For pretty much my whole life, I’ve known that there was something different about me. I couldn’t control my mind and the thousands of thoughts that happened at once. I didn’t understand why I wasn’t able to sit still and why I talked nonstop. I wondered why I spaced out and forgot to even listen to the people talking to me half the time and had to ask “what?” I didn’t know why I couldn’t focus on one task—I’ve been distracted at least five times since I started writing this. I couldn’t comprehend why I just didn’t want to do anything because it was too stressful. I couldn’t figure out why I was different.
But when I finally realized that all of this was affecting my grades and day-to-day life, I went to a doctor and he diagnosed me with ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) along with anxiety. I was very relieved to know that there was a reason that focusing on things was hard for me and I wasn’t just avoiding them. But just because I was diagnosed, it wasn’t magically fixed—I had to adapt.
For those who have been diagnosed, it is hard. For most of you, you are put on medication that helps you focus, stay organized, and study for more than a period of 10 minutes. But at least for me, it affects your personality and makes you irritated at the little things—like an unexpected sneeze, the tapping of a pen, the popping of gum, sniffles or a cough during an exam (I could go on forever). The worst part is the crash after the medication wears off, where you are agitated at the world, which puts a strain on relationships with other people, especially friends.
However, without medication, you feel hopeless. I see all my friends being able to just sit down and do their homework or study while I’m just sitting there with 37 tabs open on Safari and getting up every 10 minutes to just walk around (like I am doing right now). It all can be stressful and even hurtful, because I can’t help it, I’m not doing it on purpose—it’s just how my brain works.
With all this pressure to try to balance my life, it’s made me vulnerable, self-conscious, and have horrible anxiety. I don’t like hiding that when people point out how I never stop talking or focus or I’m “so ADD,” doesn’t bother me. But through all of this I don’t throw myself a pity party, it has made me accept that yes, I am different, but that doesn’t mean I have to let it ruin my life—I have to adapt.
Overall, ADHD doesn’t define me—it has allows me to be different. It’s allowed me to be creative. It’s gotten so much easier, and sometimes I think of ADHD as a weird blessing because I’m always working on something—I’m never just stuck on something and I end up actually accomplishing more that way. I found that through writing, drawing or painting, it has allowed me to learn to channel it into something very positive. I’ve accepted it as an asset because it allows me to think differently than other people and makes me who I am today. I wouldn’t be the person that could laugh at some of the stupid things I do that get other people all worked up (there are a lot), I wouldn’t be the person that is always wanting to do something or doesn’t want to stop moving all the time, and I wouldn’t be the person who loves my life and wouldn’t change who I am for anything.
