Lumalee and ADHD
- Alexander Rodriguez
- 5 days ago
- 3 min read
“🎶 Life is sad, prison is sad, life in prison is very, very sad 🎶”
Lumalee, who is an adorably tiny star creature from the Super Mario Galaxy, sings this line in such a joyful tone that you almost forget they’re singing something depressing. Everything that Lumalee says shocks and surprises the audience. Mothers grasp their pearls, fathers go tense and wide-eyed, and then there’s me, laughing with tears of understanding in my eyes; I know exactly where Lumalee is coming from. It’s not the nihilism or the honest, direct approach. It’s not the dark humor accompanying what seems to be an existential crisis. It’s something else that I couldn’t quite grasp that made Lumaleee so relatable. I turned to research in hopes of finding an answer. After some quick google-fu, I realized why this fictitious being resonated so intensely. Lumalee represents PTSD manifesting in an ADHD individual, PTS(ADH)D if you will.
I’ll tell you why.
First, the character’s origin. Lumalee is from a race of beings called Luma’s that willingly sacrifice themselves to become planets or supernovas to save galaxies. This trauma manifests in a humorously dark way that catches most by surprise and thinking, “what the fuck?” I worked as a paramedic in the past, alongside first responders and hospital personnel, and this is exactly the type of humor I developed. It’s nothing more than a coping mechanism to deal with the crushing weight of existing in a world where you see death daily. It’ll leave you saying things like, “There is no sunshine, only darkness,” while still sounding like you are filled with overwhelming happiness. The trauma lingers and makes you feel trapped, like our beloved Lumalee in their cage. Despite the cage, however, Lumalee can free themselves. For some of us suffering from PTSD, many of the ‘cages’ that trap us are self-made, which means we have the power to free ourselves. Those cages are built from the pain we can’t seem to get rid of, and it drives us to discard hope, “The only hope is the sweet release of death.”
Cue the gasp.
Lumalee’s neurodivergence is more obvious than their PTSD; we see it the moment they’re introduced. We first see Lumalee spinning around in their cage, having a grand ole, self-contained time despite being imprisoned. And in true ADHD fashion, Lumalee goes from “wheeeeee!” to answering Luigi’s question about time with, “Time, like hope, is an illusion!” while continuing to gleefully spin around. This brings jeers from another cage and a response of, “Please, we are depressed enough.” From the start, the other imprisoned characters tell Luigi that Lumalee is cute but crazy, something I often hear from neurotypical folks who don’t quite know what to make of what neurodivergent folks do and say. What they see as crazy is simply an intelligent way of dealing with trauma and reality while maintaining a positive attitude. Like Lumalee says, “In an insane world, it is the sane who are called crazy.”
The Luma’s are also jack-of-all-trades. They can be anything and do anything. ADHDers are often people exactly like that, individuals who hyper-focus on a ton of hobbies and seem like they can do just about anything. The problem is that some of us can’t control the focus, yet we’re somehow able to help others. Combine that need and willingness to help others with the crushing weight of traumatic experiences, and you get someone willing to destroy themselves for everyone else. Just like Lumas willingly sacrificing themselves to save galaxies, some ADHDers will frequently put others first.
So that’s it.
“Now that’s a happy ending, or is it? Because everything’s over now, and all that’s left is you and the infinite void. Kind of makes you want to play saxophone, huh?”
Cue the sax
