It’s not as if one person made any grievous errors that defined my life. I am not the byproduct of a traumatic event or an abusive relationship.
Instead, I am the result of a genetic anomaly and the repetitive misunderstandings that derived from that anomaly. I experience what society labels Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, a believed disorder of the human brain.
On a matter of principle, I refuse to admit that this experience I coexist with is a disorder. It may be an abnormality, but this infers a normal, and I rarely agree with any notion of normalcy. Defining normalcy is a fallacy generated by society-at-large to better understand the human condition and the definition changes with each new attempt. “Normal,” by definition, indicates a standard of what is supposed to be, and anything falling outside of that is abnormal; an outlier.
And that is what I am, I am an outlier.
It is not that I am unique. Others like me exist, hence our ability to acknowledge and classify my “abnormality.” I just don’t fit the standard, and typical patterns of associating with me do not necessarily apply. I excel and struggle in a manner that is not traditional. What I see, hear, sense, think, and feel, just does not compute in conjunction with this standard definition of what it means to exist.
For me, the thoughts in my head are a quagmire of turbulent thoughts that are at once extreme, wondrous, and terrifying. I am capable of immense focus, rushing through massive amounts of nuanced information and technical data, making cross-discipline leaps of logic that often go ignored by others. I am, at times, also utterly incapable of tracking the simple and mundane details of life that hold little to no concern to the vagaries of the incomprehensible noise that is everything else in my brain.
That sentence alone should indicate the intricacy with which my brain cobbles together concepts, notions, and ideas. Few people would construct a sentence, as my father would say, “with so many one dollar words where ten cents would do.”
By ten years old, I was testing at college levels of reading comprehension. My father, curious to see if I could accomplish a feat, tested my ability to read upside down. I don’t recall how old I was, but I was young. Upon proving my ability, he took it a step further. Have you ever tried reading a book upside down in the reflection of a mirror? I have, and I was able to do so with minimal effort.
In algebra class, I could process multi-variable equations, in my head, without fail. In science, I could fathom the minutiae of microscopic bacteria as quickly as the vastness of space. The greatest philosophers in history spoke to me with humanity’s most profound questions. The more abstract a concept, the easier it was for me to comprehend its implications.
I tell you this to paint a picture; to demonstrate the positive aspects that come with my abnormality. It gave me what felt like superhuman abilities. It made me different, in the highest sense of the word. I know this based on years of experience.
No matter where I went, no matter who I interacted with, I felt alone. I required constant stimulation. My brain ran a hundred miles a minute and wouldn’t shut up. Mostly, it thought about these abstract concepts, connecting dots and enlightening me to the world around me. It helped me conceptualize my existence, the meaning of it all, and how the world worked.
Other times, it became the villain, and this is where the “disorder” component seems like a natural definition for society-at-large but, as with all matters, there is more to the story. When my inner thoughts became villainous, it was in direct correlation to how little I felt understood. The more alone I felt, the more my voice turned against me.
The messages I received from the people around me regularly implied my failure. The comprehension gap between us regularly located me on one side of an equation where the greater-than symbol pointed away from me. And here’s the crucial element to all of this; for people without ADHD to follow my train of thought can, at times, take countless hours of hashing and rehashing concepts that I comprehend in the span of two heartbeats.
To be honest, I am not smarter than anyone. I am, and I have always tried to be, humble in this. The bricklayers, auto mechanics, physicists, and financial analysts all have their niche. Each unquantifiably smarter than another in their chosen field. They have, for the most part, lived a focused and directed life, and that is another difference.
Because of the whimsical nature of my thoughts and the voraciousness with which I devour information, I have lived a chaotic and undirected life. One day, I am an auto mechanic, another, a car salesman. I have been a banker, a financial consultant, a janitor, a line cook, a maintenance man. I have washed dishes, operated a register, delivered pizza, learned the many intricacies of photography, and written a novel.
All of this is a symptom of my abnormality. It is the physical and mental manifestation of everything that makes me who I am. It is also a telling tale of why I fail, and why the voice inside my head has evolved into the naysayer that it is today. It continues to tell me that I am not good enough and that I never will be. I hear it in my head, and I see it in the way people perceive my failings. They don’t understand.
Few people ever do, and that is why ADHD is considered a “disorder.” Society-at-large expects us to fit a mold, and there are few outlets for us to be who we really are. When relating to other people, especially groups of people, becomes necessary, I can promise the ADHD individual is fighting a battle inside their head. They are, consciously or not, simultaneously agonizing over every nuance of every interaction in conjunction with unquantifiable amounts of historical data they’ve accumulated over years of experience wherein they were not understood and subsequently undervalued on that basis, and they do all of this while also contemplating, at lightning speed, a myriad of topics that spark their interest. Metaphorical rabbit holes come to mind, but the metaphor works better here with the twisting paths of an ant “super colony.” If you’re not familiar with this, I suggest you do a google search, it’ll put things into perspective when compared with a rabbit hole.
Even after all of this, I feel I haven’t sufficiently described what it means to be ADHD. I feel as though the topic has many layers and nuances that I am only just discovering, and it is further obscured by the fact that, to some degree, everyone has these problems. Only, it is the individual with ADHD that has these problems from the moment they wake to the moment they fall asleep. It keeps them awake, and it awakens them in the middle of the night. It disturbs them when they are resting, when they are active, and when they are striving to focus. The only time an ADHD individual gets to rest from the chaos in their mind is when they achieve what is described as hyperfocus. This state of being is a treasured affair of individuals with ADHD because of the tranquility they can obtain in these moments that is not offered anywhere else.
If you can envision yourself aboard the film-based Andrea Gail, of “The Perfect Storm,” during its final voyage, and comprehend the power of the storm depicted in that movie, and then imagine five storms raging all at once and always, then perhaps you will have an idea of what it is like inside the head of an ADHD individual.
With my diagnosis, I am learning how better to cope with this aspect of my personality. If for no other reason, I am glad to have the diagnosis; it explains my life and, over time, will help me define my future. ADHD is not an affliction, it is instead a dynamic character trait that is at times difficult to fathom and control, but it is me, and I am it. It has granted me many gifts while also extracting its toll.
For anyone who has known me, if you just couldn’t understand me, if you felt any anger toward me, or perhaps felt belittled because of what I said, ADHD is not an excuse, but it may have been the reason. My challenges have certainly had an effect on my life, and I am only just now coming to understand to what extent they have affected others. For the hurt I have caused, I am sorry, for the friends I have lost, I am sorry, and for the family kept at arm’s length, I am sorry. Sometimes I wish this wasn’t my life, but then I remember everything I love about myself and how fascinating the journey has been.
I wouldn’t change it for the world, no matter how much it hurts.