ADHD was the name I never knew.

A letter to my lost childhood.

I was diagnosed with ADHD just a few months ago.
Guess my age?
I’m 34.

I found myself in a conversation with a few people who were talking about their ADHD diagnoses one day. At first, I was just listening. And then—suddenly—everything started to click.

I went home and dove in like a madman—articles, YouTube videos, TikToks, whateva I found to educate myself from the internet.

For once, my obsession had a bigger purpose.

I think about all those nights. Crying. Questioning. Comparing myself to everyone else and wondering why I couldn’t just be like them.

But maybe the truth is—I was never supposed to be.

All these years, I thought I was just messy, too emotional, distracted all the f*ckng time. But now I see it was ADHD—and I didn’t know. No one knew, no family members, no friends, no relatives.

And today, I’m writing this not just for you. I’m writing it for him—the younger me who was confused, rejected, who gave everything he had and still thought he wasn’t enough. Who always asked himself, Why does my existence feel so wrong.

So this is a letter to him.
To me.
To every undiagnosed soul still trying to figure out why life feels just a little harder than it should.

Dear little me,

I know you’re crying again. You feel exhausted. Not the kind of exhaustion that sleep fixes. The kind that comes from always trying—trying to fit in, trying to stay focused, trying to meet all the expectations from your parents even when you’re giving everything you have. I trust you, you tried your best.

It’s me. You. From the year 2025.
From Germany. Surprised?
Good news: I finally have an answer for the thing you’ve been silently asking your whole life:

What’s wrong with me?
Nothing man!
Nothing at all!! You have A–D–H–D!!!