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The life of an adult with ADD...
I suddenly remembered your request for ADHD stories when over the past weekend, my family handed me an old report book from school (they're renovating their house so they've been clearing out). My first instinct was to chuck the report book straight into the bin.
I used to dread taking them home, because they invariably created a lot of stress and tension and I had to listen to remarks like "we're not paying good fees for you to blah blah blah" (it was not helpful of me to respond with "so stop paying; I don't want to go to school anyway.")
Instead on several occasions, I contemplated forging my parents' signatures, and then hiding the report until it was time to return it to the school. I never got a chance to try that tactic, in part because I knew I wouldn't get away with it and the consequences would be dire. I was in enough trouble; I didn't need more.
Anyway, back to this past weekend. Curiosity got the better of me, and I fished the book out of the bin. It was shocking. It covered the last two years of my school career. You see, my teachers and family wanted me to change schools so that I could do A levels (good lord they were optimistic -- I barely made it through my O levels) so this report book covers a time when I had completely new teachers (I'd been at my previous school from age 4 to 16 and everyone there thought they understood me).
But unlike my previous school where all the teachers had said I was lazy, needed to try harder, could do better, and so on, these new teachers wrote that I was working hard, and one even said "Susan deserves praise for sheer effort", but every single teacher wrote that they were very concerned about my lack of participation.
The comments started off mildly enough "[she] still seems somewhat hindered by her natural reticence" and then progressed through "Susan must realise that participation is an important part of a 6th form course" to "Susan's reluctance to take an active part in sixth form work is beginning to be a source of general concern: she must learn to communicate readily with others."
Well that was just fine and dandy, but how the hell was I supposed to learn how to communicate when I'd already managed to drive everybody away?
Actually that's a bit unfair; the school did put me into a special class. They told me that it was called "Current Affairs," and that it was a discussion class, and that I would benefit from its looser and less formal structure. Well, as soon as I walked into that classroom and saw my fellow pupils, I knew I'd been categorised as a social misfit, a loner, a loser, and what's more I was definitely and obviously uncool if the teachers thought I fit in with that lot. (I was also judgmental). So I sulked, didn't cooperate, didn't talk, and by the next term, the school had lost funding for that class anyway.
To cut to the chase, I didn't get my A levels (I sat the exams and deliberately wrote short stories instead of addressing the test subject -- I didn't see how I could possibly survive University). I then joined the Navy and ran away to sea. I ended up in America, where I began, one course at a time (I'd escaped the parental and teacher pressure that forced me to attempt 10 "O levels, and 3 "A" levels), to fill in my educational gaps.
Eventually, at the recommendation of one of my professors I went for diagnostic testing and assessment. The results came back: Dyscalculia and I had it pretty baldy. But, and it was a very big but, the tests also showed that I had strengths that were in the superior range. When the educational therapist looked at me over her notes and said "you're actually a gifted student", time stopped, absolutely fucking stopped!
I could have accommodations, she said, permission to tape lectures, extended time and a room to myself for tests. When I finally walked out of her office, I noticed the leaves on the trees were shining in the sun, the birds were singing, and I felt as if I could fly with them, and keep on flying forever.
The educational therapist did suggest I go to the Psychology Department and get tested for Attention Deficit (she said I had a classic profile), but, hey, I was happy with my dyscalculia and my accommodations. Life was already looking better and making more sense. Except of course, as I adjusted to the new idea of myself, I realised there was a component missing.
Then one day, my husband after reading an article in a Sunday magazine said I should read it too. It was about Attention Deficit, he said, and the people in the article sounded just like me. So off I trooped to the Psychology Department, and got my testing. Yep! I had ADHD! The Doctor told me that there was good news and bad news, the bad news was that I had ADHD, the good news was, I had it so badly I would benefit greatly from medication (he was a funny guy).
He prescribed Ritalin, and half an hour after I had taken the first one (I swear it was that quick) I was walking across Campus when I suddenly realised I could see the day stretched out in front of me, and it was divided into time chunks. I knew where I was going, and when I was going. For the first time ever in my life, my day had a plan.
With medication and accommodations I went from being that loser misfit in the "Current Affairs" class to earning a Bachelors (summa cum laude) and then graduating with equally high honours with a Master of Science.
But even with meds life isn't easy; since leaving University, and leaving the structure of the classrooms, and the constructive feedback of professors, I have struggled to hold down a job. The longest I stayed in one was for 18 months, and the shortest was 30 days. I can be a bit prickly, hate being interrupted, I misread people,I get bored and frustrated easily, and I'm not a good timekeeper. But if I'm interested and excited about something, then I'm the hardest worker around (so hard working in fact that I end up alienating my fellow employees -- geez talk about not winning for losing!!)
Anyway, back to that recently re-discovered report book. What was so shocking to me was to so suddenly and clearly see not only how traumatised I was at sixteen, but also the extent to which I was affected. I didn't talk to anybody at my new school, because I had learnt not to trust anybody.
Upon reflection, that statement's not quite accurate, it's true I didn't trust people, but I also didn't recognise when I could trust someone. I think the report book makes it clear that if I could have described some of my difficulties to my teachers they would have done their best to help. Now all these years later, upon re-reading their comments, the concern seems genuine. But back then, I had even become afraid to draw attention to the things I did do well, because invariably I would end up hearing "why can't you be like that all the time?" And that hurt. Years later I walked away, silently, without a word, from a wonderful opportunity in America, when a professor was so taken with my work on Milton, that she offered to mentor me. I just didn't know how to explain to her that my seeming clarity was the result of medication and I was really afraid that one day the fog would descend again, and I would be responsible for yet another disappointed person.
I wish I could find those "A" level teachers at my last school so that I could let them know that despite my being stubborn and resistant, some of their concern and kindness obviously had an effect because I did go on to university, and I even graduated summa cum laude. I wish I could apologise and explain to that university professor, and then continue studying Milton. But I have to earn a living. And that thought raises another concern of mine. I've focused so much effort on trying to hammer myself into the working world, that I'm now afraid I've battered and destroyed my creativity.
I was further shaken this weekend by the timing of the reappearance of my report book. You see, I've been running my own business now for four years, and it seemed the perfect solution for my inability to stay in a job.
Except, for the last couple of months I've been struggling with the feeling that the twin evils of boredom and restlessness were creeping up on me again. And just as I gave up the fight against those two devils and admitted to myself that I wanted to close my business and do something new, I read my report book and plunged back into the past and back into that awful morass of self-doubt.
Anyway, I've now climbed out of the bog, shaken off the mud, and I'm job hunting (thank God for ADHD resilience).
I don't want much; just a job that pays well, where I have the freedom to think, to generate ideas, and where somebody else takes care of the admin work. I don't want a boss who stands by the door with a stopwatch just because I'm late by ten minutes, but I do want a boss who gives constructive feedback. I don't want a job where I have to sit at a desk all day, but I do want a job that is intellectually stimulating. I don't want to work in an atmosphere of gossip and innuendo (I can't keep secrets, and I misinterpret signals), but I do want to work in a team that is cheerful and cooperative.
So if anybody hears of a job like that, could you let me know, and I'll do the same for you.
S
