As an African, you are born at a disadvantage compared to other continents in this world . As an African girl the disadvantages increases ten fold, But as an African girl who is Neuro-divergent your disavantages increases a million fold. It has never been easy to always been seen as 'The other'.
" Vocal stimming, procrastination, disorganization" I jolted upward, sitting straight with my eyes glued to the screen of my phone as I read. Well that will explain I mumbled as I thought about all those years I spent finding answers to me always blurting out things that makes me look weird. I looked around me to see to see how unappealing my room is, clothes and others things scattered around.
My gaze returned to my phone as I continue to scroll. 'Feeling overwhelmed , depression and anxiety, memory problems, difficulty with focusing and concentration'. This points strick a chord in me, recognizing the feeling of being constantly on edge, the way I often felt like doing a billion of different things one minute and how suddenly the next minute i struggle to even start or perhaps how I easily forget the important things to do or struggle to stay focused on it.
My thoughts difted back to the article, my eyes threading downwards as I scrolled through my phone. Well, I guess I'm not crazy or lazy or too sensitive after all like my siblings would say, maybe I just have ADHD.
With a gentle tap on my phone's screen, my phone flickered and I found myself back to the previous page. I felt a sense if comfort rushing through my body as I glanced at the topic of the article I just read 'ADHD SIGNS IN WOMEN '. I couldn't help but think that this is just a small part of a larger picture. How do I deal with ADHD?,what causes it? How many are there like me? Am I even sure if it is ADHD? And most importantly, how do I help myself?
The thoughts of being different is intriguing, but the hardship of trying to conform to the society is not. I can't help but feel pity for myself, people has always seen me as lazy or stubborn but they don't know how hard it is to juggle fighting with your brain to stay on track and dealing with what life throws your way. I mean it is a very tough battle which for most part I'm loosing.
I can't help but feel jealous of the people living in the developed world. Their doctors there are so advanced so people with my conditions must be receiving optimum care. I cannot fathom the idea of me telling an African doctor about my conditions, I'm sure I will be recommended mental hospital or a deliverance. The thought of this makes me chuckle a little, African doctors are not well equipped In the care of patients. Most wealthyin my country always travel out for ordinary health check ups, not to talk of a complicated case like mine.
"Tiaraoluwa" I was jolted back to reality by the sound of my name. " Ma" I answered as I bolted downstairs, my legs moving fast like an Olympic runner. " It looks like they borrowed your ears...I have been calling you since the dawn" my mother declared. I can't help but think 'classical Nigerian mother '. They always seems to exaggerate things, how can anyone manage to stay shouting for like 10 hours.
" Why were you so rude to the neighbour?". she accused. How do I tell her that I hate people telling me what to do? It makes me confrontational even though I don't know why because I do it on impulse. Not that I don't know why exactly because the article I just finished reading said it was part of ADHD . Who am I to tell her this? She would just think I'm crazy.
" Will you answer me?" Her tone raised. I hanged my head, my eyes cast downward, as I maintained a solemn attitude. I can't tell why, because she would not understand. " You are so proud .....make sure you go back to apologize to her or else I will deal with you" she said sternly. " Yes ma " I replied,not arguing as I walked out of the sitting room towards the balcony to do as she asked me.
The morning is the hardest of all, the struggle of pushing myself out of the bed is so agonizing. I do much hate going to school, it is so horrendous ,I have to continue the boring routine of going to the class and listening while all I wanted to do is to be alone.
I dragged my self into the bathroom to clean myself up. After some 15 minutes of the every day morning rituals, I was in my clothes . I wore a long ash skirt and a blue shirt. Although this would be called a colour riot in Nigeria but this dressing made sense to me, all I could say is ,this is me expressing myself.
I could hear the sound of the bell, this is my father's way of calling us into prayer, so I walked from my room into the our sitting room, settling my self down beside my sister on a 2 sitter sofa . From the corner of my eyes I could see my father giving me a side eye, indicating his displeasure with me coming to the gathering late . I acted as if I couldn't notice it and continued to stare at the window behind the chair where my older brother sat which is opposite the one I sat on.
The praise and worship started with my father banging his hand together and singing . We followed suite. It didn't take long before my head fell into mind, the noise of the outside world became less as I drove off into la la land I created inside my mind.
This world I created for myself is the only thing making me happy , infact I really can't believe that I have being building this world for as long as I have been conscious of my action. It started as a way to get over boredom,then it became my only solitude whenever the outside world crumbles burying me underneath it's cruel and harsh reality.
Only one thing it keeps telling me ' the outside world is not save'.
It is really hard to explain what I've built in my mind.Every character I've built every senerio I've made ,every emotion it is so detailed that it looks real,felt almost real. Don't get me wrong I know it is not real,although I want it to be real,after all it is my only solitude.
" Tiaraoluwa !" I was jolted back into reality by the sound of my name being called. My head move sideways to stare at my father calling me ." Clap your hands very well, I can't hear it" he scolded me ." Here comes the lecture " I muttered in my mind. Since I've been old enough to differentiate left from right I've always been criticized,if not by parents,it is the teachers ,it is the head figures.
" Maybe she's a witch" I turned to the voice of my mother calling me this name again . She always do this ,calling me names I loathe so much ." I'm not hearing your voice neither am I hearing clap, you don't always listen to instruction....". I zoned off not hearing the reminant of his words ,because I knew it will hurt as it always does. I wouldn't lie I do wish sometimes I am normal like the others ,maybe ,just maybe I won't be criticized this much.It is never as if I never tried to be normal but no matter the book nor the article has helped me. I know what I have but I can't pinpoint how to help myself to be normal like others.
After what seems like forever ,the insults stopped ,the prayer continued. So as to avoid any more of my parents wrath, I forced myself to stay present during prayer,although it was hard but it's better than being the punching bag . After the prayer ended we all went back to our rooms to prepare for the day .