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People ask what it’s like to live with ADHD. Imagine living inside a chaotic, over-caffeinated, never-closing restaurant. Not working there—actually living in it.
The lights are fluorescent and unflinching. The espresso machine hisses constantly. A kid is shrieking because his nuggets touched his peas. And someone—some monster—is playing Bohemian Rhapsody on repeat in the corner. Welcome to my brain. It never closes, never quiets, and never runs out of weird background noise.
Now imagine you sit down across from me, trying to chat. You’re asking if I can babysit later this evening. I’m nodding, making eye contact, following and participating in all the social cues. But also:
- A couple three tables over is having their second breakup of the evening and loudly unpacking childhood trauma.
- A waiter just tripped and launched iced tea into the air like the grand finale at a water park.
- A woman screamed so loudly my eyelid started twitching and now I’m worried you can see its Morse Code for “Please send help.”
- Someone nearby is chewing like they’re getting paid per squelch. I cannot un-hear it.
- I think I left my flat iron on. Or my stove. Or both. Or neither. I might’ve just imagined the entire house.
Meanwhile, your babysitting request is still circling my brain like it’s looking for parking. It’ll land eventually. Maybe. Right after I figure out whether to order dessert or fake a sudden emergency so I can exit the scene. Will “Oh no! My cousin’s ferret is stuck in the ceiling vent again!” sound legit? Am I—could I be—a ferret whisperer?
So no, I can’t babysit. Not because I don’t love you. Not because I don’t love your tiny human. It’s just that my brain is already at capacity with chaos, background noise, and existential dread.
Enjoy the breadsticks. Let’s remember to tip the waiter. Thanks for understanding.