Art by Garrison Wright
Focus.
The one word in the English language that causes smoke to come out of my ears. Even typing the word causes me angst. Due to my attention deficit disorder, or ADD, I struggle with focusing, which affects my everyday life. Everything takes me two times, three times or even ten times longer than the average person. And by everything, I mean everything.
From household chores to completing homework assignments. It takes me up to six hours to clean my dorm room, which is a mess due to forgetting to carve out time to clean. Frustration is an emotion I am all too familiar with. A simple five- page paper can take up to 12 drafts to ensure clarity and flow. I constantly forget things. I forget to do assignments, where I parked my car, if I ate breakfast or what someone just said to me five seconds before. Frustration.
Growing up with ADD led me to be an angry person who was lost in her own thoughts. The tangled web of my thoughts get stuck into a bind of con- fusion because my brain tries to process everything at the speed of light. There is a sense of guilt and anxiety when dealing with others who don’t have ADD. Conversation and social interactions can be extremely difficult. I can look you right in the face, give you eye contact and even nod like I’m listening and not get a single word you just said. Conversations go in one ear and out the other. I always feel like I’m being rude asking people to repeat themselves.
Some people are not very patient and take serious offense to my lack of attention. What they do not understand is the guilt I feel asking them to accommodate this thing my brain does without my control. I live with that constant guilt for my learning disability causes anxiety and worry.
My pediatrician first introduced the idea of ADD to my parents when I was in middle school. My mom wanted to try more natural approaches to my ADD. I took fish oils and a variety of vitamins. Lactose milk and all dairy were removed from my diet. I still struggled to put away a basket of clean clothes in fewer than four hours. Homework that was supposed to be only two hours would take seven hours. My typical day growing up was wake up at 7 a.m., go to school, participate in sports, come home, then start homework immediately. It was always me against the clock. I could handle shooting a free throw that would decide the basketball game better than I could the hours of homework I was forced to endure. I hated sitting at the kitchen table doing work. I was under my mother’s careful eye to make sure I focused (there’s that word again). To this day, I cannot do homework at a desk. It just brings back memories of frustrations and tears. Yes, I cried over homework.
I didn’t learn to read until third grade due to my ADD. My teachers didn’t have the time or energy to sit down with me and force me to focus on the words. I struggled with my own native language English. It is embarrassing sometimes to try to formulate a cohesive sentence in a language I’ve spoken since the age of 3.
I had various tutors. I remember specifically my writing tutor who was actually a speech therapist. He created this booklet about how to write a paper and organize your ideas. He introduced me to the software Inspiration, which is basically like spider-webbing essay planning on your computer. But that’s not all. I completed the whole Hooked on Phonics program.
My mom forced me to read a chapter from any book and write in my journal every night. She always made sure to say that she would never read my journal, but merely flip through the pages to see that I had written. I hated this with a burning passion. I thought books were torture devices meant to teach children to sit still for long periods of time. I despised the written word and everything associated with it. I just wanted to watch TV and be left alone.
After years of this punishment, I looked back at some of my old journals. I noticed a change, the sophistication of my writing style. I was completely shocked. The concept of progression was new to me. I was used to trying so hard and straining every last brain cell to just make it by. It changed my view of language. I saw that I had power. I possessed an ability to grow and ultimately be successful. I knew it would be an uphill battle, but there was now an actual possibility.
For those who may not quite understand, here’s the metaphor I use to explain. Imag- ine you are trying to run a mile in fewer than seven minutes. Every day you try. Ev- ery day you fail. Each day you go by, you try harder. More effort is exerted. But everyday you are 10 seconds slower. No matter what you do or who encourages you, it seems like an impossible task. Imagine experiencing drive, hope, struggle and failure for years. People tell you to just try harder. They yell, “Focus! Just Focus!” Imagine there are other people on the track who just whiz right past you without skipping a beat. There is no sweat on their brow nor are they out of breath. All hope of success is lost. This was my struggle until the clearest day of my life.
The Clearest Moment
Success was a concept introduced to me when I was 16. My mom and I agreed to try ADD medication to help me. My frustration and anxiety was getting exponentially worse. The thought of going to college was completely crippling. If I struggled so much on a daily basis, how could I move away from home and be successful? How could I be worth the investment my parents would have to make?
The very first day I took my medication was the clearest moment of my life thus far. I will never forget that day. I remember every single detail of that day, which is an accomplishment in itself.
I remember getting up on that morning looking at the pill bottle of Concerta. I thought, “Well, here it goes.” Then I went to school and about my daily life. It wasn’t until lunch, that I had already finished a homework assignment during my free period. An entire assignment was completed in just 55 minutes. Never before had I experienced this feeling, a feeling of accomplishment. At the time, I just thought it was a fluke until I got home that day. I got home and changed as I always did. But then I sat down and did my homework. I actually did my homework. I finished a three-page reflection paper, answered some science questions after reading the whole chapter and began to study for an English test I had the following week. All of this happened in two hours. Two hours. In 120 minutes, I accomplished more than ever in my entire life. My eyes began to fill with tears.
A huge weight had been lifted. I realized I had time to work on my Girl Scout Gold Award, which had fallen to the wayside due to my lack of time. At this same moment, my mom walked through the front door, ready to tell me to focus on my homework. She saw my project and scolded me for not working on my homework.
“It’s done,” I told her
“What do you mean done? I know you have a test next week …”
“I already started studying for it. It’s done. I’m working on my Gold Award project.”
Her brow furrowed and jaw dropped. This concept of sitting down and accomplishing a task was completely new to her, too. I then remember asking,“Is this what it’s like to be like everyone else?”
Even after the clearest moment, I still struggle with ADD. It is something that I will struggle with for the rest of my life. I will have to ask people to accommodate me while learning to structure my life around my learning disability. The difference from then and now is I own my ADD. I share it willing with others. It is not some hidden secret that should degrade my intelligence. It doesn’t define me. It is just a part of me just like my brown hair.
For those who believe that ADD medica- tion is addictive due to its ability to change aperson’sstateofmind,Isayitcanbe.But it’s not the drug that is addictive, it’s the sense of achievement. Being able to accomplish tasks in a reasonable amount of time is a serious boost to self-confidence and sense of worth. However, with all medications there are side-effects.
Some of the side-effects of Concerta are drowsiness, loss of appetite, dizziness, nausea, fast heartbeat and chronic trouble sleeping. I have experienced each of these. The more severe side-effects are joint pain, excessive sweating and even heart attack. But in my experience, the side-effects of life without medications are much worst. Loss of motivation, depression and a decline in self-confidence can become your whole world. It becomes easy, without the medication, to get lost in your own jumbled train of thought. Trying not to forget assignments or meet up with a friends cause severe anxiety. Loosing a few hours of sleep and keeping a pack of saltines on me is a better trade off than the latter.
Today, I have a system for basically everything I do. I have a teacher’s style planner that is huge, but I wouldn’t be able to survive without it. I learned that I just have to do things differently than others, but that doesn’t limit my abilities. It is what just works for me. I color code my classes.
My notebooks, folders and even how I write them in my planner are each a specific color. I keep important things in the same place. I always put my keys in my purse or on my kitchen table. I set my coffeemaker up the night before. I pack my bag for school the night before so I don’t forget anything. I set everything up so I can be successful. I struggle with focusing. Now, I know to push through that.
It is my limitation. Life has caused it to be a focus in my life, but it doesn’t consume my life or define The building blocks and tools I have learned from my ADD have taught me that I will be successful in anything I strive for.
