Part 1 : Why I hate it 
My first childhood memories, and definitely my most vivid ones is a story not really shared. Call it a shame if you will, a shame of not having the happy, bubbly little memories most people have from around 5 years up.
Encephalitis somehow got hold of me at age 5, so the first glimpses of my life to be written to my long term memory were those of me puking my lungs out and of evil ladies sticking needle upon needle in my tiny little back. These memories are filled with chills of “what if’s”.
When I recovered about 3 months before starting Gr 1 my physical well being returned to normal. I could talk, I could play and I could run around and react just like the other children, but I was never really the same again. Although I could not compare my thoughts post illness to prior the reality of the illness is with me daily. Something I would not have been was it not for contracting this cranial illness.
Upon entering school I was forced to sit down and work. I hated being told what to do, and hated it even more when the thing I was suppose to do had the tune of sitting down to it. People who are not aware of the reel feelings and reasons for acting the way we do and whom thinks that real ADHD is just another definition of lazy should step in to my boots one day. Nowadays would be rather uneventful, so I would actually have liked to go back in time and let the critic step in to the Awesome Doc Martins I had in St 8 or 9 or just about any grade I had to do “serious” work in.
A burning, a churning and wild racing of thoughts. Fires in my mind like a 10 year old heroin addict, raging and turning my stomach like an elastic being wrapped around something beyond it’s stretching potential when SNAP. I get up and I walk away from my homework to go pull some legs off of spiders.
A shooting of self motivated actions was the only fix for my junky ways of old. I would simply close the book and that would feel like pushing down the plunger and when I got to walking away each step took me further away from that churning feeling. That is the best word I have learnt so far to describe the butterfly like feeling. A churning of desire to get away from the mundane – of liberating my own wishes of experimentation and exploration of things most would not condone.
Somehow, luckily I passed each test. Not with flying colors, but with just enough B’s to keep my dad happy and just enough so I comparably did better than my sister. She use to study very hard. Exam times were extremely divided in the household – on the one hand my parents had their son who would just not learn on the other they had a daughter who loved to learn. She got support in a fashion I did not know.
After about 5 years of writing exams my parents lost interest in my educational well being. Though I dared not bring a failed test mark home the old man and I had what seems now to have been an unspoken arrangement. He considers me a “failure” and a “waste of potential” and leave me be to my own devices and I get to make sure he does not have an “official failure” of a son… and by this I mean, one who progresses from one st to the next without the shame of having a dumb son who has to be kept behind a year or two.
My teachers were dumb asses. I would always try to better them, and should I dare do the normal thing of acting in line instead of way out of line I would once again experience the churning – the irresistible lust to act out. To say my say and to cause controversy was the order of the day.
I kept on passing, and smooth talked my way out of my troubles by picking on peoples weaknesses and tender spots. This trait is still there, but noticed. Back then I did not notice any of the things I know about my past today. Environmental and societal repression did not latch – at all. But what I like to call “self repression” took hold and one cannot fathom the idea of a “brain disorder”.
I was lazy – and that was my curse. Why? Because my father told me I was lazy. Lazy was in my eyes something I would die with – without ever really having a chance to choose not to be. It was something I considered my own misfortune and I based my life on this. I would sail and coast through the stuff I do not like as me and the “authority” had an agreement that suited me just fine.
Now I know that I suffered some form of brain modification. I cannot say damage neither can I say upgrade but what remains my take on it is that it was a modification – a change which would determine the outcome and the path of my life. So subtle in it’s symptoms yet so profound it sometimes felt like I could stop time itself – and for a 10 year old to consider the impossibility of trying to stop father time and what it could mean for the universe it never really struck me that something was “wrong” – comparing my consciousness with another was not really on any of my impulsive “to do lists” so the only real form of psychological repression I suffered was not noticing my “problem”.
My solution is in the progress but it’s difficult – and it takes a shitload of discipline. Something proving to be the hardest thing I have ever done - focusing on something I have no interest in – discipline.
I'd like to discuss hating adhd and I'd like to hear from others who has the same comparable symptoms like the churning and the fire burning when forced to do stuff.
Why I love it will come later when I have mustered enough courage and a strategy not to sound like a complete narcissist online.
