For 55 years I thought I had crippling anxiety. These are the steps I took to get a proper diagnosis - and now, my brain fog has disappeared and my life has transformed: FLIC EVERETT

Once again, it’s 3am and I’m lying in bed worrying, adrenaline pounding through my veins. My parents are getting older, and want to move closer to us – but where? I haven’t heard from my adult son in a few days – is he OK? What if nobody likes my latest novel and my career is over? Onward the thoughts churn, a dismal carousel of pointless, fearful speculation. By morning, I’m exhausted and, as ever, nothing has been achieved or resolved. Anxiety has been my constant companion since birth. My mother often tells the story of the time my grandmother plugged in the vacuum cleaner and I screamed so hard with fright, I turned blue and passed out.  At primary school, I was tearful, scared and never felt I fitted in. I was too worried about death, disaster and loss (none of which had happened) to ever feel carefree. By secondary school, I struggled to get up in the morning and was forever late, forgetful and wildly untidy. I began to have severe panic attacks at 15 and, a few years later, left Glasgow University, where I was studying English Literature, in my second year because the almost constant anxiety had become so overwhelming. Back then, ADHD, and even what we now call anxiety, was unheard of in girls. I also had a high IQ so the possibility of a ‘disorder’ was never considered. So I had always assumed that, somehow, the racing panic, bursts of adrenaline and spiralling, catastrophising thoughts that have plagued me all my adult life were my fault – that if I just tried harder, learned to sleep better or exerted more willpower, I could overcome them. Always, that is, until in April this year, when, at the urging of my husband, son and friends, I finally booked an assessment with a psychiatrist, and was diagnosed with ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) at the age of 55. Yes, I’m well aware that every middle-class, midlife woman who’s a bit scatty is now convinced she has ADHD, and it’s often used as an excuse for everything from an untidy house to being late for a meeting. But rather than the popular belief that it’s now ‘overdiagnosed’, it’s quite the opposite. At primary school, I was tearful, scared and never felt I fitted in. I was too worried about death, disaster and loss (none of which had happened) to ever feel carefree, writes Flic Everett She began to have severe panic attacks at 15 and, a few years later, left Glasgow University, where she was studying English Literature, in her second year because the almost constant anxiety had become so overwhelming (Flic pictured aged 17 or 18) The National Institute for Health and Care Excellence reports an estimated 4 per cent of UK adults have ADHD, a neurological condition that negatively affects executive function, memory and emotions. But currently, 80 per cent of the estimated sufferers are undiagnosed. In part, that’s because most of us still equate ADHD with unruly boys who can’t sit still in class. I have no trouble concentrating on work for hours, I’m not very active, and I believed what doctors had always told me – that I had an anxiety disorder. I assumed my chronic inability to understand systems, hopelessness at maths and woeful spatial awareness (I still can’t park the car without five attempts) were abject failings on my part. Ditto, my endless attempts to declutter that never worked and appalling short-term memory. Add in the hobbies that never took off (I recently decided to start knitting but couldn’t cast on and gave up), the business that collapsed, the two failed marriages, the drinking so I could socialise without feeling like a guinea pig in an aquarium, the late-night online shopping I never looked at once it arrived, the dyspraxic clumsiness leading to heaps of broken china… suffice to say, I blamed myself. Until a few years ago, I never knew how much money I had in the bank, as I was scared to check. Pathetic, I know. Ditto not opening ‘scary’ letters. Once, when a large gas bill came in, I tried to win the money at a casino rather than actually make a phone call to arrange a payment schedule. (Obviously, I lost.) For those without ADHD, the symptoms can certainly look like a life-long refusal simply to make an effort. For those living with it, you wouldn’t believe the effort we make. Often, sadly, in vain. Indeed, real ADHD is not charming or funny or even ‘a superpower’, as it’s regularly branded by neurodivergent influencers. At least, it isn’t for me. About three years ago, my husband Andy, 55, heard the presenter Nicky Campbell discussing his own ADHD diagnosis on Radio 5. ‘That’s like you,’ Andy told me. ‘He also said…’ He reeled off a list of symptoms that also sounded just like me. ‘I’m just thinking maybe…’ He said, gently. Real ADHD is not charming or funny or even ‘a superpower’, as it’s regularly branded by neurodivergent influencers. At least, it isn’t for me, says Flic ‘I’ve not got ADHD,’ I scoffed. ‘I’m not remotely hyperactive.’ A few months later, my 33-year-old son made the same observation after I’d yet again forgotten something he’d told me the day before. And then my best friend, a psychotherapist, told me she’d been on a weekend course to help her recognise the signs of ADHD in adult clients. ‘I really think you might…’ she said. It was time to find out. I’d love to have been diagnosed via the NHS but, in my area, the waiting time is now over five years for adults, so I went private, at a cost of £600. It was a big stretch, but potentially having an explanation for issues that have plagued me for over half a century seemed well worth it. Initially, I had the hour-long pre-assessment to discuss the reasons behind my seeking a diagnosis. ‘And of course, I’ve been anxious all my life,’ I said, dismissively. ‘But obviously that’s nothing to do with ADHD.’ The psychiatrist stopped me. He then stunned me by explaining that my pathological worrying might actually be a sign of my nervous system trying to calm itself. Apparently, a worry ‘loop’ gives the brain something to do that feels useful – even though it isn’t. In women, particularly, the ‘hyperactive’ part of ADHD can be internal – the brain is constantly seeking stimulation due to a lack of dopamine, the brain’s ‘feel good’ chemical. Worrying gives the mind a surface for its wheels to grind on, and that’s why my worries never ended – as soon as one was resolved, another would pop up. I’m so used to feeling anxious, he concluded, that without its constant hum, I don’t know how to function. What he said stopped me in my tracks. My anxiety has never been specific to an issue, just a free-floating angst, attaching itself to anything vaguely uncertain in my life. Suddenly, for the first time, I understood what it was, and where it came from. I received my diagnosis after a full assessment the following week. Two weeks later, I started on a low dose of stimulant medication, Lisdexamphetamine, at £90 a month. A stimulant, it works by preventing neurons in the brain from immediately reabsorbing the neurotransmitters dopamine and norepinephrine and stimulates their release, meaning the pathways that govern executive functioning and mood are immediately strengthened. For people with ADHD, without stimulants these essential neurotransmitters don’t work effectively and cause problems ranging from mood disorders to task paralysis, time blindness and severely compromised working memory and organisational ability. Despite knowing it would help, initially, I was unsure - it didn’t make sense to me that a drug that usually speeds up thought and heart rate could slow me down. I was also worried about side effects - as the drug is a stimulant, it can raise heart rate and blood pressure, and cause weight loss, dry mouth, headaches and dizziness. However, my psychiatrist suggested a ‘low and slow’ 20mg starting dose and, to my baffled astonishment, within an hour of taking the first dose I felt a weight lift from me. The constant low-level tension and scattered focus was gone, replaced by an unfamiliar sensation of gentle cheerfulness. I felt I could get on with things, in this pleasant state of mild motivation. Maybe this is normal - but for me it felt like a miracle. I did try going up to 30mg, as I still struggle with motivation and focus, but it didn’t suit me – I felt anxious, irritable and found my fingers had gone numb due to circulation issues. After three days, I reverted to the lower dose with no further problems, though I know some ADHD sufferers are fine on up to 70mg.  That’s why titration, the process of safely finding the right medication dosage, is important – because finding the ideal dosage for individuals and their particular symptoms can take months. What works for me may not work for others, and it’s essential that an experienced psychiatrist, whether NHS or private, monitors the titration period and beyond to find the right drug and dosage. Six weeks in, I’m still largely free of anxiety. I make phone calls without fear, I can focus on all my work, not just the bits I like, and, increasingly, I’m tackling the clutter I’ve lived with all my life. The relief is enormous, and I have spoken to others with ADHD who take similar meds. They agree it feels like polishing a lens, that the brain-fog disperses, the memory sharpens and the constant feeling of overwhelm lifts. I’m so grateful I could just about afford the diagnostic process – because knowing has changed everything. I have felt substantial grief for all the years when I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I look back and think how different my life could have been, how much easier, had I not approached every day with a sense of dread, not made life-changing impulsive decisions, and not been constantly blamed by teachers, colleagues and partners for oversights and errors I never meant to make. Of course, this late-in-life diagnosis doesn’t let me off the hook for every bad decision or foolish action, but it certainly explains many of them, and allows me to extend myself, finally, some forgiveness.