Sixteen and Tired

ADHD. I remember being about five when the doctor first brought it up. Mama didn’t even let him finish before she said, “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Ain’t nothing wrong with my girl. She just need to sit her tail down and act right.”

That was the end of that conversation. Mama didn’t believe a word those doctors said, and I never got any of the medicine they tried to prescribe. Even now, she’ll mumble under her breath, “Them doctors don’t know what they talkin’ ’bout. My girl a straight‑A student. ADHD, my ass.”

Mama will never understand how hard it is to keep those A’s. How much energy it takes to stay on top of everything when my brain is running in ten different directions. Folks at school don’t believe me either. My ADHD ain’t the loud kind. It’s the quiet, inattentive kind. The kind where you stare at a page for ten minutes and still don’t know what you read. The kind where you forget things even when you swear you didn’t.

So, I just keep to myself. It’s easier that way. Trying to focus, trying to take care of everything at home, trying to keep up with school. It’s just too much. I’m only sixteen, but some days it feels like I’m forty.

“Sariya! Mama said no! You cannot keep goin’ in that snack cabinet whenever you feel like it.” I snatched the unopened muffin pack out her hand. She started whining immediately, but I ignored it. “Go finish your schoolwork. I’m almost done with the food.”

She stomped off toward the living room where Miracle already was.

“MIRACLE, YOU BETTER BE DOIN’ YOUR SCHOOL WORK AND NOT WATCHIN’ TV!”

“I am doin’ my schoolwork!” Miracle yelled back.

I knew she wasn’t. But honestly? I didn’t have the mental capacity to care right now. Mama wouldn’t be home until late tonight, so I kept reminding myself to put a plate up for her or else I’d forget. Even if I did, she’d probably be too tired to eat. Most nights she came home, showered, and went straight to bed or passed out on the couch.

She’d been doing back‑to‑back twelve‑hour shifts this week. Watching her work as a CNA made me realize real quick that I did not want that job.

When I finished cooking, I went to check on Miracle and Sariya. They were almost done with their homework. I looked it over, corrected a few things, then sent them to wash up while I made their plates. By the time they came back dressed and clean, dinner was waiting on the table.

“What y’all say?” I asked, sitting down.

“Thank you, Lyric,” they said together.

If there’s one thing I’m gonna do, it’s teach them manners.

“After y’all done, you can watch TV or play on your tablets until bedtime. Tomorrow’s Friday, so Miracle, your daddy’s picking you up from school. And Sariya, Grandma supposed to get you so you can go get your hair redone by Aunt Tammy.”

“I don’t want Aunt Tammy to do my hair,” Sariya whined. “She braids too tight. Why can’t you do it?”

“I can’t do your hair ’cause I’ll be out of town for a band meet. You know that. That’s why you stayin’ with Grandma while Miracle goes to her daddy’s.” I reminded her.

She kept whining, but I told her to hush and eat.

Once they were done and out of my way, I cleaned up the kitchen and put everything back where it belonged. I actually remembered to wrap up a plate for Mama. She was supposed to be home around 6:30 unless she stayed past her shift again, which happened a lot since they were always short‑staffed.

When the kitchen was finally done and their lunches packed for tomorrow, I went to take my shower and get my things ready for school.

In those moments, those small, quiet minutes, I finally had a little time to myself.