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Things My Brain Treats Like Optional DLC

Living with Chronic Illness is basically like living with a brain that’s trying its best… but also doing parkour off the furniture. Some days I’m thriving, some days I’m forgetting what I’m doing mid-sentence, and honestly? Most days I’m just negotiating with my own executive function like it’s a hostile coworker. So here’s a little peek behind the curtain: the things my brain treats like optional DLC.

1. Object permanence… most of the time.
If I put it down and walk away, it may as well have been launched into another dimension. Keys, water bottles, important documents — all living their best lives in the ADHD void. Tell me its important, its the surefire way to get me to lose it.

2. Starting tasks? Easy. Finishing them? Bold of you to assume.
I will begin a project with Olympic enthusiasm and then abandon it halfway like a Victorian ghost girl drifting out of a scene. Don’t believe me? My craft desk is currently auditioning for a documentary called ‘When Hobbies Attack.’ Pearls would be clutched. Fainting couches would be used.

3. Time? A concept. A myth. A prank.
Ten minutes feels like an hour, an hour feels like twelve seconds, and deadlines feel like cosmic jokes written specifically for me. I need to get up, says my brain, the laundry should be done. Sure, its done, as is the day, the entire day slipped through my grasp like time itself saw me trying and said, ‘Aw, cute,’ before sprinting off.

4. Noise? Too much. Silence? Also too much.
I am either overstimulated by the faint hum of the fridge or suddenly panicking because the quiet feels suspicious. There is no chill setting. I generally leave the tv on and use the mute button, sometimes I even remember to unmute or unpause (go me)

5. Hyperfocus that appears only for hobbies, never chores.
Ask me to reorganize a shelf for fun? Instant productivity demon. Ask me to fold laundry? My brain blue screens. Meanwhile the laundry is over there quietly becoming part of the home’s structural integrity.

6. Forgetting why I opened a new tab mid-click.
My fingers click “new tab” with confidence. My brain immediately abandons the mission. We will never know what the goal was. This is the thing I hate the most. Yesterday I was at hubby’s desk and he was saying something and I said ‘I’ll go look that up’ and I turned and FELT myself forgetting it, I hadnt made it to the door when I had to turn back around and apologized and asked him to repeat himself.

7. Needing a reward just to take a shower like it’s a game quest.
“+10 XP for personal hygiene. New achievement unlocked: You Finally Did It.”
Honestly, adulting would be easier if life came with a loot box. Honestly, the only thing getting me in that shower is the promise of pajamas immediately after. The shower helps most days its just the act of doing all the things is exhausting.

8. “I’ll do it in a minute” — famous last words.
Because that “minute” might be five hours later… or three to five business days, depending on vibes and moon phases. And if a kid interrupts me? Congratulations, that task has now been postponed indefinitely.

Sure, my brain is a gremlin on roller skates, but honestly? I’m still waking up and doing my best every day. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other.

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Reasons I Walked Into This Room (Spoiler: I Still Don’t Know)

An ADHD mystery in real time

Here I am, standing in my bedroom, looking around like I’ve never seen this place before in my life. I definitely had a purpose when I left the kitchen. I was very determined. I had INTENT.

Now? I got nothing.

What I Tell Myself It Might Have Been:

  1. To get my phone charger
    (Nope my phone is at 97%)
  2. To grab that important document I need
    (what document? for what? the mystery deepens)
  3. To put away that thing I left in here yesterday
    (what thing? which yesterday? time is a construct)
  4. To check if I left my coffee cup in here
    (I’m not even drinking coffee today)
  5. To get something for my kid who asked for… something
    (they’re at school. it’s Tuesday. I think.)
  6. To turn off a light that was bothering me
    (all the lights are off. it’s 2 PM. I’m questioning reality)
  7. To find my glasses
    (they’re on my head. they’ve been on my head this entire time)
  8. To get that book I was reading
    (I haven’t touched a book in three weeks, what am I even talking about)
  9. To look for my keys so I don’t lose them later
    (they’re in my pocket. jingling. mocking me)

The Actual Reason:

I followed the cat.

The cat had no destination either.

We’re both just standing here now, equally confused, staring at each other and wondering what we’re doing with our lives. At least the cat has an excuse – he’s a cat. His life goals include knocking things off counters, judging my life choices, and staring at invisible things on the wall.

I’m a grown adult who apparently takes navigation cues from a creature whose biggest daily decision is which sunny spot to nap in.

Current Status:

Still in the room. Still don’t know why. The cat has moved on to more important cat business (aggressive grooming of one specific paw). I’m considering asking him for directions back to whatever I was originally doing, but he’s giving me that look that says, “Figure it out yourself, human. I’m not your GPS.”

Maybe I’ll just stay here forever. Set up camp. Make this room my new home base. At least then when people ask “Why are you in here?” I can say “I live here now. This is my life. The cat is my roommate. We don’t ask questions.”

Anyone else take mystery tours of their own house, or is it just me and my feline guide to nowhere?

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The ADHD Shopping Experience: How I Went for Milk and Came Home with a Succulent, Three Notebooks, and No Milk

A play-by-play of my brain vs. reality, or: Why simple errands are never simple

Setting the Scene: Just need milk. One item. Simple mission. What could possibly go wrong?


In the Parking Lot

ADHD Brain: “Okay, milk. Just milk. Wait, should I make a list? No, it’s just ONE thing. But what if I see something else we need while I’m there? Maybe I should text hubby and ask… no, that’s ridiculous. It’s MILK. But what kind of milk? 2% or whole? Did we discuss this? Should I check the fridge from here? Can’t do that. Focus. MILK. M-I-L-K. Got it.”

Fibromyalgia Body: “Why does every parking space require a trek equivalent to hiking the Appalachian Trail? And why is it windy? Wind makes everything hurt more.”

What Actually Happened: Sat in my car for 5 minutes trying to remember if we needed 2% or whole milk, googled “difference between 2% and whole milk nutritionally” fell down a rabbit hole about dairy farming, got distracted by a text from my mom, completely forgot why I had googled dairy farming, and finally got out of the car having made zero progress on the milk question.


Entering the Store

ADHD Brain: “Straight to dairy section. Do not pass Go. Do not collect impulse purchases. Laser focus. I am a milk-seeking missile.”

Fibromyalgia Body: “Of course I grabbed the cart with the wobbliest wheel in existence. Every step is sending shock waves through my joints. This cart sounds like a dying pterodactyl.”

Bipolar Brain: “Actually, this is kind of fun! Look at all the possibilities! So many choices! I love having choices!”

What Actually Happened: Grabbed the first cart without testing it (rookie mistake), immediately got distracted by the seasonal display of Halloween decorations prominently displayed in August, spent three minutes judging the capitalist machine that pushes holidays earlier each year, then realized I was still standing at the front of the store holding a cart that sounded like it was powered by wounded animals.


Stop #1: The Pharmacy Section

ADHD Brain: “Wait, didn’t I need to pick up that prescription? When was that due? Was it today or tomorrow? Better check while I’m here. Multitasking!”

Fibromyalgia Body: “Standing in lines is torture. Why does every person in front of me have the most complicated prescription issue in pharmacy history?”

What Actually Happened: Joined the pharmacy line without checking if I actually had a prescription ready, discovered I didn’t, but got into a fascinating conversation with the pharmacist about medication timing, learned three new things about drug interactions, forgot why I came to the store entirely, then remembered MILk when I saw the refrigerated section behind the pharmacy counter.


The Succulent Section (How Is This Even a Section?)

ADHD Brain: “Ooh, plants! I could be a plant person! Look at this tiny perfect one – it probably needs rescuing from this fluorescent wasteland. I would give it a good home. I’d name it Gerald. Gerald deserves better than this. I’ll just—NO. MILK. FOCUS. But Gerald is so small and perfect…”

Bipolar Brain (manic whispering): “Plants are scientifically proven to improve mental health! This could be your new hobby! You deserve nice things! Gerald could be the first of many! Think of the Instagram potential!”

Fibromyalgia Body: “Bending over to look at these tiny plants is making my back scream, but Gerald IS pretty cute…”

What Actually Happened: Bought four succulents (Gerald, Susan, Peter,and one I didn’t name because I was trying to show restraint), plus a decorative pot that cost more than the plants, and mentally planned their placement in every room of my house despite historically being a plant serial killer.


Stop #2: The Drive-Through Coffee (Because Obviously)

ADHD Brain: “I should get coffee for this epic grocery mission. Caffeine will help me focus on the milk objective. This is strategic, not procrastination.”

Fibromyalgia Body: “My head is starting to hurt. Coffee will help. Coffee fixes everything.”

Bipolar Brain: “Treat yourself! You’re doing great! You deserve a fancy drink!”

What Actually Happened: Ordered a complicated seasonal latte, paid for it, thanked the barista, drove off immediately, got three blocks away before realizing I never actually received my coffee, circled back through the drive-through again to explain my ADHD brain to a confused teenager, got my coffee and a pitying look, then sat in the parking lot for 10 minutes mentally writing this exact blog post.


The Notebook Aisle (My Natural Habitat)

ADHD Brain: “These are on SALE! I always need notebooks! What if I run out of places to write my brilliant thoughts? What if this specific type gets discontinued forever and I never find another notebook that feels this perfect in my hands? This is an INVESTMENT.”

Bipolar Brain: “Look at all these possibilities! You could start journaling again! Or write that novel! Or organize your life! Each notebook could be a fresh start!”

What Actually Happened: Bought notebooks in three different sizes for “different purposes” – one for grocery lists (ironic, considering), one for “important thoughts,” and one for daily planning that I’ll definitely use this time, unlike the other twelve identical notebooks at home. Spent fifteen minutes arranging them in my cart by color.


At Checkout

ADHD Brain: “Mission accomplished! Wait… what was my mission? Milk! Did I get milk? I feel like I’m forgetting something important. Why do I have plants? OH RIGHT, Gerald!”

Fibromyalgia Body: “Why is this checkout line moving so slowly? My feet are killing me. Should have gotten a scooter cart.”

Cashier: “Did you find everything you needed today?”

Me: “Everything except what I came for!”

What Actually Happened: Paid $47 for succulents, notebooks, Halloween candy (forgot to mention grabbing that), fancy soap that “smelled like my childhood,” and a magazine about organizing your life. No milk. Not even close to milk.


Back Home

Family: “Did you get milk?”

Me: “I got… life lessons? And Gerald.”

Family: “Who’s Gerald?”

Me: “My new succulent son. Also, we still need milk.”

ADHD Brain: “But look how happy Gerald looks on the windowsill! This was basically a success!”


The Moral of the Story: Sometimes the journey is more important than the destination. Sometimes that journey involves adopting plant children and buying notebooks you don’t need. And sometimes you just have to go back to the store tomorrow for milk, but with Gerald watching over you from his new pot. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other.

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Sunday Scaries, Spoonie Style: A Checklist for Surviving Monday Without Crying (Much)

If Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest, why does it feel like a suspense thriller called “What Fresh Hell Will Monday Bring?”

📝 Quick bulleted list to get you ready for Monday:

  •  Locate your bra.
    Or make peace with not wearing one. Honestly, if it doesn’t bring me joy, it’s not making the cut today.
  •  Stare at your meds and pretend you’re not already tired of managing this circus.
    The greatest show on Earth is mostly side effects and co-pays.
  •  Do exactly none of the things you swore you’d prep this weekend.
    I meant to meal prep, but I accidentally disassociated for 24 hours. Like a whole day just gone!
  •  Question if you actually rested, or if you just laid still while panicking quietly.
    There’s a difference between rest and being emotionally paralyzed. I did the second one.
  •  Mentally prepare to act like a human when your body screams “nope.”
    The performance is called “Functioning Adult” and I deserve an Oscar.
  •  Tell yourself this week you will go to bed on time (you liar).
    Sure, keep spewing those filthy lies until one day it happens on accident lol
  •  Wonder if it’s too late to run away and become a moss-covered tree sprite.
    Honestly? Forest Wi-Fi sounds more stable than my mental health.
  •  Make a meal plan that may or may not involve cereal and vibes.
    Nutritional value: questionable. Emotional support: unmatched.

    💡 

You made it to Sunday. That’s already a win. Monday can wait its damn turn. Til next time gang, we got this! Take care of yourselves, and each other!