Diagnosed at 30-Something: Apparently, My Personality Was Just Symptoms

Would’ve been cool to know this before I organized my entire life around guilt.

So…turns out I have ADHD.

High-functioning, inattentive type ADHD, which is just a fancy way of saying:

“You seem fine, but internally you’re an air traffic controller juggling 47 emotional planes and zero working radar.”

Cool.

I always knew something was off. I just assumed it was anxiety, depression, or that I was simply a hot mess with an above-average caffeine intake. But no, apparently, a bunch of the things I thought were core parts of my personality were just symptoms.

You know, like:

Forgetting what I was doing mid-task and never finishing it? Struggling to start anything unless a literal emergency is involved? Feeling like I’m sprinting mentally but physically doing absolutely nothing?

Yeah. Symptoms.

Oh, and There’s More

I finally went through the testing process, like the actual clinical kind, and the results also showed:

• Anxiety disorder (knew that)
• Depression (duh)
• Mild PTSD (because childhood was a riot)
• And to top it off, I’m a Highly Sensitive Person, or HSP. Because of course I am. Why be one thing when you can be a full collection?

At this point, I’m one acronym short of starting a support group.

Let’s Talk About Medication (and My Inconvenient Body)

Now I get to treat it.

Except here’s the fun twist: I don’t have a colon.

Which is kind of a big deal because a lot of ADHD meds, especially stimulants, are absorbed in the colon. So while other people are over here getting their life together on Adderall or Vyvanse, my body’s like:

“Sorry, we don’t process that here.”

My brother, who also had his colon removed, warned me: finding a stimulant that actually works is a pain. He’s on Adderall, and while it helps, the comedown turns him into a rage monster. And since I already struggle with irritability and emotional outbursts, I’m not super interested in becoming more stabby at 4 p.m.

So stimulants? Probably not for me.

Instead, we’re trying Strattera, a non-stimulant. It’s slower. It’s gentler. It might actually work. Or it might give me side effects I don’t have the energy to deal with. TBD!

I wanted to try Qelbree, which is newer and maybe a better fit, but insurance was like “lol no” unless I fail on something cheaper first. Because obviously the most expensive option is the one that doesn’t make me cry in the side effect section. That would’ve been too easy.

This Isn’t for Attention (But Also, Hi)

Let me be clear: I’m not writing this for pity or likes or internet clout.

I’m doing it because writing is how I cope. It’s how I untangle the emotional spaghetti that lives in my head. I’m writing it because I’m trying to process all of this without disassociating into a beige wall or rage-decluttering my entire house at 2 a.m.

This diagnosis doesn’t fix anything, but it gives me a starting point.

It tells me I’m not lazy. I’m not flaky. I’m not broken.

I’m just wired differently. And no one caught it until now.

So What Now?

I start Strattera. I track my symptoms. I keep treating my anxiety. I schedule a follow-up so I don’t spiral in silence. And I remind myself that trying is progress, even if it’s slow, messy, and inconvenient.

This isn’t the end of the story.

It’s just the first step toward making things a little quieter, a little clearer, a little less overwhelming all the damn time. And maybe, if the universe is feeling generous, a day where I remember why I walked into a room.