Understanding my disorders

At just eight years old, my life took a turn that many kids my age didn’t
understand. Heck, I barely understood it myself. That was the year I was
diagnosed with ADHD, ODD, and PTSD. At a time when most kids were
learning multiplication tables and trading snacks at lunch, I was trying to figure
out how to survive inside my own mind. School became a daily battleground
not just with the work, but with my own emotions, attention, and energy. I
wanted to learn. I wanted to be like everyone else. But everything felt ten
times harder for me.

I started taking medication daily pills that were supposed to help me focus and
stay calm. But instead of making me feel “better,” they made me feel like I
wasn’t even me. I felt robotic, numb, like someone had taken the color out of
my personality and left behind a muted version of myself. I remember sitting in
class, watching the other kids laugh and talk freely, and feeling like I was on
the outside looking in. I didn’t feel like I belonged not with them, and not even
in my own body. I was different, and that difference made me feel isolated like
an outsider even in my own skin.

One of the hardest parts was how my differences were handled in school.
When I had to be taken out of the classroom for tests or pulled into smaller
groups for extra help, I felt embarrassed. I would watch the other kids whisper
or glance at me, and in my mind, it seemed like they were all thinking the
same thing: "What's wrong with her?" Those moments would stick with me,
making me feel even more separate from the rest of the class. I hated being
pulled out of the room, especially when my peers noticed. I just wanted to be
“normal.” But I wasn't. And that reality only made me feel more alienated and
like an outsider. Every time I was separated or given extra time or assistance,
it was a reminder that I didn’t fit in.

I was also directly told by my elementary school teacher that I wouldn’t make
it past middle school because of my behavior. That comment hit me hard,
especially coming from someone I trusted to help guide me. It wasn’t just a
passing remark, it was a clear statement about my future, one that left me
feeling worthless and defeated. But at that moment, something clicked inside
me. I realized that I wasn’t going to let anyone else decide my fate. I wasn’t
going to let one person’s opinion become my reality. I made it my mission to
prove them wrong, to show that I could not only make it past middle school,
but I could succeed. I wasn’t defined by my struggles or my behavior; I was
more than that.

Despite all of that, I knew I had to change my mindset and take control of my
future. My mom was doing everything she could to raise five kids on her own.
I watched her struggle, sacrifice, and still show up for us every day with love
and strength. I remember the long hours she worked, her sleepless nights,
and the way she kept pushing forward no matter how tired she was. I knew I
couldn’t waste the chances she was fighting so hard to give us. I could see
how much she gave up, how much she worked for us to have a better future.
That wasn’t something I could ignore. It lit a fire in me.

I made a promise to myself and to her: I was going to do whatever it took to

be something, to be better than the labels I’d been given, to push past the
feeling of being an outsider. I knew my path wouldn’t be easy, but I also knew
that it was mine to shape. That promise became my turning point. I began to
take my education more seriously. I forced myself to face my challenges
head-on, even though every day felt like an uphill battle. I learned that the first
step to overcoming my struggles was to stop running from them. I couldn’t
ignore my issues anymore. I had to work with them, understand them, and
make them work for me.

It wasn’t easy. I still felt like I was behind at times. I still struggled with focus,
still wrestled with self-doubt, and still had moments when I wanted to give up.
But I pushed through. I learned how to ask for help, how to advocate for
myself, how to study in ways that worked for my brain, even if that meant
rewriting notes five times or setting alarms to remind me to take breaks. The
same challenges that once made me feel broken slowly became the reasons I
became stronger, more determined, and more driven. Every small victory
made me feel a little less like an outsider and a little more like I was finally
taking control of my life.
When I realized I could succeed despite everything, it changed how I saw the
world. I stopped seeing my struggles as barriers and started seeing them as
part of my story. I realized that my experiences could be the very thing that set
me apart in a positive way. They had made me stronger, more resilient, and
more compassionate toward others who were going through similar battles.

Today, I’m not ashamed of where I started, I'm proud. My journey hasn’t been
easy, but it’s been mine, and it’s shaped me into someone who doesn’t give
up. I’m pursuing higher education because I know I am capable of achieving
greatness. I want to create a life where I can help others who feel like
outsiders, who are told they can’t, or who have to fight a little harder just to
keep up. I want to be proof that you can overcome the things that once held
you back.

And above all, I want to make good on the promise I made to my mom that I
would be something. That I would rise. And I will.