With an ADHD diagnosis I can finally tame my very busy brain
THE psychiatrist, Michael, greeted me in the reception of his plush Harley Street office. He was a top man — ‘the best,’ I was told, and had the kind of wellgroomed good looks that indicated he knew it.
His firm handshake came with searching eye-contact that made me feel I was being taken the measure of. I imagine being a psychiatrist he meets all sorts. I just never imagined I was one of those ‘weak-brained’ sorts.
My brain has always played to its own, loud tune. A boiling pot of ideas and desires that lands like a thump in the shape of written words. Lots of them. A column a week, a book a year and then some.
I’m a firm taskmaster and my brain is my resilient tool. Except lately, it isn’t. In reality, it never had been. In his vast consulting room he asked ‘Would you like to sit on the sofa?’
‘Thank you,’ I said. Looking round the vast room, with its tasteful furniture and beautiful art, I remembered my fee. ‘Will I lie down and have you feed me grapes?’ popped into my head. I didn’t say it out loud.
‘What is the worst thing that could happen to you at this meeting?’ was his first question.
I thought about it for a moment then decided I may as well tell him the truth. ‘That you tell me that I don’t have ADHD and I have to go home and figure out what’s wrong myself.’
I studied his face for a reaction. Psychologists always look frightfully interested and part of their job is to maintain a comforting, insightful expression that will make you ‘open up’. This was different. Michael was interested in my feelings only insofar as symptoms of a brain disorder.
My ‘feelings’ are in disorder, but is that disorder being caused by dodgy brain function or just life? The bottom line — can I be treated with medication? Which is why I am here. I always assumed that everything was under my control, that my inability to concentrate, forgetfulness, bad school results, impulsive behaviour was down to lack of willpower and weakness.
For the next hour he asked me hundreds of questions which I answered as honestly and briefly as I could.
Mam had dug out my old school reports which he studied. Reading through them the week before had been awful. I had buried the hell of my school days deep. Through the five years I was in secondary school the teachers had consistently said I was intelligent but ‘lacked’ focus.
‘You were so bright,’ Mam told me, ‘Dad and I were puzzled.’ I wanted so badly to be clever and good, and not being able to in school gave me a level of determination and persistence in adulthood that was beyond normal.
I wasn’t trying to prove anything to anyone except myself. I just didn’t want to be stupid. When I discovered a talent for writing, I threw myself into it with a hyper-focused vigour that other people find admirable.
BUT not me. No matter how much I achieve at work, it’s never enough because I feel that ‘stupidity’ inside me. In lost keys, forgotten names, missed appointments. My whole life I have been running to stand still, then faster to succeed. Getting older, I lack the strength it requires to simply ‘be me’.
He scanned my reports while I stood up and looked at the art hanging on the walls. Finally, he said, ‘There is no doubt looking at these reports you have ADHD.’
I burst into tears. Grief. He handed me a tissue. His face looked impossibly kind and I knew that this was why he studied for a million years — to give people this vindication. It’s not ‘you’, it’s your brain. We can treat it. Diagnosis of a mental disorder is not an excuse — it’s a relief. A beginning.
Handing me the prescription he paused and said: ‘This treatment was not available to anyone when we were children.’ He added: ’I am four years younger than you.’
I reeled. Not at his kind revelation but at the fact he was only four years younger than me! I have been thinking too much, driving myself too hard.
I hope — I know — the medication will help. It’s time to tame the beast of my busy brain. My heart will beat the drum from now on and my thoughts will follow.