Crossroads Issue 2

inding the Wizard

Written by Julia Snyder ’24

much, with its faded design of blocks with the alphabet, was there to witness my first taste of shame of being cursed with the disorder of ADHD. There I was, sitting on this carpet, with tears welling up in my eyes because this awful substitute teacher in my third grade class had ripped my notebook from my hands. The notebook that I treasured was tossed onto the desk with scorn. This woman demanded that I pay attention to her lecture on the Great Wall of China. As my regular teacher neglected to leave a note explaining the reason behind my notebook, this woman didn’t know that my notebook, with its beautiful pink spirals, was a common occurrence in class.

With tears streaming down my face, I begged that she’d return my beautiful notebook to my hands. I attempted to explain to this teacher that my notebook allowed me to be like the rest of my classmates: well behaved, quiet, and capable of sitting still. Despite my pleas, she refused to give it back, and told me to stop making such a big deal over some insignificant notebook. At these words, I felt the world crumble around me. There was no way that my notebook, with its smooth black cover, was reduced to the definition of being insignificant. This notebook was anything but insignificant, as it contained the evidence of my teacher’s patience, who, in my eyes, was a saving grace.

That day was the first time I had ever felt ashamed of not being normal. However, this shame wasn’t to be a one time thing; no, this shame continued to haunt me throughout my school years. I always knew I wasn’t normal like my classmates; however, I never understood what set me apart from them. I never understood why no matter how long I observed and studied them, I couldn’t perfect this seeminglymagical technique of being able to sit still. I used to wonder if maybe all of my classmates went to a wizard who granted them this magical power and that all I would have to do was find this wizard.

I was ashamed deep in the core of my very being; I had never wanted to be abnormal. I was so ashamed that I’d rather be put on medication that turned me into a zombie; all for the chance of being normal. But it wouldn’t work. I’d sit there and cry because I knew it wasn’t working, but I just couldn’t understand why. I was put on Adderall, Ritalin, and Strattera, all of which either wouldn’t do a single thing or would do too much. Eventually, my dad pulled me off of the medication, and told me that he refused to see me turn into a zombie to please others. Honestly, I wouldn’t have been surprised if someone told me that I was just stupid, and that because of my stupidity, I was never going to advance, and I would have to watch all of my classmates graduate elementary school while I would be the oldest kid in third grade. I grew resentful of my inability to be like my classmates. I was so ashamed of myself that I decided to do something to rid myself of my shame.

Well, how do you do something that not even your teachers, parents, or doctors could teach, much less books? When you ’ re that ashamed of yourself, I suppose it makes things much easier. I learned how to force myself to sit still and to complete things that I hated. Imagine that, watching a 7-year-old dedicate herself to putting a 1,000 piece puzzle together, refusing to stop unless told by her parents. Was that really because I was eager to see the scenery of trees? No, but I think at some point, I learned to love it. I learned that if I could stay focused, I could have a beautiful end result.

At some point, my dad came across a Rainbow Loom, and he must’ve thought that it would be something useful to teach me the skills that I needed extra time to learn. My dad wasn’t oblivious; he saw everything, and he saw my shame as if it was stamped on my face. I was fascinated with all of the bright rubber bands, and was so excited to start using it. However, Rainbow Loom wasn’t as simple as just putting a piece in a certain spot. No, I had to retain memory of how I was supposed to move these beautiful bands in order to create a bracelet. Trust me when I tell you I’m sure my neighbors heard my screams several times. I hated those rubber bands with all of my soul because no matter how hard I would try, the memory of those patterns always managed to slip from my mind. I would throw the rubber bands on the floor and my dad would patiently watch as I eventually picked them back up to try it again. Finally, the patterns seemed to get easier, and I had made a multitude of bracelets with ease, and I felt immense pride over it.

However, my hard work didn’t stop people from commenting on my behavior. People will always have something to say, even if they don’t know the full story. I tried my best, I swear I did, but it wasn’t easy to keep the fidgeting at bay, to stay focused on the task at hand. The comments I experienced were cruel. You know how, as a child, you ’ re told that you can be anything you want to be as long as you worked hard enough? Yeah, well, unfortunately, only my parents believed in that future for me. Society believed that I was just going to fall behind and that I would never be on the same level as my peers. I was constantly told that I wouldn’t be able to do things that others could, because in some way, shape, or form, I wasn’t cut out for it. However, my mom believed in me, constantly repeating “You can do so many things if you put your mind to it.”

My hard work, unfortunately, will never be enough to cure me of my disability. Even now, at the age of 17, I still struggle to sit still. My legs are constantly swinging while sitting down on a chair. If I’m given the chance to sit on a spiny chair, I’m unable to resist the urge to constantly turn. I’m unable to easily sit through lectures that bore me because I just can’t. My mom will have to gently explain to me that I’m being too loud and try to protect me from the harsh stares of those who don’t know that I’m struggling to blend in. These people only see the fact that a 17-year-old doesn’t understand how to regulate the level of her voice, which is abnormal, because shouldn’t she have learned this by now?

Even though I’ve lived with ADHD for 11 years, I’m still ashamed of myself. So, I pretend to be normal. I pretend that I found the wizard who cast the spell that will allowed me to sit still. I pretend that I don’t struggle to stay on task and that it’s easy to do things that I find boring. I do all of this because I’m scared to see the judgmental eyes of society who will pick me apart and classify me based on my disability. Because that’s what ADHD is classified as — a disability that will never leave my side, and that will always bring me shame. And to those who think it’s not real or that ADHD is just something quirky, it’s not. It’s a nightmare that some of us are cursed with. We’re cursed with society putting us down because they refuse to give us a chance to prove that we can do great things, because who in the world would believe that a person with a disability is destined for great things?

I was, and still am, ashamed of my diagnosis, and it will always be my embarrassment. I still feel shame when I see the ugly, fat, pale yellow pamphlet in my house that has Individuals with Disabilities Education Act in bold letters. I’m still ashamed that every year at my physical, I’m asked if I need to be put back on medication. And I’m ashamed that no matter where I go, there’ll always be some record that proves I’m not normal according to society. I was a child, no more than 6, before I started being defined by a diagnosis. I was young when I found the first thing that I hated about myself, and I didn’t need the help of social media. I’m 17 now, and I’m still desperately chasing after that wizard, begging it to give me a chance. Begging it to please take this ugly curse so I can be what society sees as acceptable. However, that wizard won’t listen to my pleas anymore than that substitute teacher would in third grade. So, here I am, pretending to be someone who I’m not, because I want to fit in. Here I am, pretending that my brain is wired correctly, because that is the only way I won’t drown in embarrassment. If you ever see the wizard, please relay that I’ve been desperately looking for it for years so that I can beg for my curse to be lifted.

I was, I am, and always will be, looking for the wizard.