Disability has hung over my head since I was 18 months old, when I was diagnosed with type I diabetes. I’ve dealt with insulin shots, pumps, and finger pricks for, literally, as long as I can remember. As a result, I don’t even consider it any extra effort; it’s just a part of my life. My ADHD is a far different story. I was diagnosed in seventh grade, giving me more than a decade to feel its full influence on my life.
I was considered a problem child for years. Fights, arguments, failing grades, very few friends. Eventually, something clicked in the mind of an adult and I was tested for ADHD. Next thing I know, I’m taking prescribed medication and maturing more in one week than I had in three years. I went from straight C’s and D’s to A’s and B’s. Behavioral problems disappeared. I could socialize without seeming distant. Overnight, most of my personal struggles became faint memories. For all intents and purposes, the medication was a godsend. Which is why my father’s opposition to it rocked me to the core.