Live for now? How?

For years some of the people closest to me have tirelessly pushed the theory that I could cure all my mental ills by 'simply' being mindful, more present in the moment and living for now. I've got myself into some quite emotional and often heated discussions about how I 'simply' cannot do that.

I've tried, I really have. My shelves are filled with well read books by Ekhart Tolle and similar authors, all insisting that my life could be perfect if only I could stop worrying about the past and the future and focus on now. I read these books but they may as well be in a different language because my brain doesn't seem capable of understanding the concept of how to live like this.

I constantly worry about the past mistakes I've made. I worry more about the future and not making the same ones again. I analyse every decision to the nth degree, working out probabilities on the fly and being scared to take risks for fear of getting myself into another excruciatingly awkward situation I can't get out of. Now is a mythical place I just can't seem to grasp. I pinch myself to snap my brain out of its never ending catastrophising loop and for a brief second the world snaps into sharp focus. Like sand slipping through my fingers, the moment is just that and it's gone, replaced by the much louder voices of guilt, blame, lack of self esteem and negativity.

I'm told to stop planning so far ahead and make the best of what I have now. What people don't understand is that now isn't a fun place to be. It's a locked, damp, smelly basement with a tiny slit of a window looking out onto rest of the world enjoying the sunshine. I'm not happy with my life. The hope that I can dig myself out of this torment is the only thing keeping me going in the darkest of times. Planning ahead and dreaming are my coping strategies.

Brain wired wrong

Let's put some context to this. I'm autistic, suffer with ADHD and OCD with a dollop of C-PTSD on top. For whatever reason I got the shitty end of the evolutionary stick. My brain wiring is a 'Heath Robinson' mismatch of hacked together components from the second hand parts bin. The sweepings off the floor, a second thought. My circuits are like a vintage hardwired synthesiser, they have the ability to make sweet music but only if conditions are perfect. If the temperature isn't sixty eight degrees and the voltage from the wall socket isn't a stable 240 volts then I'm a little out of tune. Functional but annoying to listen to. Discordant with the world. It's coloured my whole life and left me with severe anxiety, depression and a desperate need to find a way to 'fix' myself.

I love a good self help book. Even though I know I'll never be able to implement the advice within its pages, I still get a surge of excitement when I pick one up. Maybe this one will answer all my questions and furnish me with the missing link? It hasn't happened so far so it's unlikely.

I'm an intelligent person. I read the information within the pages of these books and understand the theory behind the advice but there's a deep disconnect between that and putting them into action. I feel like everyone else has been born with extra abilities that I missed out on. It's like all the good stuff requires a special key and I'm not allowed to use it.

Meditation has never been easy. Silencing the noise in my head enough to actually have a chance of relaxing has for ever eluded me. When I close my eyes the darkness is filled with a technicolour 3D surround sound movie of all worst problems in my life playing at full volume. Meditation is actually painful and it makes things worse because if focuses all the problems to the point of claustrophobia.

Mindfulness is slightly easier and I have managed this for a minute or so here and there but it's difficult to maintain. I quickly slip back into the same destructive pattern of why and what if? How do people do this? I honestly don't think it's something that can be learned. If your brain is hard wired a certain way then you have no hope of changing that permanently. Am I just not trying hard enough? I berate myself constantly for the inability to make this work.

Distraction is my meditation. Constant stimulation of my mind, forcing it to concentrate on something else just enough to push those intrusive thoughts back into their dark stinking closet. It's not ideal but it's the only hack I've ever found to make life more bearable some of the time.

The authors of these books are either completely different to me, much stronger mentally or simply pedalling false information. To read their stories, they seem to have dragged themselves out of challenging and damaging mental traumas and be living the perfect life. I doubt that's really true but it obviously sells books.

My own lack of success implementing these mental practices has done nothing but make me hate myself even more. I'd go as far as to say that these books have damaged me. I may as well be reading books on how to high jump - as a 5ft 4 48 year old unfit man. I'll never be able to reach those heights, mentally or physically.

As the years roll by and I approach the final third of my life I am becoming more pragmatic. I do think perhaps I should use whatever energy I still have left to find ways to mould my surroundings to suit me instead of bending myself out of shape to fit. Maybe I'm reaching the part of life where the past isn't that important because the sharp tang of finality is biting at my heels.