College, ADHD And Anxiety, Oh My!

Written by Scott Smith

San Diego State University

As an award-winning writer/director, Scott made his mark by breaking the Ten Commandments. His cult classic short film “TEN,” featuring a man breaking all Ten Commandments in three minutes, caught the attention of Ben Affleck and Matt Damon, landing him a coveted spot on their reality-based filmmaking competition PROJECT GREENLIGHT. Scott became one of three director finalists selected from a pool of two thousand applicants.

While maintaining his advertising career, Scott wrote and directed two award-winning feature films: the dark, comedic narrative feature “Chasing the Blues” and the documentary “Being Bucky,” which follows seven college students who portrayed the University of Wisconsin-Madison’s mascot, Bucky Badger, for an entire year. Read more about Scott here.

Hosted and produced by Peter Griffith; contributing producer Rob Wallace

Long before ADHD or any names we use now for attention deficit disorders, Scott Smith went to college only to become held captive by his own turbulent brain. When the paranoia and anxiety took control, he learned quickly to tell people what was going on inside his head.

Don’t miss his true story and lesson in life not found in textbooks or online lectures – Speaking the truth will set you free.

Published October 15, 2025

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HOST:  Today on campus, it’s 1979, a time well before ADD and ADHD and Ritalin and any sort of name we use now for attention deficit disorders. In fact, the topic was so taboo, people didn’t talk about it and doctors simply would say, “they’ll grow out of it.”

So let’s go back to that time, a time when parents kicked their kids out of the house and told them not to come back until it was dark. And when they did come back, nobody talked about what they’d seen or done.

In today’s episode, we meet Scott, a young college student secretly held captive by his own turbulent brain and too afraid to speak about the pain, until the paranoia and anxiety took control. Hear his cautionary tale, a true story and lesson in life not found in textbooks or online lectures – Speaking the truth will set you free.

[ Marching band music ]

This is Once, In College. I’m Pete Griffith.

Today’s episode was written by Scott Smith, an award-winning writer and director. His short film caught the attention of Ben Affleck and Matt Damon, landing him a coveted spot on their reality-based filmmaking competition PROJECT GREENLIGHT.

Scott has been telling stories, really good stories, for decades – as a creative director, novelist and even as a father. But today, he will be telling his most important story. His own.

[ Bells from campus tower ]

Class is about to begin. Here’s Scott’s true story from his time once, in college.

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NARRATOR:  It wasn’t like I was a dumb kid—I just suffered from a massive undiagnosed case of ADD, and daydreaming was my pastime. Sometimes I’d get so deep into my head, I’d cause a self-inflicted anxiety attack. The worst of which usually driven by thoughts of death and existence. You know, like why are we even here if we’re all going to just stop existing?

Daydreaming constantly made me feel out of it, and at its worst, the anxiety made me feel completely alone in the world. Behaviors hard for any kid to make sense of, and if you were a shy, insecure kid like me, an immense challenge to tell anyone how I was feeling inside. And unfortunately, it’s not something you simply grow out of.

My dad was a child psychiatrist, and apparently a good one, although I never did feel I reaped the benefits of his analytical abilities. Unless yelling and constant grounding was part of a psychiatric protocol for middle children seeking parental attention. Years later when I was diagnosed with ADHD Inattentive, I asked him why he didn’t see it when I was younger. He said my grades never suffered; I didn’t show extreme restlessness or disruptive tendencies—at least none bad enough to earn a trip to the principal’s office. And how could I expect my dad, as brilliant as he was, to know what the heck was going on inside of me, if I didn’t tell him?

Before my junior year in high school, my younger brother and I were traumatically uprooted from our quaint existence in Madison, Wisconsin, forced to hop in a large Dodge Sportsman van and head West to Northern California. My older sister got spared—stayed in Wisconsin for UW-Eau Claire. I could feel the fear of leaving everything I’ve ever known 2,000 miles behind slowly manifest itself into some pretty gloomy anger. After withdrawing and being sulky and miserable for six months, I finally realized nothing I had left behind was going away and being a disconsolate teen, sucked. I needed to somehow move forward.

I did that by making the basketball team and getting a job as an usher at the first multi-screen movie theater in town. I remember the squirrely manager deciding my job fate with a rapid-fire scenario: “You’re working concessions. Customer asks for JujiFruits, large popcorn, two medium drinks. JujiFruits are a buck twenty-five, large popcorn two-fifty, and drinks seventy-five cents each. They give you a ten, what’s the change?”

The uncomfortable silence, and the anxiety of doing math in my head, while a creepy man was staring at me, produced instant sweat above my lip and hairline. “Um, can I use paper and pencil?”

“No. You’ll be an usher. Welcome to the team.”

I started meeting people through the job, and found my new best friend, Doug, on the basketball team. Ironically, he lived across the street from me and fortunately had a sweet California pool.

When it came time to think about college, my mind’s tendency to play ‘Whack-a-mole’ made for a successful outcome very grim. There could have been a whole semester devoted to the college application process, but… Squirrel!

As all children tend to do, I blame my parents to a certain extent for not recognizing that I needed an exceptional level of guidance. I guess specifically my dad, since he was more of the family knowledgebase—maybe because my older sister had made it through the process just fine, he felt like he didn’t need to intervene. Nonetheless, for me, ‘strategically thinking’ about college just meant asking a couple friends what their plans were. 

My best friend from Madison—who was about a thousand times smarter than me—wanted to attend Colorado College. What I didn’t know, was being a thousand times smarter gave you much better odds of getting accepted to schools that had a higher degree of an acceptance difficulty. My new BFF, Doug, maybe 500 times smarter, was looking at San Diego State. I applied to both, got into one, and my decision was made. Easy peasy.

Doug and I were assigned a room in a co-ed dorm suite with six other guys on the girls’ floor. The co-ed aspect created a little community where you could share fears, thoughts and at times desires. Or all three at once. Freshman year brought uncertainty, and homesickness, but also a weird sense of freedom. For the first time, I found myself tiptoeing into the great unknown—by which I mean taking advantage of free beer and weed at frat parties.

But while I tiptoed into a free and easy social world, I ran across hot coals with academics. In high school I was B-average without trying. In contrast, college was like drinking from a fire hose. An English professor basically told me I was a terrible writer and should focus on other disciplines. To make matters worse, I got my first D, courtesy of my Economics professor. How was I supposed to explain to my parents that I didn’t know the difference between Keynesian and Marxist economics?

Spring break allowed me to experience all the comforts of home again. My mom did my laundry, and my insecurities got amplified. Although we’d grown closer through the move and fitting into a new high school, when I saw my brother getting guidance from my dad about his college path, my I’m not good enough gene got activated. My straight-A brother was interested in medical school, and since my dad had gone that exact route, he understood the journey.

I couldn’t understand how these little things cut so deep and fed into the chronic inferiority complex I’ve struggled with to this day. So, like so many times before, I stuffed ‘em back inside to deal with another day.

When Doug said he and some buddies were going to see a new movie called, Apocalypse Now—which sounded about as uplifting as it sounds—I was in. I just needed a little escape for the evening.

So, I found my escape hiding under a seven-foot overhang before the movie, with Doug and a couple buddies, passing around a joint. At least, I think it was a joint. This thing looked more like something wrapped in a toilet paper roll than a tightly crafted joint the size of a pencil.

After hitting that monster a few times, someone remembered we were there to see a movie and the beast got stomped out and shoved into a fanny pack.

Spoiler alert: This was the first time I got high. I mean really high. Like I definitely-went-on-a-trip high.

As we reached the theater, long lines of people stretched outside while an usher I recognized was trying to direct everyone on a microphone. That’s when the sounds of people talking and laughing, the usher’s amplified voice all abruptly overwhelmed my senses, and the chaos and clamor made my world feel like it was constricting.

I tucked behind the tallest of my friends, as he breezed through the ticket line, probably without paying. I saw Doug and the others close behind until the tantalizing aroma of freshly popped popcorn overwhelmed my senses. Either that or the munchies were hitting fast and hitting hard.

Next thing I knew I was swallowed up in concession lines with the cacophony of cash registers ringing and crushed ice dropping into cups. As I moved closer to the counter, I noticed three things: I’d lost track of the others, cotton mouth had taken my saliva glands hostage, and I had no fucking idea why I was in line.

Then it was too late. I was at the counter, face to face with the brainy cute girl I used to work with. I found myself searching for her nametag, hidden behind her long hair, and when I looked up, her smile shifted to “Hey perv, my eyes are up here.” She gazed at me through her brainy girl glasses and said something, but the pinball machine scoring points in my head drowned her out.

Everything played out in slow motion. I realized there might have been something else in that burrito-sized joint besides weed. I have no idea what came out of my mouth, but she stared with furrowed eyebrows and a tilted head. That’s when the voices began—while her mouth moved, the paranoid voice of an insecure middle child started chattering: Oh my God, she knows I’m high. My eyes are red. Are my eyes red? How embarrassing. Why is she so mean?

A feeble voice pushed through me: “I gotta go.” I elbowed through the crowd, searching for my fellow druggies. Every time I blinked, it felt like the movie in my head was skipping frames.

While my childhood anxiety came rushing back, my head felt like it was expanding and floating somewhere between reality and a place I’d never been. Ironically, the detached feeling made my fear of dying become even more alive. My racing heart encouraged urgency to locate Doug and the others.

I ping-ponged down the theater hallway, my monkey brain chattering: Keep moving. Apocalypse Now. Find those guys. Why are there so many theaters here?

I darted for the first open theater door where a pimple-faced kid stood guard.

“Is this Apocalypse Now?” I said, trying to walk by.

“Yes,” he said, putting an arm in front of me. “Can I see your ticket?”

“Certainly… Oh, you know what, one of my buddies has it. I’ll go get it.”

I pushed past him and went from bright lobby lights into a dim theater with soft lighting and the red tones of the devil. As my eyes adjusted, my anxiety didn’t. The theater was packed, humming with anticipation. I whispered loudly, “Doug… hey Doug… is there a Doug in the house…”

“There he is! Scott, we’re over here!”

I turned and saw Doug stand up with a double arm wave like I was the coast guard searching for him through binoculars. I walked like a blind man in a maze and then did the “pardon me… excuse me… pardon me” thing down the row to an empty seat between Doug and a creepy man staring into his popcorn tub.

I sat down, closed my eyes, and took what I expected to be a calming breath, but being stationary didn’t help—the spinning sensation only got worse. I heard laughter, looked over at the guys but only got Doug’s back as he faced the other way. What are they laughing about? My eyes ARE red! They must know I’m freaking out. Damn, I’m hungry.

Meanwhile, the warm theater tones darkened and went completely black, to which I shouted, “Hell no!” Shot up and said, “I gotta go.” I reversed my “pardon me… excuse me…” down the row and walk/ran up the aisle, knowing instinctively not to run and cause unnecessary panic.

I flew back into the brightly lit lobby and quickly outside to the dark of night, walking with desperate urgency around the mall’s exterior, not sure where I was going. But I had to keep moving, or I’d spin out of control. Deep anxiety took hold, and I was genuinely frightened.

There was no bus to catch, and I didn’t know how to call a taxi, so in desperation, I decided to call my parents. I found a pay phone and called collect. Fortunately, my mom accepted the charges.

“Hi honey, is everything okay?”

I cut to the chase: “I’m scared.”

“What do you mean? Aren’t you at the movies with Doug?”

“He’s in the movie with the guys, but I had to leave because I was scared and couldn’t sit still. Someone has to pick me up.”

“You’re not making much sense. You keep saying you’re scared, is someone following you?”

“Noooooo! One of the guys had this gigantic joint, which we smoked before the movie, and now I’m in a constant state of anxiety.”

“What do you mean gigantic?”

“Mom! Does it really matter at this point?! Can someone just come and get me?”

“Yes, just wait outside the theater entrance. We’ll be right there.”

I told her I’d wait but knew I couldn’t. I had to keep moving. I speed-walked back and forth on a stretch of sidewalk, talking out loud to distract my anxious mind. Keep walking. They’re on their way. Focus on the trees. I’m probably not dying. Mom would’ve said something. What is taking them so long?

The distinct sound of my mom’s convertible VW Bug puttered in the distance. When I could finally see it, I did the arms-over-head wave—my coast guard was coming to the rescue.

My grandfather got out of the passenger side, pulled the seat forward and I crawled in the back like I was crawling into a cocoon of safety. My med-school bound brother, who probably volunteered to drive just to see what a shit show his older brother was, looked at me from the driver’s seat with a knowing smirk, a slight chuckle and loving head shake.

As my brother ground into first gear, lurching us forward, my grandfather turned and put his hand on my knee: “It’s okay, buddy.”

If I wasn’t embarrassed enough when I got home, my parents made it worse by acting like their hostage son was returning from narrowly escaping a drug cartel. Although, in an ironic twist, my Jewish mother gave me a hug and asked if I needed half a Valium. I told her I think I’m good.

As I got deeper into school and realized once my required classes were satisfied, there was a whole world of fascinating classes, which had nothing to do with anything other than what my interests were –Which I discovered to be philosophy, religion, and journalism, all ironically delving into existential inquiry, and teetering on my tolerance for Anxiety.

Outside of that sense of freedom, college brought with it my introduction to adult relationships, and the understanding that being vulnerable allowed those relationships to be strong and meaningful. And learned quickly that people can’t understand me if I don’t tell them what’s going on in my head. Because of that, I’ve given my dad grace, understanding he couldn’t predict how I was feeling or what I needed if I didn’t express myself. And once I put it into practice, he was literally there anytime I needed him.

The freak-out experience kept me from getting high for a long time—I stuck with beer and white Russians until an ulcer in my late twenties served as a catalyst to stop drinking entirely. Over the years, as I dove deeper into understanding my ADHD, I discovered its complicated relationship with depression and anxiety. But with a few meds, continued curiosity, and professional support, I’ve been able to better understand why I sometimes feel paralyzed by my unrelenting shower of thoughts, and how important it is for me to focus on one thing at a time. Just like painting a room, you can’t paint the whole room at once; you have to decide which corner to start in and just start.

Now, on the rare occasions when the anxiety fairy decides to visit, I feel much more equipped to manage it before it spirals out of control. Naturally, the dosing options available with gummies doesn’t hurt either.

[ appropriate music ]

HOST:  Today’s episode was produced by Rob Wallace and myself.

We want to thank Scott Smith again for sharing the events of his life as he traversed college with ADHD before it was even known about, let alone talked about.

Scott’s story reminds us we don’t have to suffer in silence. There’s so much good that can come by talking about the things that cause us anxiety and feeling alone in the world.

Today, 6.0% of adults and 10.5% of children in the United States have a current diagnosis of Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder. But thankfully, the broad spectrum of help they can now get from doctors, teachers and healthcare professionals, as well as parents, family and friends, are readily available as well.

Did you have an event or experience in college that shaped your life?  We’d love to talk with you about it. We‘re looking to share other stories that may have occurred outside of a class or lecture, but still taught us some of life’s most meaningful lessons.

If you had any reaction to our episode or our podcast, let us know. The feedback helps us shape and structure what we do here.

Until then, I’m Pete Griffith, back next week with more stories like this, all from a time Once, In College.

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