At 11, they said I was gifted.

At 12, they said I was exceptional.

At 17, they said I was destined for greatness.

At 18, they ask why I’m “falling behind.”

How do I explain that brilliance has a weight?

That the world’s expectations were too heavy for a teenage spine?

That burnout isn’t a flame you blow out —

it’s an implosion you carry quietly.

Gifted girls don’t become prodigies.

They become tired.

Even to dream…

If anxiety is a storm, then ADHD paralysis is the moment after — when everything is eerily silent, yet devastating.

People think paralysis is laziness.

It isn’t.

It’s my mind running at 300 mph while my body moves at 0.

I can conceptualize an entire research project, outline a novel, diagnose a fictional character’s neurological disorder, analyze an X-Men plotline for sociopolitical relevance…

but I cannot make myself fold my laundry.

There is a cruelty in being brilliant in thought but frozen in action.

A quiet tragedy no one claps for.

Hey…look at that girl with her Doula Certification…

Said nobody ever.

Years of being “the smart girl” + “the too old parents’ last chance child” + “the secretly overwhelmed introvert/extrovert” has resulted in…

the legendary Under-the-Rock Era.

My brain has entered hibernation mode.

Please leave snacks at the entrance. Kindly, turn out the lights on your way out. (Burnouts hibernate best in the dark)

…somethings. gotta. give.

I spent Valentine’s Day with the most inconsistent partner I’ve ever had:

my mind.

(No Tall, Dark and Handsome this blog post isn’t about you unfortunately! You’re nicer to me and my add/adhd bipolar self than I am by far thankfully! Not that you would ever know as this place of expression is MY one little secret and mine to keep)

Back to the star of this circus freak loaded train-wreck…the treacherous mini-minefield that which is my bleeding mind.

Sometimes she is dazzling — a constellation of ideas, insights, and unprovoked epiphanies.

Other times she is gone, drifting somewhere between “should I finally clean this room?” and “maybe I should learn quantum physics.”

I forgive her though.

She has given me the gift of hyperfocus — the superpower that lets me consume entire textbooks in one sitting.

And the curse of paralysis — the shadowed twin that leaves me staring at the wall, utterly immobilized.

It’s a strange romance, but it’s mine. (No babe, not talking about you again. Theres nothing strange about you! Well, definitely less strange then me… hmpfh.)

There is a strange existential heaviness in being eighteen — as if the universe hands you a box labeled “Adulthood,” but when you open it, it’s just a thousand unsorted puzzle pieces that don’t even belong to the same picture.

My brain is a paradox:

Half of me wants to map out my life like a medical school syllabus, color-coded, annotated, pub-medified.

The other half wants to just give up, lie on my bed and contemplate the metaphysics of the dust particles on the underside of the shelf my poor slightly OCD very RN mother somehow missed as I was shooing her out of my room so she wouldn’t wrap the whole room up into a Hefty garbage bag and throw it out with the trash.

I oscillate between reading neuroanatomy for fun

and forgetting to eat because my executive function collapsed like a failed soufflé that someone forgot to add enough potassium bitartrate (aka cream of tartar) to to stabilize the egg whites.

…currently reading “The Cake Bible” by Beranbaum. (Don’t worry, I wouldn’t step into a kitchen with a hazmat suit on OR if you paid me. It’s really not bad for some late-night light reading though.)

…Then continuing to scarf down half the fridge once I’m over burnout-mode.

Is this growth? (My growing waist-band sure thinks so)

Or is this the soft beginning of a life changing, fully debilitating, paralysis mimicking and permanent burnout blooming quietly behind my ribs?

Both, probably. Definitely both.

…or is it my IBS firing up again from that dratted (yet, scrumptious) 5- course desi meal mom made for dinner again…

sigh…

I’m a paradox in low-rise jeans.

I LIVE FOR the quiet but the minute I’m around strangers why am I suddenly the loudest one there. Even louder around the people I trust, and cynically funny in my own head. It exhausts me to no end…but I don’t think I can stop.

ADHD/ADD girls just come with multiple settings and no manual.

…Or brakes, a steering wheel and very limited fuel gauges to boot…sigh

I was supposed to organize my closet.

Instead…

I redesigned an entire website, corrected someone’s biology homework, wrote three future-blog intros, and alphabetized my lip glosses.

My closet?

Still a crime scene.

Desi aunties today:

“You’re so mature for your age!”

Also desi aunties today:

“You’re still a baby! Badtameez!!”

Me:

“So… am I allowed to have opinions or do I wait till my warranty expires?”

Their faces: ❗🥭❗

I cleaned my room today and found:

4 half-dissected highlighters (Dude, why though??!!?)

1 biology book open to “endocrine system”

1 plate of fries fossilized into a museum artifact

14 sticky notes with half-thoughts and the realization that I might have invented ADHD before the doctors did.

Dad thinks I’m “studious but messy.”

I think I’m “chaotically brilliant with poor housekeeping skills.”

Both can coexist.