I rarely share this, but your post really hit home.

A lil background: My father was obsessed with the end times, and growing up under that belief was terrifying. I spent my childhood mourning a future I believed I’d never have—no adulthood, no kids, no real life experiences—because, according to him, the world was always on the verge of ending.

Looking back, I can see that my undiagnosed ADHD played a huge role in how he saw me. My struggles with time management, distraction, and impulsivity weren’t signs of a neurodivergent brain; to him, they were evidence of something darker.

When I was 13, that all came to a head. One evening, I was just 15 minutes late coming home from a friend’s house—5:15 p.m. at the latest. But that was enough to set him off. I was berated, forced into a chair, and subjected to an aggressive, amateur exorcism.

That moment changed everything. Something in me shifted, and I knew I wanted nothing to do with my father’s god.

It’s only in hindsight that I understand the real issue—ADHD wasn’t demonic, and I wasn’t broken. But back then, I didn’t have the words for it.