed with ADHD and was put on medication for the very same. Likewise, at a young age, I stopped taking medication and lived in denial of my diagnosis. I’d heard stories even back then of doctors telling young boys and born-males they have ADHD when in reality, it was just a young boy thing to have a lot of energy. This topic is quite controversial, and I do not really have any opinion on the matter as of right now.
In 7th grade, I stopped taking my medicine. I hated how I felt, I hated the feeling of having to take a pill to “be normal,” whatever I meant by that. I saw my condition as a massive hindrance, I was ashamed of it. In my Junior year of High School, I was trying to enlist in the US Army. My record of medicated ADHD was standing as a potential roadblock, and I visited with my Doctor to clear my name of the condition. I don’t remember the outcome of the visit, but the message was clear: I refused to accept the idea that I might have ADHD.
Earlier this year, I walked back on that conclusion. My work performance was slipping, and I started medication again for a brief amount of time. The only reason I stopped was that I couldn’t remember to take my medication in the morning. I felt fine with or without it, but I realized after starting my medication again that I did have ADHD. It was a part of me, and I had to be okay with that.
What does this have to do with pens?
I mentioned before, I don’t feel safe without a pen on me. I don’t know if this is tied to my condition, as I’ve carried a pen with me at all times since I stopped taking medication the first time. I always fidget whether I have a pen on me or not, and pens are incredibly convenient, practical to carry around, and the perfect shape, size, and weight to toss and twist. It was comforting to me, like a kitten kneading into a blanket after it grows up.
Last weekend in the wash, my work uniform was destroyed. It was only one of my shirts, but it was a new shirt. My work uniforms aren’t cheap; they could be cheaper, but the material I like is more costly, and I find it worth it to be more comfortable at work. In my line of work, carrying pens is practically essential. I do check my pockets before tossing something into the washer, but I am far from perfect from this, as seen in my ruined shirt.
I decided upon tossing the brand new $37 shirt I would no longer carry pens with me. This is a massive change in my life. For me, this is comparable to teaching a child to brush his teeth in the morning, or not to bite fingernails. I still find pens everywhere I go, and I keep putting them in safe places away from my hands and pockets when I see them. It’s stressful, almost, having pens in my pocket at work. For the most part, I can separate having them in my pockets for work versus holding one at all times everywhere.
At work today, there was a noticeable dip in productivity from me. Again, I am not sure if this is related to what I’m discussing. I do not carry pens unless I know I’m going to use them. I do not flip or spin pens in my hand to fidget, and I do not keep them in arm's reach. It’s shocking to me how difficult it is for me to abide by these new rules. After all those years of having a comfort item in my hand, suddenly I don’t allow myself one. I could probably swap what my comfort item is, but who’s to say I won’t leave that in my pocket too and ruin another $37 top? At this stage, I can’t risk that.
All in all, this is such a small thing in the grand scheme of things. I realize I might sound dramatic, but this is really a big deal to me. The anger that came over me when I realized I ruined another top in the wash outweighs the stress I feel as of right now, but the stress I feel right now isn’t ideal either. My best hope right now is to grow up and get over not being able to carry a pen with me. It’s so stupid when I say it out loud.
