by Emma
The fact that I wasn't diagnosed until this year makes me sad, it makes me happy, it makes me relieved, and it scares me. I tell myself that I should be proud that I've done as well as I have dealing with what I have. I tell myself that there is nothing wrong with being different, but I still question it. I heard the kid behind me in English laughing about another kid that takes Ritalin. "What a freak, the kid runs all over the place if he doesn't take his medicine," I heard him say. I tried to ignore him, but it's not that easy. I try to not think about it, but I keep asking myself what would my life be like if I had known a long time ago.
When I was first diagnosed, I was relieved. It made sense, there was a reason that I was the way I was. I felt better about mistakes I'd made, bad grades I'd earned, stupid things I'd said. It wasn't really my fault. All the things I've always known about myself, maybe I couldn't help it. Maybe I wasn't the horrible person I thought I was. Except maybe I was. Was ADD something to be ashamed of? I'd only heard of ADD in a negative light. I didn't want to be that typical person with ADD that I had heard people make fun of.
To the outside eye, I was successful. To myself though, I was a failure. My grades were fine, A's, B's, C's, I was a better than average student. I knew I was more than that though, I knew I had so much potential, I knew I could be an amazing student. My mom knew it too, she thought I was being lazy, that I was over-involved. She'd tell me, "Buckle down and focus." My parents tried everything; they took away my car because they thought it was making it easy to waste my time. They tried to control my diet to change my moodiness and hyperactivity. What nobody understood was that I had no control over these things. Sitting down at my desk to do a math assignment wasn't just a boring chore, it was an impossible task. Finishing up a tedious project like the laundry was hopeless; I'd get distracted and end up in another project. The rest of the world told me I was stupid, that I was lazy, a goof-off, a loser.
So here I am, life goes on. It stopped for a few minutes when I first found out, but know it's right back on schedule. I started taking medication, and for the first time in my life I aced a Physics test. I'd actually understood the lesson. I read the chapter in the Physics book, and I comprehended what they were saying. I could finally focus. What used to be a jumble of words was now theories and postulates. The teacher stood up at the board for a half-hour, and I didn't get distracted once. I asked a question, and nobody laughed. I finally was where I should be, I finally understood. I was so happy, I started bawling in the middle of class. I ran up to my Physics teacher when the bell rang and told him all about my ADD, my medicine, and squealed with excitement as I told him I finally understood. I rushed to the school counselor and told her how happy I was. I called my mom and told her to stop worrying, I was finally going to be okay.
Everything isn't perfect now; things still don't come easy; they're better though, much better. I read an article last week, and some doctor is trying to claim that medicine doesn't help people with ADD. He even questioned if ADD was real. I wish I could talk to him, because I could tell him how real it is. I could tell him what it's like to be the only kid in the class who can't figure out that one problem. I could tell him what it's like to not be able to sit still long enough to read an uninteresting poem, let alone an entire book. The medicine has helped, it's made my life so much easier.
No matter how hard I've tried throughout my life, my ADD has always effected me, and it always will. I've figured out ways to work around it, I've compensated for it, but it's still there. It's not all negative however. People with ADD are usually creative; I'm the only one in my family that is fearless and wondrous on stage. If I like something, it's easy. Everything I've ever loved to do, I've been amazing at, because I work at it until I am. I have flashes of brilliance, which most ADD people do. Mixed up in all my confusion and distraction, are hundreds of great ideas that are someday going to change the world.
As I prepare to graduate, I look back at my life. I don't know who I would have been had I known about my ADD sooner. I don't know if my grades would have been better, if I would have won more awards, if I would have been a nicer person, or if I would have learned more. I'm starting over now, I'm learning to deal with my ADD. I know what it's like to be the stupid one; I know what it's like to be different. I know what it means to earn something, because few things have come easily to me. I know what it's like to not be understood, to not know how to explain what I'm going through. Hopefully I'm going to use all these painful experiences to benefit others and myself.
Everyday for me is a challenge, but I'm slowly learning to make things easier. With medicine, counseling, and lot of support I'm okay. I'm going to be successful; I'm going to fulfill all my dreams. ADD or not?