WTF is wrong with you

So, we know ADHD is genetic, right? At least, I think we do. After reading Gabor Mate's seminal work Scattered Minds , I'm not entirely sure what the cause is. But regardless, the widely agreed view - with a few notable exceptions - is that ADHD is with you from birth.  When I went for diagnosis last year, one of the key pieces of evidence they requested was the view of someone who'd known me since I was a child. I refused. I wasn't ready to tell my parents at that stage, and my sister was battling breast cancer, so had more important things to worry about. And there just wasn't anyone else.  So, I told the assessor myself. About the blurting things out in class, rarely ever finishing any pieces of work, about the emotional dysregulation, about every school report that said I should grow a thicker skin. About the stealing from my father, from family friends, the shoplifting. About the copious and compulsive lying. About the time I flushed my mother's engagement...

Last week I told people I have ADHD. And by people, I mean pretty much everyone in my entire freaking life. I was already ‘out’ at work. I found it easier to tell people in my professional network than I did my loved ones (yeah, on that, I feel a blog coming on…). At work, we have Employee Resource Groups – volunteers who come together to champion a particular cause they’re passionate about (Race & Ethnicity, LGBTQ+ and disability etc). In an attempt to channel my energies into something positive, I signed up to our disability ERG. (Wait, I’m ‘disabled’?!? That’s definitely for another blog.) So, I joined a committee, spoke at a panel event, hosted a seminar – I was an advocate. Literally and metaphorically, I wore the T-shirt. It helped me connect with others in the neurodiverse universe, but without intruding into my real life. At home? I’d told my wife, my sister and my brother-in-law, plus a couple of old school friends who weren’t in my everyday life. But for severa...

"Can you think of examples of where you might have been impulsive?" "Well, I asked a woman to marry me that I wasn't in a relationship with...oh, and I bought a house on a whim." I think she just ticked the 'yes' box.  This was a question my therapist put to me last September. This was only my second session, with the first being perfunctory - weight, substance history whatever. I'd been outlining what I thought my issues were (grief, isolation, parents - all the classics) when some of the things I'd said caused her to veer down a certain path of questioning. How did I find school? Did I find it difficult channeling my concentration? How were my emotions? etc etc.  Where was this going? Eventually, we arrived at our destination: "Could I ask if you've ever been tested for ADHD?" "No," I said. "And I don't really know what that is." Well, I do now. I don't struggle to sit still. I can read for hours. I can...

I suppose I should start with why I'm blogging? I've got a therapist. I've got a wife. I've just about got some friends left. There are people to talk to. But for whatever reason, nothing is ever enough for me. No-one can listen enough. Respond enough. Engage enough...deeply enough.  So, I've decided to chuck it all out into the ether. If people respond, great. If they don't, fine. At least I have an outlet.  In my heart of hearts, what I want is for this to help someone, somewhere. Because when my cracks started to show, I'd never felt so alone in my entire life. Even though it's a life waymarked by loneliness and isolation.  Of course, every day me is absolutely fine. Life and soul even. Never shuts up, talks to anyone. I get really passionate about things, enthusiastic, outgoing, easy to talk to, engaged.  But real me? I have no fucking clue. But I know he's scared. 48 years on the planet and I still don't know who I am or what I want.  When I...