Diagnosis
On March 13, 2024, I was wildly pacing around my room on a phone appointment with my psychologist. She was telling me that my assessment results came back positive, and that I officially had ADHD.
However, hearing those words didn’t give me relief that I finally understood what had been going on mentally. In fact, I had all but known about having ADHD for years – getting the formal confirmation was, to me, merely that: a confirmation. It had taken two years to attain that diagnosis and all the while I was stuck in a void of sorts, aware of my disabled status but unable to “prove” it.
It made me ask: Why did it take so long?
Of course, as I was reminded by some friends recently, I do not need a formal diagnosis to be disabled. Whether someone diagnoses me or not, I and the rest of the world can clearly see my disabilities manifest through my restless or exhausted demeanour, conversations that tend to stray off-topic, and my scattered and often lateral trains of thought. I know that my professors can certainly see it in my inconsistent work ethic, inability to complete or submit certain assignments on time, and repetition of certain units.
However, as you can imagine, simply walking up and asking: “Hey I have ADHD, can I get some aid please?” doesn’t help when applying for accommodations at University or beyond. Proof in the form of an official diagnosis is the only acceptable first step.
As such I became fixated on obtaining that diagnosis, which slowly warped my own perceptions of my disabled status:
“Without a diagnosis, would anyone believe me if I explained myself?”
“Am I actually disabled if I cannot back it up with medical proof?”
“Do I actually have ADHD, or am I just lazy and looking for an excuse?”
“Will getting a diagnosis dispel my loved ones, or affect my future career prospects?”, and
“Is it worth waiting this long for something that may not help much anyway?”
Not to mention, my path isn’t completely over. I am still undergoing the process of assessment, except this time for Autism. I suppose that means the void continues on, but just a bit smaller than before, with new questions.
Barriers
I could go through the process of getting this diagnosis, but I doubt it’d help much. Everyone has a different story and circumstances, either about diagnosis or for the barriers that prevent it.
As I have experienced, the ability to get diagnosed at all is a privilege costing money, time, support, energy, and motivation.
Common barriers for access to mental health services or obtaining diagnoses include high expenses (psychologist sessions, psychiatrist sessions, medication, assessment costs, etc), physical access to services and communication barriers (increased difficulty in accessing services in rural areas), stigma and discrimination (personal, academic, workplace, societal, etc), and months-long wait times for appointments with practitioners, among others.
I consider myself extremely lucky that I had my family and friends as a solid support network and could afford the relevant fees for psychology and psychiatry sessions, assessments, and additional paperwork from a practitioner at various points (like special consideration forms). I have a relatively stable home life and I live in a city where I have fairly easy access to treatment, either in person or over the phone/internet. Not to mention, I somewhat knew about the process of getting assessed and finding additional resources when I started out.
In other words, even though my own path to diagnosis wasn’t easy, I am one of the lucky ones.
Support
All this being said, I wish I had someone in my earlier years of study to guide me through the processes, at least where university help was concerned: showing me the Disabilities Collective, navigating processes such as Special Considerations, applying with Disability and Inclusion Services, going through the appeal process and consulting an SRC caseworker, talking to my professors, changing my course progressions and going to the associated meetings.
Most of all, I wish I had been better at handling the more personal aspects of being disabled but not diagnosed: the immense confusion, the identity crises, the isolation of being left behind while everyone else moves on, knowing when to ask for help before it’s too late, and understanding how to practice basic and consistent self care.
Maybe then I could have done more in the past two years while waiting to be diagnosed. My disabilities aren’t my entire life, and cannot be – the rest of life goes on in the meantime.
Instead, while currently in my fifth year, I’ve realised how much I had to figure out mostly by myself and how exhausting and demoralising it’s been. I hope that for anyone else (diagnosed with a disability or not!) going through the same overwhelming confusion, angst, fatigue and isolation, that I can be the help I wish I’d had.
So, if you see a short Indian girl on campus with braided (and sometimes brightly-dyed) hair, playing with her fidget ring or listening to music, it might be me. Please feel free to tap me on the shoulder and ask for help – I cannot promise that I will know every answer, but I will do my very best.