Boppinwithaborderline

Mental Health

My Experience with Childhood ADHD 

Imagine you are at the most beautiful place in the world. My mind is wandering to a beach bungalow like one you might find overlooking the waters of French Polynesia. What do you hear? What do you see? How does your skin feel? The tips of my skin raise when I think about the ocean breeze sliding by. 

I do not know about you, but my place is exciting and peaceful at the same time. 

Now let’s flip it a bit. Imagine you are at the same location, but you hear in your ear the sound of a really loud buzzing bee. At first, you think to yourself. “It is just a bee. You are in the most beautiful place in the world. Stop worrying about the bee, and JUST relax.” But the bee does not go away, and it will not stop buzzing. In fact, the bee decides to buzz louder. 

Your spouse enters the room with a glass of champagne, and asks if you are having a good time. You look at him or her, and shrug your shoulders. They respond confused at first, “what do you mean a shoulder shrug? We are in a beach bungalow in French Polynesia!” 

You look back at them and say, “It’s the freakin buzzing bee Steve!” (Sorry Steve) 

To which your partner replies, “what bee?”

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I was diagnosed with ADHD in middle school, but the signs and symptoms have been there my entire life. As a really young child, I was as the kids say today “hella shy!” I would not talk to anyone on my soccer team, unless I knew them previously from school or church. Like many people with severe ADHD I suffer from extreme poor memory. (This is not to take away from any recreational fun I might have had as an adult that might also affect my memory). 

Poor memory did not have a huge effect on my childhood. Honestly, the only people that would have noticed are myself, my mom and my teachers. In fact, in my family the “Romper Stomper” story still gets passed around at family gatherings. 

This above picture, ladies and gentlemen, is a romper stomper, and this is the romper stomper story. 

I was six and my mom bought my siblings and I a romper stomper. I kept being an annoying kid and asking her several times “what’s the name of that thing again?” My mom was a very loving, kind and patient person. The saint worked nights at a hospital for inmates with severe mental disorders. Finally, she had enough with my question, and like Jesus flipping the tables at the synagogue, she huffed and puffed and grabbed two random household items. Since your boi has poor memory, you know I do not remember what the two random household items were, so for the purpose of the story it’s a ball and a sponge. 

She pointed to the ball and asked me, “what is this?” 

I promptly responded, “a ball”

She pointed at the other object, “what is this?” 

Again I promptly responded, “a sponge” 

Then she pointed at the romper stomper. 

I looked at her and shrugged my shoulders. 

She said “repeat after me. Romper Stomper.” 

We repeated the exercise. 

Mom points to ball… I say “ball” 

Mom points to sponges…. I say “sponge”

Mom points to romper stomper… I say I don’t know. 

Mom patiently says romper stomper 

Mom points to ball… I say “ball” 

Mom points to sponges…. I say “sponge”

Mom points to romper stomper… I say I don’t know. 

Mom patiently says romper stomper 

Mom points to ball… I say “ball” 

Mom points to sponges…. I say “sponge”

Mom points to romper stomper… I say I don’t know. 

Mom a little less patiently says romper stomper 

Mom points to ball… I say “ball” 

Mom points to sponges…. I say “sponge”

Mom points to romper stomper… I say I don’t know. 

Mom even more less patiently says romper stomper 

Mom points to ball… I say “ball” 

Mom points to sponges…. I say “sponge”

Mom points to romper stomper… I say I don’t know. 

Mom not so patiently says romper stomper 

Mom points to ball… I say “ball” 

Mom points to sponges…. I say “sponge”

Mom points to romper stomper… I say I don’t know. 

Mom yells and starts freaking out “Romper stomper! Romper stomper! Romper stomper!!!! This is a ball! This is a sponge and this is a romper stomper!!! 

Honestly, I probably started laughing when she was being goofy towards the end. In reality, I was being serious, I could not for the life of my 6 year old brain remember that word. 

Memory did not actually begin frustrating me until I got old enough to take a spelling test. Then my mom and I began sitting down everyday after school just to relive the romper stomper story with spelling words. 

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The coolest part about my childhood ADHD was the overly active imagination. If you think I had a hard time paying attention to my mom, imagine me at a large presbyterian church. It was the first time I had ever heard opera, and I received a whack in the back of the head when my sister and I began hysterically laughing when the first choir lady went up to sing. 

My mom was a sweety, but man was she strict. During church, there would be no fidgeting, sleeping, talking, eating…. I think breathing was okay if you did it quietly… (love ya AKT). 

Pause: see my ADHD brain cannot finish a GD thought. I almost forgot about wearing a dress. I was also wearing a dress, and I HATED it!!!! Not only did I think I was a boy and I was jealous of all the boys wearing shorts and pants, it was SUPER uncomfortable, itchy and just overall cringy to my little body. 

Play: You might think it would have been really hard for me to sit through that church service, and you would be right. Fortunately, my active imagination made it bearable and sometimes even fun!

The church had these ginormous and ornate chandeliers hanging from the chapel ceiling. I had never watched the cartoon Zorro, but I pretended to be him. I had the cape, the mask and a giant ass sword. I was swinging from the chandeliers and saving the women and children of First Prez from immediate danger. Does it make me gay that I kept saving the head of the soccer team? 

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I might have been an angel in front of my mother and soccer team, but the poor teachers at Ben Lippen Elementary saw a different Morgan. Just like at church, paying attention was nearly impossible for me. If a teacher called on me to recall what they had just said, my answer was 99.9999 times, “I don’t know”, and I meant it. I could have been looking them dead in the eye, too. 

I see this all the time with my students. I teach PRE-K which entails students in the age range of 3-5 years old. I teach a highly specialized class. Oftentimes my students are just like me in that they suffer with comorbidity. 

If you are kind enough to follow this page, you will likely hear me talk a lot about comorbidity. If you do not already know,  comorbidity simply means that a person has the presence of two or more disorders or diseases. Comorbidity is a beast for several reasons. One reason being that it makes accurate diagnosing challenging. For example, I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder back in 2020 (the year that just keeps giving). 

However, since 2020 several doctors, psychologists and therapists have disagreed with this diagnosis. Some say, “Most of your problems stem from ADHD”. Some say, “I think it sounds more like bipolar” .. while others say “sounds like anxiety and depression and low self-esteem”. 

The point of this side track is to simply say, comorbidity is a beast. In my classroom, I often interact with students that have been diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder, severe ADHD and severe OCD. For my students to succeed, I have prepared appropriate accommodations and modifications that allow them to access the school curriculum. 

Again, as a young child, I was not diagnosed with ADHD. I was diagnosed as the class clown. When I was in the third grade, I remember a man named Mr. Feeney proudly walked in to be our substitute teacher. He was a kind young man, which meant he was easy prey for this class clown. 

As he walked in, I threw my legs up onto my desk. I put my hands around my head and sized him up. I waited for him to actually write his name on the board so I could drop a…

FEENY CALL!! 

…a little funny.. But I could not stop there. The rest of the day, I called him Mr. Weenie. 

Mr. Weenie (I mean Feeny)… if you are out there. I am sorry for that day of your life. I went into teaching to make amends, brother. 

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It is finally time for me to get back to the buzzing bee that prompted me to write this post. Racing thoughts might not sound like the buzz of a bee, but they can be just as intense and overwhelming as any physical ailment. 

Key Symptoms of Racing Thoughts

If you have racing thoughts you may feel like:

• Your mind is in overdrive 
• You aren’t able to slow down your thoughts.
• Your mind isn’t able to “shut off,” and you can’t fully relax.
• It’s difficult to focus on anything else.
• You are repetitively thinking about a problem
• You are catastrophising, or thinking of worst-case scenarios.

Racing thoughts, every day, all day….. Just like the bee… will it ever stop buzzing?

What are Racing Thoughts? Link