I was always an average student in school. I got A’s and B’s and never really had trouble; that was until I got to high school. Ninth grade of high school is supposed to be hard. You are transitioning into a higher level of learning, and taking steps to going to college or the work force. However, my ninth grade year was a little bit more intense than that.

“Alright, class, take out your books we are going to take notes today,” my teacher said. It was the normal for this class; all we ever did was take notes. I had a hard time taking notes in this class. I had no clue why. Everything seemed to distract me from the task at hand. Like the fact that the girl sitting next to me was taking selfies or the guy in front of me was talking in his sleep and drooling on the desk. Everything going on in the room was too much for my brain to process and it shut down, just like that, day after day. It wasn’t only in this class that I had a difficult time learning; it was in every single one.

“What’s wrong with me?” I kept asking myself. Why was everything I learned for the past eight years of my life suddenly so foreign? What is wrong with me? I couldn’t answer that question. I became so frustrated and angry, I pulled away from my own family and friends; I made bad decisions because I couldn’t think for myself. I finally gave up. My grades spiraled down into the darkest depths of the Earth. I would argue with anything that moved just because I felt like it.

“What’s wrong with you?” my parents would ask me every time I came home from school in a less than lively manner.  I couldn’t answer that question. That one question, and if I couldn’t answer that one simple question, how could I answer any other question?

All the information I was supposed to be learning in school went straight to my head and into a locked vault, and that question held the key. When the teacher handed us a test, a test that I had studied for hours to prepare for, I could never get a good grade. I might have known the information but I couldn’t make my brain let other people know that I knew it. My brain wanted me to know how many times the clock was ticking in the corner or how many people were sniffling and coughing. I would get the test back and see a number that was definitely not going on my refrigerator at home. What is wrong with me?

After millions of days and nights I finally found the answer to the seemingly unanswerable question. I have ADHD. It turns out girls who have ADHD are not diagnosed right away because it is hard to tell if the way they act is just their personality or something more. So the doctor prescribed me medication that would help me control my brain. Now after a rough start to my high school career, I can concentrate. I no longer hear the clicks of a mechanical pencil when I am supposed to be learning math or tapping of feet when my teacher is explaining cell division. I learned that even when you try your hardest it may never be enough, but you cannot give up.