Free Essex Boy: My Story by Kirk Norcross Page A

and really went for them. I beat them as
hard as an eleven-year-old boy can. A teacher saw the fight and tried to break it up, but she couldn’t, nothing could stop me. Afterwards, when things had calmed down and I was sat slumped in
her office worrying about what I had done, she called my mum in for a chat.
    She told her, ‘I watched Kirk have that fight, and it’s not normal for a kid of his age to fight other boys with the complete and utter rage that he had towards them. His temper is
really bad, so we would like to see him get some help. It’s possible that he has ADHD – Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder – so it might be an idea to go to your local GP
and get him to do a test.’
    Mum didn’t really know what ADHD was, and of course nor did I, so that’s what we did, without questioning it. And then the doctor referred me to a kind of social worker who
specialized in helping naughty kids and finding out why they behaved the way they did. He asked me what made me upset, and what made me flip, and all sorts of other questions that I didn’t
know how to answer. I would try my best to explain the way I felt, saying, ‘I don’t know! I just get the hump if people try and make me feel small, or stupid – I can’t just
take it on the chin or laugh it off like other people can. I hate being taken for a mug.’
    No one took my dad for a mug, so I didn’t want them to take me for one either.
    They decided that I did have ADHD. Basically, this is a psychiatric disorder that means you are much more hyperactive and impulsive than other kids, and can’t focus on things as easily. I’m no scientist, but as far as I can tell they still don’t fully understand its causes – although there are certain things that are associated with it. Apparently a lack of
oxygen at birth has been linked to developing ADHD as a child, and you’ll remember that when I was born the umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck. Suffering something traumatic in your
life can help bring it on too, and I guess Mum and Dad splitting up could have been a cause. I was at a really vulnerable age when it happened, and because I didn’t know how to deal with that
experience, it was coming out in me in a different way to someone who might sit and cry. For me it was showing as this uncontrollable anger.
    My diagnosis and treatment were all sorted out over the school summer holiday. I was put on this drug called Ritalin, which is supposed to work by calming you down. At one point my doctor told
me I was on the highest dose of it in Thurrock, or something daft like that. Most kids had to take two tablets a day; I had to take five. They were these small white round pills with numbers and
codes stamped on them, and I had to have the first two at 8 a.m., then another two at midday, then the last one at 6 p.m.
    I also had to go and see this psychotherapist once a week. He was a middle-aged man with a very calm voice. In the first session I didn’t want to be there. I hated the stupid questions he
was asking, and I lost my temper, saying, ‘Mate, I’m not talking to you. What are you going to do about that? I don’t want to be here, so fuck off!’
    But he just sat back and talked to me, and after a while I realized he was trying to help me. Even if I didn’t want to be there, he had good intentions, so I knew I shouldn’t be so
harsh on him. And although he didn’t change anything for me, I got on better with him after that, and didn’t mind going to the sessions. In fact I kept going for the next eighteen
months or so, although after a while the frequency of my visits went down from once a week to once a month, to just every now and then, until it was decided I didn’t need to go any more.
    Mum and Dad had very different reactions to my treatment. I think Mum was slightly relieved that there might be a medical reason for why I behaved the way I did at times, so it was a bit of a
weight off her shoulders. But Dad wasn’t