Disclaimer, I have no scientific proof of this… But I got your attention, didn’t I?

I was recently diagnosed with ADHD, something that I quite frankly knew very little about up until that point. What’s more, when I was a kid, most teachers and clinicians alike still thought that this was something that only affected boys, and I think that this deterred me from investigating further when I started noticing certain things about myself.

Today I find myself hurling towards the ‘wrong side of 40’ at warp speed whilst trying to come to terms with my diagnosis and realising how this condition explains so much about my past and how I have tackled certain things – some horribly and others exceptionally well.

As with every little thing that catches my interest, I got the sudden urge to learn everything I could about ADHD in the shortest amount of time possible, which has led me down a rabbit hole of research papers and ADHD podcasts. This curiosity and insatiable need to learn is something I have discovered can be quite common in people with ADHD. You can learn more about some of the strengths our neurodivergence may cause in this article from Catalyst Care Group.

Through my extensive research, I came across the topic of masking, which made me suspect there might be a correlation between trying to hide my ADHD traits and the emergence of my OCD. I can recommend ADHD Chatter and MissUnderstood: The ADHD in Women Channel if you want to learn more about ADHD in general. I should add that, even though there are many similarities between people with ADHD, every individual’s experience can be very different, so there’s no ‘one size fits all’ element here. There are also a few different sub-categories to ADHD that I will not go into, but there’s a spectrum.

Now, onto the birth of my monster – the OCD – and its suspected origins.

From a very young age, I have been made acutely aware that there is something wrong with me. I’m too much, too interested, too active, too clever, too me. One teacher even sent me to the principal’s office twice – for being possessed by the actual Devil. (No, Satanic Panic was not a thing where I grew up – but the punishment of atypical children was very much in vogue). I’ve recently learned this shepherd of the lord has passed on, presumably to join his mother in her fellating pursuits in another dimension and wish them all the best. I digress.

Needless to say, I had to learn how to hide the real me if I was going to have any chance of fitting in anywhere. Or, more importantly, making it easier for my parents to be perceived in the way that they wanted. Their having a ‘difficult’ child was getting in the way of that. So I learned how to become what every situation called for. A social chameleon, if you will.

This sort of behaviour makes it easy to navigate new social settings, but what that takes away from the individual is the ability to create and maintain meaningful, sustainable relationships. You need to have certain qualities for that to happen, and if you change your behaviour according to the situation you’re in or the people you interact with, you become very unpredictable to the people you meet more than once or twice. Getting to know you is almost impossible.

Thinking that if I only managed to become enough, ‘perfect’, I would at some point be accepted and acknowledged by my parents and I wouldn’t have to hide who I was anymore, so I didn’t factor in the consequence of that never coming to fruition.

The longer I carried on hiding the real me, the more she squirmed and screamed to come out on the inside, leading to frustration, depression, nervousness, anxiety and violent outbursts directed at myself. Realising that this was an indefinite situation made everything seem impossible to me and I lost all sense of control. I needed to regain it somehow, just so I could find a routine, some predictability, that I was in control of.

Then I turned 12 and the hormones came flooding in. Overnight, my juiced up brain had found a solution – magic.

As you can probably gather, with the emergence of hormones and teenage angst, all that nervous energy and tension I had worked so hard to suppress needed to come out. One way or another. I needed some soret of coping mechanism. So my brain channelled the agitation and restlessness into strict control patterns with very specific rules as to what was required to avoid horrible outcomes.

This was when my intrusive thoughts started. The stress resulting from my hopelessness made me feel like I was in a body that wasn’t mine, so my OCD “helped” me create an eating disorder so that I wouldn’t risk gaining weight. It “helped” me to sit still in class (trust me, you’re not going to move if you know that the consequence is that you’ll get HIV). It “helped” me to act in a way that was palatable to others.

Until it didn’t. The ADHD is strong in this one, and the fact remains that my brain is wired differently. Of course behaving in a way that was the opposite of what was natural for me was bound to be detrimental. And the OCD is selfish. It is a tool of self-harm. It has no respect or empathy for the individual, which makes the individual lose respect for themselves. OCD nurtured the masking, whereas the hyperfocussed me was trapped behind its riddles and punishments, only to be able to show itself in those milliseconds the OCD wasn’t paying attention.

I would start getting vocal tics in public, that I hadn’t experienced – and long suppressed the memory of – since childhood. I would cut off every spot that dared show itself on my face with toenail scissors. I missed the bus to school on so many occasions due to climbing the stairs ‘incorrectly’ and having to redo them and my emotional dysregulation gave me terrible guilt for being so bloody useless. This, in turn, exacerbated my OCD.

At some point, I lost track of who I was and how I needed to cope in order to really live. At the same time, I was able to hide my ADHD traits well enough so that no one would notice or make sure I sought help. And when I finally did, as a fully grown, completely dysfunctional adult, I kept on masking because I didn’t realise how that could have helped me from the start. I mean, I wanted them to help me, I didn’t want them, too, to think I was too much.

By some miracle, I met an expert that recognised it despite my beautifully appointed mask and to them I am eternally grateful.

But that didn’t happen until I was at least 18 months into my so-called recovery journey, with countless failed treatments behind me.

Therefore, I would advise all mental health professionals to look up from their pad once in a while, because maybe then you will notice the fidgeting, the nervousness, the intense stare we get when we are interested, that can make a lot of people get the wrong idea about our intentions. This can make you realise that the OCD is a comorbidity to ADHD and not just an add-on to CPTSD.

See ya next week! In the meantime, you can read a book or, maybe listen to a podcast. Be good to yourself.

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