There is a unique brand of strength that emerges from intense vulnerability. Growing up, I hated being vulnerable. I feared how others might see my broken parts: my depression, my bipolar misdiagnosis, my anxiety, my sensory sensitivities. I had a wonderful support system in my family and in the larger community of my synagogue. And yet, the most terrifying thing I could think of, at that time, was being honest with others about my pain.
A few months ago, one of my favorite true crime podcasts, Last Podcast on the Left, did an episode on Pyromania (stay with me, it'll be relevant). While discussing the correlations between neurodivergence (ADHD and Autism Spectrum Disorder) and pyromania (the obsessive desire to start fires), Marcus Parks, one of the hosts, opened up about his own neurodivergence.
Marcus had always been open about living with mental illness, Bipolar disorder in particular. He often repeated the phrase, "mental illness is not your fault, but it is your responsibility," and I always resonated with that. But during this episode, he spoke about his two decade long misdiagnosis struggle and being only recently re-diagnosed, correctly, with severe ADHD.
He talked about how many ADHD symptoms, such as hyper focus, can mimic bipolar mania. How severe ADHD can be incredibly debilitating, and how he had spent 20 years treating the wrong disorder. I was in shock, and nearly in tears.
Because that happened to me.
