I have come to the very scientific conclusion that I am only fully alive when I am hyperfixating.
Like, yes, I exist otherwise. I breathe. I attend life. I reply “okay” to messages. But when I’m hyperfixated? Oh, that’s when the soul clocks in. That’s when my brain lights up like a city at night and suddenly everything has texture.
This is usually accompanied by: – one song on an unhealthy loop
– writing at hours meant for sleeping
– a fictional person / idea/ story living rent free in my head
– me thinking “I have never felt emotions like this before” (I have. Many times.)
Writing becomes oxygen. Music becomes a personality trait. My thoughts stop tripping over each other and instead sprint in the same direction like they’re late for something important.
This is the version of me that feels sharp, dramatic, intense.... in a hot way. The overthinking finally becomes useful. The emotions stop piling up and start turning into sentences. I’m not bored. I’m not numb. I’m consumed. And honestly? I thrive like that.
And when the hyperfixation ends, it’s tragic. The world goes from HD to 480p. Suddenly I’m like “Why am I a human? Why is time linear? Why am I not obsessed with anything right now?” But nothing is wrong, this is just the comedown after feeling everything.
I don’t want peace. I want immersion.
I don’t want calm. I want intensity.
I don’t want to skim life. I want to fall into it headfirst.
This is how I love things. This is how I survive my own brain.
If that sounds like a lot, yeah. It is. And it’s also me.