Are Moths Big in Hawaii?

And other ADHD chatter.

I have nothing profound to say. I don't like the way the words look on the screen. I tried writing in a notebook but it didn't help, it just made my hand ache, really quickly.

I'm trying to write a novel. I can't even write a letter. Where is my creative juice? 🧠🥤

Noise is hard for me right now, I have tinnitus from a recently discovered, but severe, dental issue—lets not go there though, it's too depressing, and is also something of a medical phenomenon!

Even if I didn't have tinnitus from said dental issue, I'd still be going savage at the sound of the people in my house moving. Pages being turned in books, iPads giving off constant background noise. Washing machines spinning sounding like helicopter propellers. Doors opening and closing, electric toothbrushes whirring, showers running like electrical pitter patter.

The sounds vibrate through my head as if there's a live hornets nest nestled in my trigeminal nerve waiting to sting me to death. My teeth knock together, a quiet but painful chatter. I am enraged.

I have new neighbours, I haven't met them yet. Mostly because I'm antisocial. Now though I kind of wish I had met them. At least before I heard them. Maybe then I'd be less inclined to judge them for screaming into their —insert the latest games console here— all evening/night long. Then screaming at eachother for doing so. I can no longer pretend that it doesn't really grind my gears. The poor fuckers are clearly having more fun than me, and I hate that for me.

I've morphed into a moody-menopausal-crone at the grand age of just thirty-seven and it hurts my pride, my heart, and my brain, that this is who I am.

Sometimes I feel like my brain is a whole other being, making it's own decisions based solely on how much they’ll fuck me off.

Seriously.. let's think about what that lump of mincemeat is upto in there. It's responsible for everything and I don't think it's a very good CEO.

Experiencing pain? Brain.

Migraine attacks and light sensitivity, inability to tolerate sound? Brain.

Foggy thoughts thick with regret of all the tasks I'll never complete, like aforementioned novel? Brain.

Some days I lie in my bed itching from head to toe with nervous energy, desperate to use it on something credible. A post worth reading, the creation of something useful. Maybe even redecorating the house or similar, and yet, when I come to do one of these tasks, brain says “Nah, there's nothing here for you” and on a really bad day the chatter might escalate, pointing out that nobody wants to read the utter tripe I write about my shitty little life.

See what I mean? Brains are brutal.

Tonight I’m fighting back, I'm trying to pull the creativity out of the mincemeat in my head. I thought, “fuck you, brain.” I'm going to write anyway. Even if it's midnight and I should have been asleep hours ago. Even without the energy to read back and edit. I took a stand expelling the modicum of creativity the random thoughts stir up. I decided, out they must come.

Wow — I sound unhinged, even to myself. I feel a little unhinged to be honest, though not too much. I've definitely been more unhinged on previous occasions.

I know. You might (probably/definitely) be reading this and thinking what the actual fuck!!! And if that's the case then, welcome friends! This is a safe space.

It's important for me to get honest here. I know the one or two of you that bother to read my emails (okay one) might be reading this thinking, this woman is mad. Well yeah duh, women are mad, and we have every fucking right to be. Don't get me started….

But perhaps there's a small part of you that is reading this feeling like yep, my brain’s a mess too. Or I feel like a slug with no brain at all sometimes too. Perhaps you're feeling useless, guilty, burdensome to your loved ones and as useless in the same way that Mary Poppins is practically perfect? Well, I'm writing this for you.

Art is a lot like healing and just like living, it’s messy.

A few days ago I googled “Are moths big in Hawaii” after seeing an unidentified flying object land on a pool in the middle of Temptation Island — and it was then, dear reader, that I though nuh uh, no way, I can't keep this madness all to myself. I had to share it with you, because a problem shared is a problem that can and will embarrass me, and if I ever bother to finish that novel and make the Sunday Times BS list (do with that acronym what you will) is likely to get me *cancelled* in years to come. But, even with all that said I'm sharing anyway because a problem, whatever it might be, is at least good writing fodder.

So, to the menopausal, hormonal, ADHD chatter-brains, or simply to the one person who as I mentioned earlier, bothers to read this, I want you to know it's okay to be a little unhinged from time to time. Consider this your public service announcement to go ahead and let your brain do it's thing. Something wonderful might grow in the wreckage.

Have a good week!

xoxo

Steph