Hello, I’m Zoe Molloy, a writer from east London, with an interest in people and their stories, their childhoods, where they are from and what makes them ‘them.’

This week, we continue with our theme of Difference and lean into the invisible differences that people cannot see or hear. The internal challenges that some people have daily, both emotionally and mentally, whilst living a life can be overwhelming.

Reactions, good or bad, from other people, be it strangers, friends or relatives must have heavy repercussions on an individual, especially during childhood and bases how we form a view of ourselves.

Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) awareness month occurs in October and aims to highlight a better understanding of those affected by it and to encourage individuals to seek help and support.

The three pieces selected this week, give the reader an opportunity to have an intimate look at how different people experience their lives whilst navigating a struggle that they may not have even known they had, with no clear map.

The first piece of prose is Disjointed Thoughts (With A Theme) by Kate Howe, and it portrays a reflective life while dealing with an undiagnosed or recently diagnosed, mental health condition which shapes how they see the world and how the world sees them. Fast-paced flow of thoughts which mirrors the lived experience.

Disjointed Thoughts (With A Theme)

You took yourself by surprise when the psychiatrist asked if your mind ever stops racing and you wept.

No, never.

A life lived a lefty in a world with only right-handed scissors and fresh volumes stacked beside you each morning which need cutting into delicate snowflake paper chains every day if you want everything to be OK. To make money and pay the bills and buy the food and remember to call your mother and message your friends. You’re lucky you even keep any, the way you can’t handle replying to a WhatsApp.

Your mind works overtime all the time and how do you explain to people who accomplish more than you could ever hope to that you’re tired very literally all the time? That you’re not even you until you’ve had a coffee and two pills three times in one day?

Faking you’re a grown-up while inside you throw another tantrum because we’ve all got the same 24 hours to spend, but yours costs you 48. Give or take.

You feel bad. When imposter syndrome scratches the surface and if you’ve made it this far and you got good grades, how can anything be wrong with you? There are people actually suffering out there, how dare you.

Surfing five distinct emotions in five minutes while writing an entirely unrelated email. Imagining where you’d be if they understood your symptoms when you were little? Poor thing; she had no idea.

Mad at your dad because he thinks you never got a real degree. At Mom for not taking it seriously when you noticed similarities to your sister’s symptoms. Pull the brakes on that train of thought before you travel too deeply. When you wonder about lost opportunity, everybody ends up hurt.

Decades lost, skirting the edge of regret and resentment. Tasting sweet potential on the tip of your tongue but struggling to name the flavour while attempting to impress your parents and teachers and all the figures of authority. But always daydreaming of other things you assumed weren’t yours for the taking.

It’s wild that, at 35, you finally get an answer. A weight lifted, you’re forgiven, a new beginning.

You were unprepared when the weight came crashing back down. You learn that knowing is just the start. Where do you go now?

© Kate Howe, 2024

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The second piece I’d like to share is a poem, Different by J.White, which highlights difficulties connecting and relating to other people. Frustration is evident throughout, as  is the inability to find a sense of harmony or equilibrium. We all want to belong somewhere; to fit in with a tribe and we should recognise challenges faced by some people, require a reaction of understanding and not judgement.

Different

Why do they assume?
That I’ll give them,
What is not theirs?
They take my stuff,
Before even asking.
I sit there only
Half-aware. That
They care for me,
Not one bit. They
Look at me, just
Some half-wit. Gullible
To lies, what is not
The truth, I seek
For a friend, who’s
Not there.

Am I not the same?
As everyone else? I
Have my faults, just
Like them. The one
Big fault is different.
You can’t see it. Or
Even hear it. Taking
Advantage, because of
That one thing. That
Alters life, I can’t even
Sing in tune. Just
Like life, a permanently
Scratched record. Or a
Radio station out of
Signal.

© J.White, 2024

Connect with J. White on FB: www.facebook.com/jess.white.710667

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The final piece I’ve chosen is ADHD And Me by Helen Aitchison which I found unflinchingly honest, informative and thought-provoking. A few of my own friends are in their forties and have recently been diagnosed with ADHD. What was interesting for them was the range of reactions from other people once they were told the news. We must all keep talking, keep learning and keep supporting.

ADHD And Me

Our lives are about labels, categories, boxes we tick ourselves against. As someone who spent years working in social care, I’ve asked hundreds of people which box they belong to. Boxes with positive and negative connotations, and associated labels and stigma. Recently, I’ve become another ticked box that left me confused, unsure and a little sad. At 43, I’ve been diagnosed with ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder).

The cause of ADHD is unknown. It’s not a mental health condition, or a behaviour disorder, nor a learning disability. ADHD is a developmental impairment of the brain’s executive functioning (neurodevelopmental disorder).

My path to diagnosis started two years ago, after starting my own business. I’d always worked for organisations with scaffolding to support my responsibility-heavy role. Twenty years of social care means I’m excellent at communicating and extremely self-aware. I’ve excelled in my education and career, because I knew my strengths and what I liked. However, when I embarked on my own business, I lost the rules and teams of experts that make up the complex jigsaw of a company. No longer did I have HR, finance and my boss telling me to turn my work phone off each Friday night. Despite my business ideas, enthusiasm that could light up a hundred Christmas trees and knowledge of my field, without the scaffolding, I began to unravel.

I began a piece of work with a charity supporting neurodivergent people and meet a doctor who was diagnosed neurodivergent in her 40s — both asked within 30 minutes when I’d been diagnosed.

“I haven’t,” was my wide-eyed response.

Then I read up about ADHD and it felt uncomfortably familiar. Add in the peri menopause,  a massive life change, and the (100% non-malicious) nickname I have as the ‘most intelligent fuckwit ever’ and a pattern began to emerge. Now I’ve been diagnosed, many things seem clearer. I grew up with love and stability, support and encouragement. But I’ve never had a great relationship with myself and have also had destructive relationships in my life. I struggle to follow instructions and am always late. I feel overwhelmed by my social media DMs and start multiple things at once. This summer, it took me three months to make a 90-second call to the dentist, yet I wrote a book in five weeks and have enough ideas for my business to ensure I will never get bored (well, not at work, anyway!).

Mainly, I feel very lucky and know many will find it to be much more challenging that I have. ADHD can manifest in the form of mental health issues, substance misuse, difficulty in employment, and relationships. Women, in particular, are often misdiagnosed or diagnosed later in life.

October is ADHD awareness month and, as with other labels many of us carry, it’s important not to stereotype. Instead, we need to learn about conditions and identity, as well as having patience and empathy; appreciating that, regardless of the boxes we tick, we are all individuals.

For more information on ADHD, the following website may be useful: www.adhd.co.uk and www.add.org

© Helen Aitchison, 2024

Connect: Instagram @helen.aitchison_writes

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