I spent half an hour getting into the zone and it took one second to break it. I got changed, walked to the gym, shuffled my running playlist, walked until I was sufficiently bored, and finally - I ran. I was running for ten solid minutes until I finally found the perfect pace. Yet one single line in one song is all it took to stop me.

I unlock my iPhone and write in my notes "Outkast defines A.D.D."

I then lock my phone and spend another half-hour attempting to run before calling it quits because I lost my motivation and the moment passed. I can't just go back to running after stopping so abruptly. I also couldn't just hold my thought until later. I had to make a choice: write it down, or probably forget it forever. Why, you ask?

You see, I'm not like your average person. In fact, I'm... below average. I know it may be hard to believe because I radiate perfection in every possible aspect of life, so I apologize for the shock this may cause, but I have a confession.

I have... S.A.D.D. Selection Attentive Deficit Disorder.

Growing up I hated doing homework. I know you think you hated homework. No, I HATED homework. I hated it so much that I did more assignments in my first year of college alone than the entirety of my k-12 career. Anyone who took a single class with me at any point of my pre-college education can confirm this.

My mom, having raised two perfectly educationally-driven daughters before me, and one remarkably driven son after me, couldn't handle my "early on-set senioritis" as my father labelled it.

So she did what any rational family does, turn to doctors for a prescription diagnosis.

And boy did he find one!

Selective.

Attention.

Deficit.

Disorder.

S.A.D.D. is no joke. You may not have heard of it, because many people confuse it with A.D.D., thinking the S is silent. Well the S is not silent. We are a different breed, a different category. To help shed light, I'll share with you the definition I heard once and will remember forever.

As my evaluator clarified, "Your daughter has the capability to focus. The potential is all there. Unlike the rest of us, however, she only has partial access to it. It seems when a subject is of interest to her, she has the drive to follow through and devote time to it, but if it lacks an entertaining component she sees no responsibility to focus on it".

So, when I want to do something, I can.... and when I don't want to, I can't.

I know what you're thinking, that sounds a lot like being lazy. Yes, yes it does. But please don't confuse stereotypes with actual issues, I find that very offensive.

As we left that NYC office where I received my diagnosis, and headed back home, I felt the shift in my life. I remember it was the summer before eighth grade. I had already told my parents I wanted to go to boarding school, and like college, there's a lot of application work involved. That entire year, while applying, touring, and writing supplements, I was on meds for the first time.

I took 30mg long acting of Ritalin, every single day, even on Saturdays and Sundays. Suddenly, everything about life changed. Classes were so much easier, or at least faster. I used to spend the entire period staring at the clock watching each minute go by. Now, classes were on fast forward. I'd focus on the teacher, and if I remembered to check the clock, it was always right before the period ended.

I didn't even tell my best friend about it, though. There was this tacit agreement that we wouldn't speak of it outside of the family. Only once I got to boarding school did I realize how shameful I was made to feel like something was wrong with me having (S)A.D.D..

A.D.D. is more prevalent than ever, and so minuscule compared to the vast amount of potential mental and physical predicaments people can face. It doesn't mean it's not serious, though. There are side affects.

Sweaty palms, repulsion to food, and a "come-down" or hangover period are guaranteed. Temporary depression, mood swings, lack of interest, slow response are to be expected. My friends in high school used to call me "villain". It was my code name for when I took my meds.

You're not yourself on meds, and you notice that you're not yourself, but something suppresses you from making an effort to act like your normal self. You don't see the importance in conversing excitedly, you don't want to just sit and hang out, you are compelled to be extremely productive.

Nights where you took your meds too late in the day, you find yourself laying in bed waiting for the sweet release of sleep, knowing there's no way to get it. Your brain is wired to be at work until 12 full hours after ingestion. Sitting still induces anxiety and nausea, and the best you can hope for is achieving some mild meditation. Yeah, I'm sure my roommate loved when she came back and our room was cleaned suitable for surgery, but I know she hated when I ignored questions, gave one-worded response and fake laughed as a sad, zombie, shell of myself.

On or off of medication, what hurts the most is people thinking you're less capable.

I'll never forget when a friend said to me my sophomore year of high school, "Well you know you'll need to take that your whole life, right? Like when you are working, when you're 40 years old". That hit hard, really hard. I had never even thought about taking meds in college, let alone my adult life. They had always seemed to me like the temporary solution for doing my homework, not a plug for a hole in my life that shouldn't be there.

That was the second time someone point-blank told me that I alone was not capable of living a normal life like someone else. I remember being completely wrecked by that back then. Just because I can't (or maybe just don't want to) always focus?

I'm not the best at planning in advance, I'm forgetful, at times I lack ambition, I like to learn outside the classroom and I really, really hate homework.

But, believe it or not, without meds I have aced tests, written bomb papers, won competitions, ran my best mile time, made the SAT my b!tch (sorry mom I lied), nailed a college interview, and talked my way out of all kinds of trouble.

Having (S)A.D.D. is perfectly described by that one line of genius from Outkast.

"You can plan a pretty picnic, but you can't predict the weather."

Sometimes we plan the most amazing picnic, with only the very best of intentions. We might do nearly all the work, and be looking forward to it, but our follow through is like the weather. It's not promised whether it'll rain or shine.

Most would deem us disappointing, but I find it's what makes us exciting, endearing, and an especially good time.