Okay, I’m gonna break down and buy a degree from one of those email university degree places. They keep emailing me and I figure they must know how badly I wanted to have letters after my name. How they found out about this desire of mine is beyond me. They did, and I’ve decided to embrace the opportunity.
I quipped on Twitter once that I had always wanted a designation after my name, but had never dreamt it would be “ADHD!” In retrospect – that’s looking back, something we don’t really do well – maybe that’s not so bad. I’ve heard from friends that they don’t appreciate the way they are interacted with by normans who know they have ADHD. In a post on her own blog, our friend Zoë Kessler talks about at least one negative interaction with someone out in public.
Personally, I want to know if someone’s going to treat me differently because of my ADHD. I’d rather not waste my time discussing matters of importance or mutual interest with someone who thinks my opinion is not valid because of my disorder.
So I’m up front.
I don’t say “Hey, I’m Taylor. I’m ADHD! How are you?” but I work it into the conversation within a few minutes. If the conversation has lasted that long, it has a chance of becoming an interaction of some duration and potential repetition.
I admit that talking to someone repeatedly, convincing them that I have a valid opinion on issues and that my mind is stable enough to be considered functional could be a good idea. I like to think that if someone considers you to be a resource of reasonable intelligence before they find out you have a mental health issue, they may realize that ADHD does not mark someone as being defective, dysfunctional or invalid. I’d like to think that, but I’ve experienced people suddenly doubting their own assessment of me on finding out I have ADHD.
A young man, whose age was in the single digits, looked at me on Saturday and took an instant liking to me. It turned out he was wearing an AC/DC shirt and he thought I was too. His father explained the attraction.
I mistakenly pointed out to dear old dad that my shirt didn’t say AC/DC. He looked closer at my shirt and suddenly mumbled something that sounded like “…oh … I see …” and quickly ushered his son down the street and away from the “bad man.” I laughed at the time, but now I’m worried about the boy and his upbringing. I may have made a mistake in that interaction …
But in the mean time … What kind of degree should I be looking to buy? I know that a B.A.DHD would be the frugal way to go, but the added expense of an M.A.DHD might well be worth the respect I’d then garner. And perhaps I should just plunk down the shekels and go for the ADpHD. I think I could get used to being called Dr. McKinlay.
That’s all for now, we doctors all golf on Wednesdays.