I am not the monster

When we were young

Although I wasn’t diagnosed until the age of 21, my ADHD was very apparent, if unnamed, from an early age.

I touched briefly on my difficulties between the transition between school and home in an earlier blog.  These were the times when my ‘monster’ overcame me, Mr Hyde took over and left both me and my family in despair. 

Unlike many ADHD children I was relatively well behaved at school.  I never played truant, probably terrified of disappointing my parents whom I already felt deeply guilty towards due to my at-home behaviour.  I was never rude to teachers and I tried absurdly hard to be liked by them.  I never was, probably due to my inability to ‘suck up’ as we called it back then. 

One of my earliest memories from school involved a game we used to play where we pretended to rip up our work while making a ripping sound through our teeth.  Inevitably I never really got the hang of this and in my enthusiasm actually ripped up an entire story which I had spent the duration of the class writing. I was so embarrassed I copied the entire thing out again at home that night and then didn’t dare to give it in the next day.  The teacher didn’t seem to even notice my story, which I was quite proud of, had never been handed in.  This kind of thing happened a lot at school. 

All through my school career I was told off for not trying.  My reports came back saying that if only I tried harder (read – didn’t have ADHD) I could do really well; if only I asserted myself (read – didn’t have ADHD) I would be able to pass.  One of my teachers used to pick on me ‘Madame Evans’ and use me as an example to my year and the year below.   ‘Pay attention or you’ll end up like Madame Evans’ or something to that affect.  Of course I put on a brave face but, after all these years, my confidence in my academic ability is still affected.

In lessons I used to write lists of friends to invite to that weekend’s party, write long notes and even letters, count down the minutes and seconds left until the bell went, invent ‘tag’s’ in case I ever had the inclination to grafitti etc etc.  When I was about 11 or 12 I used to hide headphones under my hair and listen to music or audio books during lessons.  Once I even brought my hamster in my pocket.  My mind used to wander incessantly and I was bored to near insanity.  It never, never occurred to me to listen.  It was only during my GCSE’s that I realised that my peers actually listened in class.  I felt cheated. 

Revision was always a nightmare as I had to essentially learn the lesson for the first time and then try and remember it.  It always took three or four times the time and effort for me to revise than my peers and I rarely did as well, or so it seemed. 

Thankfully my parents were strict with me and would always double or triple check that I was doing my homework.  Otherwise I would probably have given up on school work.  Often they would find me in tears and fits of frustration and anguish over biology, dad would always help me with maths and mum would always help me with French (while I walked around and around the table or lay on the floor kicking my legs in the air in an attempt to concentrate, getting increasingly stressed, anxious and angry).  This always ended in a tantrum and usually we were both in tears at some point during the daily saga.  I was sent to several tutors for the subjects my extraordinarily accommodating parents had no expertise in.  It was a nightmare.  But it got me where I am now. 

I think the reason I managed to be ‘good’ at school, and thus undiagnosed, was that my parents were so forgiving and accommodating.  Although I feared disappointing them I knew they would always love me.  Home was that safe haven where I could be myself.  And that was when my monster would come out, all the pent up hurt, frustration and anxiety of the school day would surge out of me in dramatic waves of anger and aggression.  I had no control, and moreover, no idea what it was.

Now I do know what it is, I have an explanation and that helps a lot.  As I have said, I still have these outbursts, both at home with my partner and when I visit my parents.  My monster hasn’t left me and I don’t pretend to have that much control over it.  I am still working on that.  Diagnosis doesn’t cure, and I’m not sure how much it necessarily helps either but at least, in my case, it has relieved some of the guilt.  At least I know that its my monster, and that I am not the monster.