Readers respond to Gina Rippon’s criticism of a controversial TV documentary about attention deficit hyperactivity disorder
Three months ago, at 42, I was diagnosed with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. Unlike many adults prior to receiving a diagnosis, I had not spent years wondering whether I had ADHD. In fact, I was oblivious until quite recently, when I strongly identified with several things a colleague said about their own experience of ADHD. The more I learned, the more I found myself thinking: “Wow, that’s me.”
My forgetfulness, distractibility, messiness, chronic need for organisation and memory strategies, constant lateness, tendency to lose things daily, persistent perfectionism and habit of going, tyres screeching, right up to the last minute of every deadline suddenly made sense. Things I had spent my life viewing as daily frustrations or personal failings had an explanation. I had ADHD, and had always had it. There was a reason for the constant chatter and noise in my brain, with any gaps filled with, or interrupted by, a song. Honestly, literally anything can trigger a song.
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