Between Chapters

It’s safe to say that my identity issues are a symptom of my mental disorder—thank God. I was about to blame it on being a Gemini.

Written by Haylee Gemeiner, Illustrated by Mayce Schindler

It’s an early and insignificant morning when I find myself standing, bleary-eyed, in the kitchen of my new apartment—one I can only afford with two roommates and a dreadful retail job. The scent of freshly brewed tea (lukewarm in a “Coffee: Because Adulting Is Hard” mug I received as a gift) is almost strong enough to mask the stench of cigarette smoke left behind by the previous tenant. Almost.

After a restless past few days, I’m there, mug in hand, becoming acutely aware of my surroundings again. Is this the signaling of a new chapter of my life entering its draft stage, or did my Adderall just kick in? Either way, something new is beginning—this scene’s color grading changes, and the world is cast in muted shades of sepia and emerald.

I become fixated on many new things after that. Propagating stolen plant clippings and investing all my time and money into DIY projects I’ll never finish. I’m composting vegetable scraps and giving silly names to neighborhood cats. I’m applying for jobs I don’t qualify for and fleshing out fictional worlds reserved for my maladaptive daydreams. I stay up late to watch TikTok’s or rewatch anime, and I have an overpriced candle that smells like oceanside birch, sparkling waves, and white sage. It’s been burning for days now. I think I’m getting used to the pungent notes of Marlboro wafting from my walls and carpet—the same Marlboro’s my parents used to buy a decade ago for $10 instead of $12.

I see my life as a compilation of eras. Some notable ones would be my emo phase in the eighth grade, and, what followed soon afterward, when my fangirl tendencies evolved from punk bands to s***ty television shows beloved by Tumblr. Or when I auditioned for the school play and contemplated an acting career for a year, then again when I graduated high school and developed a snobby film major mentality. A few months into working towards a film degree I realized I didn’t have the backbone (or the mental stability) to work in the industry, and finally switched to writing. After that, I transferred colleges twice until I finally settled at my third, right at the start of my third year. All good things come in threes, but I don’t think I’ll ever be confident in the choices that led me to where I am today. Or even that they were good ones, for that matter.

In other words, having identity issues seems to be an integral part of the individualistic, American experience.

I’m always questioning. Not so much my beliefs, values, and convictions, but my preferences, interests, goals, and likes—they have forever been fleeting. Burdened by my inability to enjoy things casually or for extended periods of time, they are fragile and transient. I’ve become someone who is perpetually unsure. Maybe it’s just that I’m not very in tune with myself or maybe I’m overwhelmed by the illusion of choice, but with something like four seeds of a pomegranate, I am destined to return to the liminal space between chapter breaks and wait for the story to pick up in its next arc. Then, my character can develop, and perhaps even grow.

After a few months of fixating, of becoming one with my interests at that time, I start to feel an itch. I’m not as satisfied by the things that once interested me anymore and without realizing it, I’m preparing to move on while having nothing to move on to. This limbo has been my most consistent experience, and I default to it routinely.

I’ve become somewhat comfortable in my eternal identity crisis. It wouldn’t be all that profound of me to assert my lacking sense of selfidentity like it makes me special because even the concept of identity can be attributed to the consumerist desire to be seen as unique and individual. In other words, having identity issues seems to be an integral part of the individualistic, American experience. I, and many others, however, struggle because of our inability to ever resolve these issues.

There is the notion that identity is a balancing act of what characteristics define you, who you want to be, and how you want others to perceive you. I think Erik Erikson failed to consider how a dopamine deficiency might affect this process while outlining his stages of psychosocial development. This last year I went and got tested for, and ultimately diagnosed with, ADHD. As a person who struggles to feel a consistent sense of identity, I’ve never had a more singularly identifying experience such as this.

Horoscopes, MBTI Personality Types, Buzzfeed “Which_ From_Are You?” quizzes—I suppose these were the prerequisites for my recent psych evaluation. I’ve always needed a little help defining myself. During my experience of getting diagnosed with ADHD, I realized that identity issues are a symptom of my mental disorder.

My psychologist explained to me that children with ADHD, especially girls whose presentations are severely understudied and often deviate from the standard, often grow up feeling misunderstood and confused. Like with all neurodivergencies, there are negative associations and perceptions of ADHD. These stigmas familiarize children with shame and inadequacy early on, and such negative emotions and insecurities impact us later in life by making it harder to assess ourselves in adulthood.

I did well in school, I always received good marks, and my teachers would gush about what a pleasure it was to have me in class. I didn’t display the same signs of ADHD as my brother, who was diagnosed at a young age, and so I struggled with it unknowingly. I focused more on not twitching in my seat during a lesson than I did on the material. During tests, I made simple mistakes because I couldn’t slow down—and no matter how many times I read the questions, I couldn’t decipher any meaning. I often resorted to cheating on homework assignments last minute because I was a chronic procrastinator. I struggled to maintain relationships because, although I cared deeply, I was forgetful when it came to reaching out. I remember feeling hopeless during this time, because no matter what I did I always struggled, and because I couldn’t figure out why, I started to look internally. This undoubtedly impacted the person I grew into.

There is also a widely accepted theory that ADHD stems from a lack of dopamine in the brain. Dopamine, the neurotransmitter responsible for the overall executive function of emotional and physical responses, coordinates our relationships with pleasure and reward. People diagnosed with ADHD often struggle to find the motivation to complete low reward tasks and become paralyzed, or hyper-focused, on something that is more pleasurable instead. Hence the common symptoms of trouble focusing and completing tasks.

My psychologist explained to me that children with ADHD, especially girls whose presentations are severely understudied and often deviate from the standard, often grow up feeling misunderstood and confused.

Whether it was from growing up feeling hopeless or my brain’s predisposition to erratically chase after anything that provides dopamine (or both), I think it’s safe to say that my identity issues are a symptom of my mental disorder. Thank God. Because I almost blamed it on being a Gemini.

I expect now that my current interests will inevitably fade, and I will be set off wandering again, unsure and searching for nothing. My propagated seedlings will die, and I’ll forget to compost the scraps, and the world of my daydreams will eventually bore me. The weather will change, with colorful sunsets and sunrises mellowing into autumn. I won’t get the jobs I don’t qualify for (not that this will surprise me) but I will be reminded of how mind-numbing retail is.

When I’ll look back at this chapter later in my life, I’ll probably think of dirty fingernails, and sleep deprivation, and smell the smoky birch, waves, and sage, and see the world through the gritty, earth-toned filter for a moment again, but it will be like a dream I can’t quite describe. When I light that candle or make a cup of tea, the dream will be so close, and still barely out of reach.

Approaching these lulls has always made me anxious and wistful. The same way summer in August, Sunday afternoons, and opening your last birthday present makes you feel. I don’t think I’ll ever be rid of that yearning nostalgia—but maybe this time, I’ll find it in me to extend my reach farther towards the dream of what was and bring it back into consciousness again. Maybe I can turn this chapter’s conclusion into a page break instead.