Dear Mr. Tim Denevi,
I was at first astounded by the detail you put into your story, and how well you were able to mesh the facts with your memoir. I actually know several people who have ADHD. Until reading your story, I did not have a clear idea on how ADHD affected the human psyche. My only knowledge of this condition was that it shortened one's attention span and often led to bad marks in school. Like many psychological disabilities, ADHD is still considered by some to be a problem of mindset, rather than a physical disorder.
Your book actually relates very well to me, as I have anxiety. Throughout my childhood, I was always very withdrawn. All of my report cards point out my disinterest in the social scene. Some teachers actively tried to connect with me (like Mrs. Parsons did with you), and others were unsympathetic (like Mrs. Kovalenko). My mother chalked my social disinterest up to "shyness" and since I used to live in the country side of the Big Island, I spent most of my time at home, with my mother. I rarely had to go to social events this way, so there was really no problem during my childhood except for when I had to attend school.
I never considered that I had anxiety until high school, when my friend told me about her anxiety. She was apologizing to me and my friends for bailing on our last social event. In the process, she explained that she has anxiety, and that sometimes the symptoms manifest physically. All my life, I had believed that I was just extremely shy and that feeling chills or breaking out in a fever before major events was unrelated to my shyness. Needless to say, I was shocked at the revelation.
In my sophomore year of high school, my anxiety reached its peak. I absolutely hated going to school, and I avoided social events as much as possible. Just thinking of being around people made me nauseous and terrified. My symptoms got to a point where my mother, who was very skeptical about my having a psychological problem, actually considered sending me to a psychiatrist. I ended up not seeing a psychiatrist as that thought made me even more horrified than having to go to school. I decided that I needed to power through to at least finish the year. In my senior year, I discovered meditation. I use this method whenever I have a particularly bad case of anxiety. It helps to calm me and see things rationally.
I really agree with your sentiment that it is a privilege to have parents who understand, or at least try to understand your disability. In my case, I have ceased to talk with my mother on the matter as I doubt she will ever understand what it is like to have anxiety. In hindsight, I probably should have seen that psychiatrist when I had the chance. However, I feel that in certain situations, having parents who do not understand helps you to adapt to the outside world.
Your ability to meld both facts and anecdotes in an interesting manner is amazing. Hopefully, more people who experience psychological disabilities will write memoir/research books, and the idea will become a normal part of society.
Sincerely,
Natsumi Nishimoto
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