ADDing To The Complexity

I hate it when they tell me that I have the potential, because what if I don’t and I disappoint everyone? I hate it when they tell me that I can do better, what if I know for a fact that I try and give one hundred percent? They. They voice to me how “concerned” they are about me. Making me seem more like a simple case that one deals with every day. Like I’m a caged animal being observed for its strange abnormalities.1

I thought that by now people would realize that I’m different from them, and that I can’t keep up doing things their way. My room is a mess, I know where everything is. When it’s spotless and organized, I can’t find the other brown shoe that would usually be in the left corner next to the wall underneath my bed.2

I hate it when my peers say I’m slow. I hate it when they call me dim-witted. What gives them the right to intrude into what goes on with me. Except maybe that’s just an effect of having to go to middle school. Everybody’s watching each other like hawks. Trying to know who to be friends with and who to ignore. Usually my so called “friends” call me an idiot and try degrade me.3

I hate it when others joke about ADD. I overheard two people saying that “only retards get ADD”. I hate it when people use ADD as an excuse. A perfect example would be a boy in my Language Arts class in the seventh grade. His name was David. He would shout that he couldn't’t do the school work because he “had ADD making him too stupid to do anything” or when he refused to present his project to the class because “his ADD makes him incapable of explaining things very well”. All he did was reminds us of the problems with his brain everyday. All I did was contain myself from punching him everyday.4

I try hard to try and act normal. I guess you can’t conceal who you really are. I try to remain silent when all I want to do is shout. I try to stay seated and motionless when all I want is to run and jump due to a sudden energy burst.5

Even as I am perched cross-legged on my chair recording my thoughts, I’ve gotten up three times to wander into the living room for no other reason than to just move. Focusing is hard for me, but I try anyway. I try really hard too, but sometimes trying isn’t enough. And when I do focus, it won’t be for very long. Besides wandering into the living room I’ve also gotten up once to ask my dad if there was anymore film to use for my camera. And I’ve checked me email four times in the past twenty minutes.6

I’m very two-sided on almost everything. I sometimes think that I really do need serious help, like a psychiatrist or something. My friend told me about the psychiatrist she visits twice a week, she said that he was very nice. Other times, I want to shout at everybody to leave me the hell alone. That there’s nothing wrong with me. That’s usually the case. I find it entertaining, when I get that little blue slip in homeroom class that says that I have to go visit the guidance counselor. Throughout the entire meeting I try hard not to tell her that she should probably wipe that pensive look off of her face and stop trying to diagnose a problem that isn’t there.7