It snuck up on me, in my early twenties. I don’t remember exactly when I was diagnosed with ADHD, but I do know I owe it to the perception of my previous psychiatrist, Dr. R… He gave me a very useful handle to grip when it comes to that enormous question:

What on earth is the matter with me?

Granted that now, with Dr. H, we are still pursuing that question, every little piece of the puzzle is helpful. It has occurred to me that even in my current state, I am very fortunate to have had doctors who were good at their jobs. They worked with what information they had and though some of my mental soup has gone undiagnosed I have not, to my knowledge, been misdiagnosed with anything.

Setting aside one particular doctor, whom I have nicknamed “Dr. Vegetables,” (more on him another time) I even got along with my psychiatrists. I know from close friends and family that doctors can unfortunately be pretty bad people sometimes. I have heard stories about experiences which have driven people away from healthcare altogether. It’s terrible to think that the very people you are seeking help from can be so damaging.

Then again, I can’t imagine the kind of strength it takes to deal with patients day in day out and keep a decent bedside manner. I have trouble dealing with people in generic social circumstances, never mind needing to examine and treat them.

Just making it clear that jerks come from all sides. And so do the amazing people.

When I was younger, around 16 or so, the question of ADHD did come up. At the time I was struggling academically and I was incredibly frustrated. I wanted to do better, I was used to doing quite well in school, but I had hit some kind of wall. I didn’t entertain the idea that it was ADHD for more than a minute.

Why? Because I didn’t know enough about it. When I heard the term ADHD it made me think of my brother. He has struggled with it since he was a child and it seemed to me that ADHD was something that made you unable to sit still and unable to listen.

I thought “that’s not how I am” and it went right off my radar. The struggle continued, I dropped out of highschool at the beginning of my last year. I went into university as a mature student, excited that I would finally get to learn what I was really interested in. Subjects I chose.

But it wasn’t enough that I wanted to learn. By then I was losing focus during lectures, unable to take notes at the same time. My assigned reading was so hard to do that I got into the habit of reading the words out loud at home to retain the information. They made accommodations for me at the university but eventually they couldn’t stretch any further for me and I wasn’t keeping up.

The brain fog that would hit, even after I stopped taking courses, was brutal. I would get so stuck for no apparent reason. I’d be sitting on my couch, trying to decide what I was doing after breakfast, and all I could get through my head was “I can’t think, I can’t think.” I had to sit in this mental static until it cleared enough to at least pick a distraction.

I felt terrible about myself, and pessimistic about any kind of functional future. I didn’t have a job, I didn’t have anything to take care of except myself, and I was terrible at it. I still am, if I’m being honest. I try more these days, but then I am also taking meds that help a lot.

Thanks to Dr. R, I started on a medication that gives me back some brain power. It wears off at about 4 in the afternoon, but I can usually have some caffeine to get me out of that slump. I wish I was allowed to take even another minor dose in the afternoon, but this medication is a controlled substance. They don’t like to risk giving you more than you need.

With the help from my meds and, ideally, with this project in the works, I am hoping that I can move forward. Not to be like everybody else, but to meet my own image of living well.