As long as I can remember, I've had an itch. It's physically uncomfortable, it's emotionally distressing, and my fingers can't get at it because it's in my brain.

I'm 46 and I've lived with this itch for at least four decades. Not once has anyone suggested that I have ADD.

I was raised in a home where breaking rules meant being spanked with a 2x4. So I follow rules. Disruption was the only perceived symptom of "being hyperactive" in the early 80's so ADD was never considered.

I was raised in a school system that deemed me gifted in second grade. My constant escapism into fiction was only praised, never questioned. When school books became textbooks and were no longer stimulating, the itch prevented me from absorbing their information.

I was given the scarlet letter of "unfulfilled potential" as teacher after teacher shook their head in disappointment. Fortunately, history scratched the itch and math scratched a different itch, and I am actually pretty smart, so I got by.

I figured out a cheat for college - study subjects that scratch the itch. So I majored in theater and minored in history. Writing papers in my head scratched the itch, as did the constant stream of activity in my dorm, and I ended up doing well.

Even so, I struggled with depression. At the time (early 90's) it was still largely considered a behavior issue. After about ten years I just decided to pretend I was happier, which didn't help how I felt but made everyone around me more comfortable, so it "worked".

As a teen I discovered that porn also scratched the itch. So did performing onstage. Unfortunately, I was raised in a fundamentalist Christian world in which one was sexual sin and the other was shameful attention seeking. This made being a missionary for ten years...difficult.

I filled journal after journal with self hatred over my sin and pride. I loathed my lack of self-control. I humiliated myself with public confessions. I sought counseling and had accountability partners. The itch didn't make me evil, but it disqualified me from ministry.

When I left the church at age 30, I mostly worked with my hands. The physical work and constant joking kept the itch scratched, kept me distracted. When I was in my apartment I had TV, movies, and music and no one to nag me about how much I watched. I felt pretty good.

Twelve years ago I got a desk job. At first, the itch was scratched by completing constant, brief tasks. Then I decided to go to grad school online. This did not make the itch happy. I had to read books the itch didn't like. I had to write papers too long to fit into my head.

I couldn't read in my home for more than five minutes. I couldn't write more than a paragraph at a time. I clawed my way through, eventually finding a bar that played music at just the right volume and writing papers all night in my office. The itch likes pressure.

After finishing my degree, I wanted more challenges at work, so I took a different job, one that the itch *hates*. I found myself struggling in my life, I made some shitty choices to scratch the itch by texting women who weren't my wife.

She caught me and I dove into programs to try to fix myself. I started seeing a counselor who specialized in addiction treatment. I went to sex addict meetings. And I went to a psychiatrist because my brother told me he'd been helped by Prozac.

My psychiatrist talked to me about depression and OCD. She prescribed escitalopram. After a few weeks, a huge part of the itch was simply gone. I didn't have to rearrange my desk every morning in order to start work. It just stopped occurring to me.

Things started to make sense - math turns messy things into orderly things, so do spreadsheets. My OCD had thrived on those environments. Chemically, my brain became able to do more than scramble constantly to prevent trauma. Increased serotonin calmed at least one itch.

The impact of the SSRI on my behavior was huge. I could let go of arguments. My "addictions" just went away - I could just walk away from a thought instead of wrestling with it. I was more productive at work. But I still had an itch.

This itch still needed stimulus. When it got stimulus, all my attention went to that. If I was reading or writing, I couldn't hear people talking to me. If I got hooked on a book or a movie or a TV show, it was physically painful to disengage.

I read posts on social media from friends and acquaintances about their similar experiences which associated their behaviors with ADD. I asked my psychiatrist about it and she arranged a consultation. They found I had some cognitive challenges but not ADD.

Those challenges relate to the difference between my language brain (huge) and my mechanical brain (normal). The gap makes it difficult for me to communicate at high levels without templates because my brain can't figure out where to put all the words.

This is a physically painful process. It makes assignments like "make a power point" Everest-like in intimidation. It's embarrassing and paralyzing but it's a *physical block*. I haven't figured out how to manage apart from templates, but that's not the itch.

The itch, however, does not like this block. The block is not stimulating. So the itch drives me away from the block. The itch wants music playing, or a video. As long as the itch is happy my brain can do other things. But what about times I can't scratch it?

Meetings and the itch are not friends. Being in a room for an hour with 5 minutes of relevant content are *physically painful*. The itch just squirms in my head. I feel it. So I play a dumb phone game so I can listen. This looks like I'm checking out, but it's the opposite.

A bad annual review prompted me to push my psychiatrist to see if ADD might be a thing for me. 3 weeks into taking Adderall I just want to cry. The itch is gone. It's. Just. Gone.

All those years.

I wrote this because of other people hadn't described how their ADD felt, I would never have asked these questions or pushed for help. I also want teachers, employers, counselors, etc., to understand what it feels like so they can help people earlier than midlife.