Celeste Barber - Challenge Accepted!

The main attraction was my disappearing act. When Mrs Science turned around to see what everyone was laughing at, I’d jump on the ground out of sight, buried in everyone’s bags. Eating people’s unattended food was the payoff.

I wasn’t a naughty kid; I was too scared to be naughty. I was just loud – loud and funny – and most of my teachers didn’t dig it. But I was OK with it. If anything it helped me. It helped me work on being a funnier lady, a stronger lady and a more resilient lady.

Being diagnosed with ADD (or maybe it’s ADHD, I can’t really remember, I wasn’t paying attention) was the greatest thing that could have ever happened to me – well, that and getting tickets to Janet Jackson’s ’98 Velvet Rope world tour. (People say Rhythm Nation was her greatest album, but I’m telling you The Velvet Rope had everything: badarse beats, haunting ballads and enough Auto-Tune to turn any of the straightest ladies gay.)

I always had the best intentions. I would organise to study like a boss. My parents had set up a study area for my sister and me, and I’d get my pens out and put them alongside my school books. My calculator was in prime calculator position, and I’d even write up a study timetable, using every colourful pen at my disposal. Red for Maths, pink for Drama, and then I didn’t care about the rest. The timetable would be stuck on the wall directly in front of me.

I’d have a lovely glass of room-temperature water ready to go, and I’d pick up my pen, keen to get my study on, then … that would be the end of it. I’d be distracted by something, anything. The dog walking past, an unfolded towel in the corner of the room, my mum sneezing from the neighbours’ living room, anything would catch my attention and I’d be out of there. This, my friends, is what they call in The Biz ‘classic ADD behaviour’. I had all the best of intentions of sitting and doing work, I was even excited about buying all the stationery and desk accessories, but I just. Couldn’t. Do. It.

Mum and Dad took me to see a specialist when I was 16, in the hope of getting answers. Even though I totally had boobs and had been bleeding monthly for approximately two years, I still had to go to a children’s doctor. The waiting room was full of toys and copies of Spot the Dog . There were posters on the wall featuring the letters of the alphabet, with pictures next to them: A for Apple, B for Butterfly etc.

As I went through the letters, enjoying the distraction from the doctor smell of the waiting room, they all seemed to make sense – yep, K is for Kite and L is for Lion – until I got to Y. Next to the letter there was an unassuming photo of a boat. A blue boat with white bits. The word under it started with Y, but I couldn’t figure out what boat starting with Y was spelt like that. I turned to my dad and asked, ‘What’s a Yak-a-Hat ?’

The receptionist looked over her desk with an ‘oh, bless her, this must be a hard struggle for you, Dad, having to deal with such a challenging daughter’ look on her face. Dad looked at me, and through tears of laughter said, ‘It says “Yacht”.’

‘Well, why the hell isn’t it spelt properly?’

‘Good question, Princess, I don’t know.’ My dad’s my biggest fan – well, just behind my mum, who is a close runner-up to my sister.

If the doctor had overheard this conversation it could have saved my parents a lot of money in doctor’s fees, as he would have given me the tablets right there on the spot and I would have been on my merry way, feasting on Ritalin sandwiches.

When I went into the appointment, Mum, Dad and I sat in three chairs that were all in a line. My chair was closest to the doctor, as I was the main event. Here is where I learnt that ADD is hereditary and is commonly passed down to the child by the dad.

Holy shit, didn’t this make sense?! My dad and I are exactly the same! I wondered if this information would upset him. I looked over to him and saw that he was focusing on a fly that was wedged between the glass window and flyscreen, and realised he’d probably be cool with me being the heir to that particular throne.

Mum did most of the talking during the appointment, and I was asked a lot of questions. Even as an outgoing 16-year-old, I still looked to my mum for the answers.

Q: Do you find it hard to concentrate?

A: Can you please ask me again, I wasn’t concentrating.

Q: Do you find it hard to read, write and spell?

A: Know, not raly.

Q: Do you think you have a short attention span and are easily distracted?

A: Sometimes, but— Hey, did you just see that bit of lint fall off your jumper onto the floor?!

Q: Are you constantly in trouble at school for being slow to start work, and for never finishing anything?

A: Not telling.

After the appointment, the doctor asked me to wait outside while he talked to my parents about what steps to take to ‘move forward’. I think he just needed to see what sort of drugs he had on hand, as I needed that shit in my system stat!

So, I sat back out in the waiting room, chilling with five-year-olds who called me ‘lady’, and not really thinking too much about what had just happened. The doctor’s office door was left open; I think he wanted to come off as a cool doctor who appeared approachable while prescribing drugs that keep overweight truck drivers awake for 48 hours. I could hear the entire conversation.

Mum: We don’t want her to change.

Doctor: These drugs won’t change her, they will help her.

Mum: Good. We know she is full on and loud but we like that. Her personality isn’t a problem, it’s her struggling to concentrate that is making things hard for her.

Dad: How long do you think that fly has been trapped in there?

Doctor: Ritalin doesn’t alter personalities, it will just help her focus.

Mum: OK, great, I just want school to be easier for her.

Dad: Do you think the fly has family who are worried about its whereabouts?

Mum: Neville!

Dad: Sorry.

Mum: We will commit to this medication only if it helps her to feel better about being herself.

Doctor: I really think this is the best option for Celeste, it will only have a positive effect.

Mum: OK, great.

Dad: I’m hungry.

I’ll never forget that conversation. As a loud, full-on, average-looking girl, the fact that from a young age my mother was so passionate about me being me was the world.

I also think about that fly.

When we got home I was straight into the drugs, and they were good, they were so good. They kicked in straightaway, which is what you’re looking for in top-shelf gear. I sat on the couch, opened a manual on ‘Living with ADD’ and read a paragraph out loud to my parents. It went a little something like this:

Childhood symptoms of ADHD include poor impulse control, hyperactivity (i.e. cannot sit still), difficulty focusing on immediate tasks, and inability to pay attention to instruction. Children with hyperactivity-impulsivity often have difficulty forming and maintaining friendships and receive poor conduct evaluations due to their inability to behave appropriately in school. These children seem to disregard common social courtesies by repeatedly interrupting conversations and speaking out of turn.*