A lot of people like me are fighting an invisible war that rarely anybody ever talks about: Attention Deficit Disorder. My brain requires a different stimulus than other people who don’t have an attention disorder, and when I was first diagnosed and treated I discovered that this condition is incredibly common and often suppressed in our society of fast paced, standardized testing.
I had a really hard time in high school. Sometimes the teachers would be explaining important material and even if I tried to pay attention I ended up day dreaming about what I’d rather be doing and missing the essentials of the class. I hadn’t learned studying techniques before high school, as my middle school did not offer the best classes for math or science, so I felt stupid in most classes and continually gave up. My aunt, a very prominent person in my teenage life, helped me to realize what might be happening. I had “art brain”, which is often used to describe the learning capabilities of people with ADD. The “daydreamers” the people who have their “heads in the clouds.”
I went to the doctor and was given Ritalin to take two times a day. For a few weeks I felt that my focus was better, and I finally felt that I was capable of learning. However, a month into taking it I started to feel anxious instead of focused. It felt like there was this huge ball of stress in my chest, similar to the feeling of drinking too much caffeine. I’d be sitting there in class and wanting to scream and rip the medication from my veins. I stopped taking it a few weeks after that, but the feeling stayed. My eyes and nose would twitch for years after, and even now at twenty-two years old my eyes get dry and my face contorts.
I know some people felt better with Ritalin, but the medicine had left a permanent scar on my nervous system, and I again felt helpless to do my best in school. I think my lack of passion for the core curriculum led to my success in my high school art classes. However, anybody who did art classes with me knew that I needed to work fast, because I often grew bored of working on a single painting for days at a time. In my adulthood, I have about twenty unfinished painting projects in my digital art folder, and there are canvases with half-finished oil paintings scattered across my room. A lot of people get frustrated or don’t understand why this happens, and it’s hard to explain how I could be excited for something and then bored after an hour indulged with it. I can only paint for a few hours a day, really. I really need to feel inspired in the moment to retain interest.
I was terrified, more than any other time in my educational career, to switch majors. I had loved my Human Origins and Variations class, but had only managed to get a B in it. Would I be good enough for something in biology, a subject I had really struggled with in high school? If I couldn’t even focus in my fine arts classes how would I focus in harder lectures in a bio-medical degree? I decided after a month of thinking that, because I was so unhappy, I needed to take a leap of faith and trust that I could adapt.
When I first told members of my family, they were scared for me. I had never excelled in science, and I had excelled in art and literature. It was very hard at first, because I felt that nobody who loved me trusted my intelligence and passion. I struggled to adapt at first and got average scores on tests my first semester at Front Range. My family tried to find a middle ground between medicine and fine art: medical drawings, police sketching, etc. When I was a child they told me I could “be anything I wanted to be” and now they were telling me it might be “too hard.” I grew extremely frustrated and stopped talking altogether about my new major to the majority of people in my life: this was a journey I would be taking alone.
In my second semester I took my first few introductory science courses and ended up doing much better. I grew progressively more confident. I found that I studied better at coffee shops than at my own desk, and my focusing skills started developing throughout my coursework. I was getting A’s on assignments and professors knew me by name. I loved what I was doing. I was doing it well and without harmful medications.
My boyfriend finally managed to convince me to talk to my family about my progress, and about my goals. His support and trust in me was exactly what I needed to begin talking openly about my major. After months of being skeptical, my family started really listening when I spoke about pathology. They realized how excited and happy I was, after years of being weighed down with self-doubt I was finally blossoming. I can see the pride in their eyes when I discuss my career goals, now.
Last week I got 100 percent on my chemistry exam. I was at the top percent of the class, and I did it without feeling that my ADD was clutching at my throat. The truth is, I’ve come to believe my “art brain” is an asset to my career in medicine. More and more employers are looking for people who can think about things both logically and creatively.
Attention Deficit Disorder does not mean you are incapable of learning. If people in your life are struggling to keep up with a type A society, tell them they can do it, provide them with love and support, and trust them to find a place in the world where they can thrive.
Do not worry if you have trouble paying attention, because you can do whatever you want to do. Don’t let a stereotype define you and make you feel stupid. Embrace that flaw and let it lead you to success.
