Struggling to Focus

I plan every waking hour of my day. I plan meals, exercise, work, and activities. I start assignments far in advance, and I do not do work after dinner. I categorize every activity as “need medicine for” or “able to do without.” This is the way I live my life, because I have Attention Deficit Disorder.

ADD is a disorder defined by inattentiveness, impulsivity, and/or hyperactivity. The condition persists into adulthood for nearly 30 percent of all children diagnosed: I am one of these.

Having ADD had never been a significant problem in my life before college. I took my medicine, went to school, played sports in the afternoon while it wore off, and occasionally took a shorter dose at night. My regimented routine worked for me. It was only after coming to Harvard that I was forced to relearn how to manage my ADD. For the first time in my life it truly felt like a disability.

I could not join my peers in Lamont for all-nighters before a paper was due. Work after dinner was a concept I was not used to or capable of doing. It required medicine, which required planning my day around it. The medicine would last four or eight hours, so I would need to squeeze my work into the bounds of that ticking time clock. It appeared that everyone else could handle everything on their plate with ease—with what seemed like much more schoolwork and commitments than my own. No one else hated being busy. No one else talked about needing downtime. No one else needed to fit new interests into the allotted eight hours of medicated concentration a day.

My solution to my new unregimented lifestyle was simply to take more medicine, so that I would be medicated every waking hour. I felt enveloped in pressure to join worthy extracurriculars, seize every exciting opportunity that came my way, and do it all with ease and a smile.

I quickly realized I could not do this.

By the end of September my freshmen year, I was involved in no clubs: all my energy was directed toward my schoolwork. I couldn’t take advantage of Harvard, meet the demands of comp processes, be social, and do well in school all at the same time. I was convinced that having ADD was making me fall behind my peers. Maybe I just wasn’t cut out for Harvard after all.

These worries—compounded with taking too high of a medication dosage—launched me into a rapid downfall. Before I knew it, I was struggling to simply make it through every day without a breakdown. Memories of my new friends, exciting academic experiences, and fun college events that comprised my first few months here are still clouded by the whirlpool of misery I found myself slowly sinking into.

When I remember my first semester here I think of nights when I would search the Square and campus for a private place to cry. I remember walking along the river and seeing Cambridge twinkle in the darkness, wondering why I couldn’t connect with my new home. I think of the time when I ended up on the steps of a church, and even the church doors were locked, and breaking down until a stranger off the street found me.

I’ll never forget the night when I was close to rock bottom, and hanging onto my phone-call with my parents for dear life because I didn’t know what to do once they hung up. The next day, my parents were in Cambridge. They had driven seven hours through the night because they knew that even after my reassurances, I was not all right.

I felt that having ADD hindered my ability to function like a normal Harvard student. I felt dysfunctional while not on the medicine, and I began to truly believe that this disability would prevent me from succeeding here. As much as I loved Harvard, I could not see myself belonging to this intense environment. Transferring schools became a real option.

I knew, at least, that something had to change. I joined the Bureau of Study Council’s ADD group. I began the process of reframing my condition—and my life—into something that could flourish at this college. In the group I felt comfortable talking about my ADD, and all of my negative (and positive!) ADD moments with students who understood.

I went on a lower dosage of my medicine, which was one of the best decisions I’ve made. I started focusing on things that were important to me—nothing more. I surrounded myself with people who supported me and did not make me anxious with their intensity. I called my parents and friends from home more often to vent, chat, and talk honestly about life. I reminded myself how well I actually was doing. I found something that worked for me, and I stuck with it.

Three years later, I continue to struggle with managing my ADD amid the unregimented lifestyle of college. I still suffer from intense depressive mood swings and feel overwhelmed by everyone else’s busy schedules. But I’ve realized that Harvard is a home we each have to create. Now, with the help of Harvard’s extensive resources, my unfaltering support system, and a House that will pforever be my home, I understand that I am a true Harvard student—all because I am different.

Monica J. Wilson ’14 is an anthropology concentrator in Pforzheimer House.This is part of a semester-long series organized by SMHL (Student Mental Health Liaisons) to encourage conversation around mental health.