A story about a lifetime with ADHD

“A father went out to sow his seed…” so the parable of Jesus went. To paraphrase, some fell on the rocks, some fell in the thorns, and others produced a bountiful crop. Guess what type of seed I was? 

My seed was not chosen from the finest organic stock, then gently scattered on a bed of finely tilled soil. No, mine was a mangy spore, spread through the root of an irksome weed that wouldn’t go away. It was thorny ground all the way for me.

And yet, we were lucky enough, us post-war kids. We didn’t have to listen to the sirens going off, or scramble over the debris of bombed out buildings to find what was left of our home. Our parents were moved into brand new, ‘luxury’ council estates, with indoor bathrooms and coal fires in almost every room, though no central heating. We wore half-decent, hand-me-down clothes and shoes, and there was always food on the table. It was crude and minimal food, but wholesome enough. Still, you learned to inspect your food first, to pick out the ‘weird bits’, before you ate it. We were given some unlikely things to eat back then. Usually, they were the innards that, these days, go into pet foods.

‘You want for ‘nowt, you kids,’ our Mam would say, as though we were living in a rich suburb of Kensington. It certainly wasn’t that. It was a lean, mean existence. We were feral, wandering around the streets in large, undisciplined gangs, getting up to all kinds of mischief. Our parents seemed to want as little to do with us as possible. Seen and not heard. It was as though giving birth to us was the full extent of their parental involvement, or at least that’s how it seemed. There was little nurture, little love, or comfort, or reassurance. Having a nightmare? Shut up, and go back to sleep. Fallen over? Oh give over, there’s nowt wrong with you. Been bullied by a bigger boy? Punch him back, you big puff. 

If you had a broken leg, they would send you to hospital to fix it. If you had a rash, they’d rub cream on it. If you struggled to see, they’d give you glasses. But emotions? They were a strange, sophisticated beastie, that was swept under the carpet of ‘not for consideration’, or put on a high shelf marked, ‘do not consume’. People who struggled with mental health problems were marked out as ‘loonies’, or ‘crazies’. Women would whisper to each other ‘she’s bad with her nerves you know’. Such women would be pumped full of Valium and singled out as being unfit, incapable, or insane. It was a huge social stigma. 

So, to have a kid with ‘emotional problems’ was a big deal back then. It was a notion not to be entertained. To have two kids like that, like my brother and me? That wasn’t even up for discussion. My brother, who is clearly autistic, wasn’t even sent for a diagnosis, and me? I was just labelled ‘needy’, ‘moody’, or worse – a brat. There was never even the slightest thought that I might need additional support or help. Even a cuddle for that matter. It took me up until I was 60 years old to find out that I actually have ADHD. 

So what? It’s not like ADHD is a serious debilitating illness is it? It’s just a made-up, twenty-first century, woke condition. It’s not a real disability is it? At least, that’s what many people think. It’s true to say it isn’t like living with a serious, degenerative condition like multiple sclerosis. But, being diagnosed with ADHD was like someone putting a final puzzle piece in place and being able to see the picture for the first time. Suddenly, I could make sense of things I’d struggled with my whole life. As well as coming from an underprivileged, penniless, north-east background, I was also born with a mental condition that hampered everything I did, and tried to do in life. Talk about rotten luck.

ADHD affected me emotionally in many ways as a child. I know all children get emotional at times, but this was beyond what I would call typical. I was highly anxious a lot of the time and would worry incessantly. I would have emotional outbursts, I’d cry a lot and be upset regularly, but I got little sympathy from my parents or family. My mother was not the nurturing kind, and went back to work a couple of weeks after I was born. I was the youngest of four, and there was definitely signs of emotional neglect in all of her children, but Mam didn’t do it knowingly. It wasn’t a ‘thing’ back then. Back then, life was tough and you simply had to cope. That didn’t help me much and did me a lot of emotional harm. I used to regularly wet the bed until I was 7, which was a symptom of emotional stress, and I remember having a lot of disturbing, ruminating thoughts which would constantly frighten me. I was a sensitive kid. ‘Oh shut up moaning. I’ll give you something to moan about’, was my Mam’s stock response. My coping mechanism was to mask it, to sulk privately, to cry inside. I kept a diary, and it was so dark, so despondent. I was so sad a lot of the time, but I had good friends who helped me through things. I just kept going and got on with it, as I had been taught. Resilience is a good thing. It doesn’t make you happy, but it keeps you going.

Another symptom of ADHD that was evident in me, was hyperactivity. I have always been hyperactive. As a kid, I was always fidgeting, tapping, kicking my feet or playing with things, and always getting told off for it, at home and at school. I couldn’t sit still, and still can’t. It’s so hard for me to relax. That in itself isn’t a problem. Being ‘on the go’ all the time, is many people’s normal, but it exhausts me. To compound it, sleeping has always been an issue. I have had restless leg syndrome for as long as I can remember, and my partners have always told me I’m a nightmare to sleep next to. I need to move legs constantly in bed, and I toss and turn all night. This constant hyperactivity, coupled with lack of sleep, makes me tired and irritable a lot, but every day it starts anew., so I can empathise with new Mums who barely sleep because of constant night feeds. 

At school, I was a good pupil. I was bright and able. I was ‘top set’ in my subjects and pupils of my calibre were expected to do well. And yet, my school life was a litany of underperformance, lack of achievement and failure. Mainly, this was another aspect of my inability to focus my attention. I would regularly get into trouble for being silly, or making inappropriate comments or noises. I was sent out of class often. I was very easily distracted, and would race through my work, or leave it partly finished. I would get bored easily, and I wanted to get it over with to get onto the next thing. I was something of a magpie, flitting from one thing to the next. I didn’t learn things properly because I rushed them. Everything I did was partly finished or half learned.

Secondary school was hard for me. I was caned a lot for low level disruption, I didn’t do my homework, or when I did it I did it badly. I didn’t revise, I failed tests, I was always getting told off for being sloppy, for having poor handwriting, or rushing my work. I was thrown out of three exam classes because of truancy, and only managed to scrape four low grade passes thanks to a lot of late revision. If it wasn’t for that late effort, I’d have failed everything. 

After school, I went to art college. In the end though, it was more of the same. I had plenty of talent, I just didn’t apply it properly or work hard enough. When I was good I was really good, but I couldn’t sustain the effort. That old attention deficit again. To compound matters, I dropped out of art college half way through the course and went on the dole. I spent years trying to make up for that early mistake. I drifted away on the dole, and then from job to job, for a decade after that. When I eventually got sick of drifting, I went back to Uni and completed my studies. I’m enormously proud that I got my degree and finished a teacher training course. There were many instances when I wanted to quit, but good teachers kept me on track. That and the fact that I had a wife and two kids to support. 

My professional career I was hampered by  my inability to focus my attention. There was a protocol to follow to getting a job – a precise application, a solid education, a good personal statement, and a meticulous interview, all of which I was terrible at. I just thought: ‘Can’t they see how good I am?’ It wasn’t arrogance, I just found it impossible to focus over the length of time it took to complete the application process. In interviews, I would zone out, I couldn’t focus in high pressure situations and I’d say inappropriate things. One piece of feedback I got was, ‘you looked bored in the interview’. 

ADHD affected me in other ways too. So many times in my life I have been unable to control my emotions. Things would build up inside of me and I’d erupt, start shouting, or get angry. Colleagues would laugh and say ‘oh look Carney is having a radgie again’. (A radgie is local slang for throwing a tantrum.) I didn’t lose my temper to intimidate people or bully them. I wasn’t a loudmouth and I wasn’t arrogant. I can only ever remember getting annoyed at people or situations I thought were wrong. I lost at least three jobs I can remember due to arguments with people, and in all of those cases I still maintain I was right to this day. That said, if I’d just rolled over and accepted the injustice of it I would not have lost my job. Emotional dysregulation has been a feature of my whole life, and it is this most of all, that I found hardest. 

Now that I’m retired I have less going on in my life. I don’t have so many things going on in my head. When I was working, my head was constantly being bombarded with thoughts. It was like an avalanche, like being under a rockfall, where every rock was a negative thought. You flit from one train of thought to the next, then back again, sometimes mixing deeply disturbing things with mundane ones. This affects your ability to concentrate. People can be talking to you, but their words are ethereal voices in the distance, while the chatter endlessly swirls around in the foreground of your mind. I look back at periods of my life where I’ve caved in under that pressure. There are many darker stories of my battles with mental health, but this isn’t a story about them.

I think, all things considered, I’ve achieved a lot. There is an up-side to ADHD and that is hyper-focus. It has certainly enabled me to get stuff done, even if it does exhaust me. And so, despite all the things that were started, but not finished, despite all the indecision and career changes, despite all the failed attempts, I managed to write four books, two of which were published by a publisher, and two which were self-published. One of my books has a foreword by Professor Alice Roberts. I’ve recorded two albums of my own music, had my songs played on the radio, and performed on stages all over the north east. I’ve been an artist and illustrator for over forty years, had my own exhibitions, had my work published in leading publications, and produced illustrations and designs for many organisations. I also had a good career in teaching, where I successfully ran my own art department and which became a beacon department in the area. Finally, I’ve run my own company, and built and designed one of the UK’s leading art education websites offering support and resources to teachers all over the world. That’s not bad.

I failed a lot. I had a lot of frustration. It hasn’t been easy, but I was determined. I was stubborn. I knew what I wanted and I just kept going. ADHD has made my life much much harder than it needed to be. With better support, with the right medication, life would have been so much easier and enjoyable. I think that is what I regret most. That I couldn’t enjoy the ride for all the noise of my many mental health issues. I also think that with an agent or professional adviser, I could have reached even greater creative heights. Clearly, I didn’t fill out the application form correctly. Whatever. It wasn’t to be, but I’m proud of my little lot. Mine wasn’t the best seed, it wasn’t planted on the best soil, in the best location, or lovingly tendered. It was a scrag end of a weed, that grew up in adversity, and which despite all the odds, bloomed. It was a mighty fine weed indeed.