Hi all, my name is G, a soon-to-be 20-year-old who’s been battling the chaos in my mind since, well, as long as I can remember myself really, but it really all starts at 16 - the wonderful yet horrific time where you become more conscious and aware than ever. I’ve managed to thread together the fragments of my journey, considering I repress those memories, of the last four years of my life, living with an unaddressed ADHD and thought it might resonate with some of you here, and maybe help those who are going through a tough time to feel less alone. More so just to get -someone- to listen to my story. It was around my 16th birthday, the time when the world feels so vast yet so constrained and confusing, that I stumbled upon random ADHD memes and symptoms online. I’ve always known of ADHD as being some widely “popular” disorder, but never knew what it actually was. The more I scrolled, though, the more I saw my daily struggles encapsulated in those posts. It was horrifying and captivating at the same time. The self-recognition moment shook me, and rocket-launched me into figuring it out. Could it be? An explanation? Am I not just lazy? I don’t feel lazy! I try my hardest, but it’s not enough! Why!? After immersing myself in information about ADHD for hours, turned into days, which turned into months, at last, I summoned the courage to approach my mom, who was so supportive and caring, it’s like she knew. Surprise, she did. To my shock, she revealed that I was diagnosed with hyperkinetic syndrome (another name for ADHD) as a child. This is it! I’m on the right track! I’m not insane! Living in a country that’s currently aptly called one of the worst places on earth (to put it lightly), and rightfully hated by everyone with a brain, we recognized the mountainous journey through the nonexistent mental healthcare system that we were about to undertake to get the help I needed. All the while hindered by a condition that turned every task, from even the most basic one like brushing teeth, to choosing what the hell to do with my life, into equally herculean and seemingly impossible efforts, I was sinking under the weight of this discovery. It was horrifying, yet, I was naive and hopeful, reading on stories of people from better places on earth who can get that help. It’s possible, I thought. Surely, if I try, I thought. Summing up my courage, we plunged into the battle. Over a year long treacherous journey had me in front of something like 12-13 physicians. Neurologists, psychiatrists, psychologists, physicians, threading through a health system that’s as incompetent as it is free. My school psychologist - the first little stepping stone was my ray of hope, pointing me towards avenues of professional help, unable to do more due to her position’s limitations. But then it rolled into a giant shitball, like a snowball from Mt. Everest. Every doctor visit felt like walking a plank - I’ve never done anything like this. Revealing that I’ve researched my symptoms online, and suggesting that I was struggling with ADHD, would often trigger a dismissive and downright awful response from doctors. The atrocious claim that because I’ve sought help at all meant I didn’t have ADHD was a prevalent sentiment. And the nonchalant remark from a senior physician that belittled my struggle comparing it to not battling a fever was a blow for me. But I carried on. More than once, my symptoms were either ignored or misinterpreted. I remember walking into a session hoping for help with concentration issues and ended up with a bipolar diagnosis stacked on me within the hour, since apparently “my mood changes because I fail to do tasks” is enough for that. I do not have bipolar disorder. The subsequent medication for it left me very sedated, docile, and heavily disrupted my sleep and energy levels - side effects that linger still to this very day. Catching COVID certainly didn’t help. The ultimate breach of trust in the entire healthcare system, though, came from an approximately 50-60 years old doctor. Whom I personally looked up, recruited, asked for help, and he was initially open. His royal shartiness, instead of empathizing with me, or addressing literally anything I’ve said to him during the session, turned it into an unsolicited rant about the old ways of brute force “nurturing” of the Soviet Union army. Truly a despicable act. Telling me I simply don’t know how to live, that the fact i have any ambitions or do anything for them is an indicator I don’t have ADHD, saying I’m completely healthy, not addressing a single one point of my concerns. A boiling point that led to a harsh exit with me telling him to burn in hell and an anxiety attack in a bright summer day - the scariest, yet somehow comically ironic moment of my life. I remember feeling bad in the midst of the storm that I left my mom with that piece of shit. He told her after I stormed out that it’s simply “hormonal” and it will pass. Spoiler alert: it did not. Later even the hospital administrator / head doctor who was present called and apologized, saying we should try another opinion. But I was done. To this day from this interaction I fear doctors like fire, and that will probably remain for the rest of my life. I left out a lot of stuff, like the months of placebo, unproven and generally unsuitable medications, how much it took a toll on my world view and general life motivation, talks of suicide in the last encounter with a doctor, being forced to come out for a “questionnaire”, et cetera. I could go on, and would love to, but I feel like no one would read something like that. I’d love to continue in the comments though, after all we all have something in common. Unfortunately, my journey doesn’t have a satisfying resolution yet. I’m now in a different country where the acceptance and accessibility to ADHD diagnosis and medication are a fair bit better, but I still can’t afford the process. My struggles with ADHD have receded to the background amidst the tsunami of mundane survival requirements, studying, chores, all of which I know you all know the crushing struggle of all too well (wow, what a sentence!). The necessity of immediate tasks creates a transient motivation (and not in the good sense of the word, more like urgency), but the resulting mental toll is just so much to bear. Too much. It’s summer right now, but when I was studying, Every. Single. Week. I plummeted into depression head first due to just not being able to live a normal life. I dream about a day when I can pursue a formal diagnosis and actual help, hopefully with some surplus money which I don’t have, and maybe secure the medication I need. Maybe someday in the future I will lead a “normal” life. But for now, as I pen down my journey so far, I feel largely directionless but with a spark of hope that I won’t feel this lost forever. The road ahead is uncertain and feels impossible and inaccessible. But I still have a glimmer of hope. Sharing this with you all feels cathartic and makes me feel less alone. Hoping for better days. P.S. no this is not the States. There, at least if you’re born filthy rich there you can get it, and the proven meds are legal. Not back home, not for me.