There are battles people see, and there are battles people never notice. The ones fought in public get applause. The ones fought in silence get misunderstood. And then there are the battles fought by men like me — steady, private, and invisible to everyone except the person carrying them. In December of 2024, at sixty-two years old, I finally got a name for the storm I had been living with my entire life: full-blown AU-ADHD. Not the casual kind people joke about. Not the “I get distracted sometimes” kind. The real thing. The kind that rewires your thoughts, your focus, your energy, your emotions, your entire way of moving through the world.
It explained everything — the restlessness, the hyperfocus, the racing thoughts, the exhaustion, the drive, the frustration, the way I could do ten things at once and still feel like I wasn’t doing enough. It explained the chaos I learned to hide, the noise I learned to manage, the patterns I learned to survive. But here’s the part that hits harder than the diagnosis: I’m battling this on my own.
No phone calls No texts. No “Hey Mike, how you doing?” No support. No check-ins. Nothing. Just me, my shrink John who I see every Monday, Adderall, and the same strength that carried me through every chapter of my life before this one. I was asked by my therapist if I feel lonely. I hesitated for a brief moment, because I really had to think about feeling lonely. to gather my thought People assume that because I’m alone, I must be lonely. They assume that because I’m dealing with ADHD at sixty-two, I must be overwhelmed. They assume that silence means sadness. They assume wrong. I’m not lonely. I’m not depressed. I like to believe I’m not broken. I’m not stuck.
What bothers me isn’t the ADHD — it’s the silence. The absence of simple human gestures. The way people disappear when you need them the least but expect them the most. But here’s the truth: I’ve been fighting battles alone since I was five years old. I survived an orphanage. I survived foster care. I survived abuse. I survived homelessness. I survived every job that kept me afloat. I survived twenty-plus years as a Port Authority Police Officer. I'm surviving the end of a forty-three-year marriage. I survived every chapter life threw at me.
And now I’m surviving this. Not with pity. Not with fear. Not with loneliness, but with clarity. ADHD didn’t break me — it revealed who I really am. I've gone through all the emotions there is following my diagnosis. I battled depression for almost 15 years following the death of a dear friend of mine and fellow police officer on 09.11.2001. 19 Terrorist from Saudi Arabia attacked our country by flying 2 commercial jets into both North and South Towers on that sunny day September morning just 17 minutes apart.
The North Tower collapse first at 10:28 am (after burning for 1 hour and 45 minutes) killing 37 Port Authority Police officers, many I knew personally and patrolled with one time or another in Manhattan and Jersey City New Jersey, including a very dear friend of mine and once partner I still miss to this day.
23 Police Officers from NYPD as well as 343 FDNY, including many brave civilians who we will never know their names, assisted the first responders with the evacuation from both towers. To me, they were and will always be the true Heroes. It was my choice to become a police officer. I was fully aware join law enforcement was and still is one of the most dangerous professions to choose as a career. I wasn't forced to be one. It was my choice. A choice going back to when I was 5 years old knowing that one day, I will become a Police Officer.
I knew the risk. I knew in the back of my head that there was a 50/50 chance of making it home after my tour was over. To Serve and Protect. I did exactly that for over 20 years. I battled depression for 15 years following 09.11. 2001. It showed me how strong I've always been. It showed me how much I’ve carried without knowing the name for it. It showed me that even now, at sixty-two, I’m still figuring myself out. But make no mistake. I’m still here and I'm still moving forward. I'm just fighting this A.D.H.D. alone and unnoticed. It is what it is. So, if anyone who's reading this want to know how I am....
I’m fine and I’m still here.