“You’re a highly intelligent individual, and I’m sorry, but you probably know already that intellect and depression often run together.” The school counsellor raises her hand up and down to simulate a wave. “Your thoughts and your moods move…
When I sat down to write “The Lighthouse Keepers,” it was with the intention of pulling back a curtain. A year into my ADHD journey, I started thinking about ways to convey my experience that felt productive and perhaps helpful to others. As I state in “The Lighthouse Keepers,” I have lived most of my life feeling as though my brain was a comet to which I had been chained. The quiet, internalized desperation that drove my life and influenced my choices was, up until that point, invisible and unarticulated. It was important for me to not only discuss this subject, but also to invite the reader to venture inside the lived experience.
For me, ideas are often tangled but deeply meaningful. As a writer, I feel more comfortable operating in the poetic space than any other because it allows me to shift gears quickly. There is no universal style, length, or expectation—a poem only needs to be evocative; it can arrive at that destination in any way its author pleases. When considering ways to demonstrate the organized chaos of neurodivergent thinking, it made sense to apply the freedom I had found in poetry to a longer narrative form. I had no interest in holding back or attempting a logical progression. If I was going to honour my experience fully, it would have to be three things: unfiltered, chaotic, and raw.
I experimented with form, alternating between internal monologues, conversations, and journal entries. It was important to me that each episode feel unique. As the reader progresses through the essay, they begin to notice recurring themes and elements. By the end, the reader realizes that the seemingly disparate episodes were actually a stacking of ideas—that the experience of the essay was not random but curated. That I am not scatterbrained or dawdling but approaching the same ending from multiple points. I wanted to demonstrate how the multipolarity of neurodivergent thinking is not only a mark of difference. It can be miraculous, beautiful, and even revelatory. The chaos you see when you look at me stems from a deep-seated sense of interconnectedness. There is no need to concern yourself with a single thread because I am showing you the tapestry. Isn’t it wonderful?
JEN COLCLOUGH is a poet, novelist, digital artist, and ESL instructor from Nova Scotia, Canada. She holds a Master of Arts in Classics from Western University, and a Bachelor of Arts with Honours from Acadia University. At Western, she completed a thesis exploring trauma theory and cultural memory in Ancient Greek historiography. Her creative writing investigates these themes more abstractly, consistently seeking the past within the present. Jen’s poetry has appeared in several journals and anthologies, including: Tabula Rasa Review, Heimat Review, ionosphere, MORIA, OpenDoor Magazine, Tidewise Illustrated Quarterly, and Free the Verse. Her original short story, “The Opposite of Hunger,” was anthologised in The Petal Pages in August 2023. Additionally, her article, “Memorialization in Thucydides’ Plague Episode,” was published by the Journal of Ancient History in May 2023. In the winter of 2024, Jen Colclough held the Shannon Residency at Beinn Mhàbu in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. She is currently querying a debut poetry collection and developing a serial drama for a major streaming service. Jen Colclough is also a member of the Writers’ Federation of Nova Scotia’s Writers’ Council. Find her on Instagram @jenmcolclough.
