Too much in my head: when creativity is also exhausting
There's a constant noise in my head. Not a sound, not a ringing. A flow. Ideas, connections, "what ifs," projects, sentences, conversations that haven't happened yet. It never stops. When I go to bed at night, it continues. When I wake up at 3am, it's often because my brain found a link between two completely unrelated things, and it needed to show me. Right now. At 3am.
For a long time, I thought this was normal. That everyone had this. That everyone lived with 4 or 5 threads of thought running in parallel, constantly. Then I started talking about it. And I realized that no. Most people can sit quietly in their own head. I've never found the off switch.
The creative flow, real version
When people talk about "ADHD creativity," they see the output. Ideas that fly, surprising connections, the ability to see a problem from an angle nobody considered. And it's true, that happens. I make links between distant subjects, sometimes it produces something interesting.
What people don't see is the cost. Having a brain that generates nonstop also means having a brain that never rests. Ideas arrive uninvited, at the wrong time, in overwhelming numbers. In the shower, in the middle of a conversation, while trying to sleep. And every idea that shows up demands attention, even if you don't consciously give it any. It's like having the radio on permanently in a room where you're trying to read.
Gabor Mate, in Scattered Minds (1999), describes the ADHD brain as one that doesn't filter enough. Not just external stimuli, but internal ones too. Thoughts, images, associations. Everything gets through. Nothing is sorted at the gate.
The graveyard of projects
I have a folder on my computer called "Ideas." It contains 143 files. Beginnings of projects, concept notes, plans sketched at 2am. Out of those 143 files, maybe 7 became something. The rest is mental energy that led nowhere.
It's not procrastination. It's a brain that catches fire for something, dives in with total intensity for 3, 5, maybe 12 days, then moves on. Not out of boredom in the usual sense. Because the dopamine of novelty has evaporated, and without dopamine, the ADHD brain won't start.
The feeling that stays is a mix of frustration and guilt. So many beginnings, so few endings. It weighs on you over time.
The invisible fatigue
There's a fatigue that comes with this. Not physical fatigue, not post-effort fatigue. A fatigue from having thought too much. From following too many threads at once. From being in the future while the day was happening in the present.
Some evenings, I'm exhausted without having done anything visible. No exercise, no intense work, nothing that justifies the tiredness. But the brain ran all day. It generated, connected, projected, anticipated. And that burns energy, even if nobody sees it.
Try explaining that to someone. "I'm tired." "Of what?" "Of thinking." You probably know the look you get.
What I've found to turn down the volume
Intense exercise. It's the only thing that truly empties my head. Not walking, not gentle yoga (my brain keeps generating through those). Something physical enough that the brain has no bandwidth left for anything else. After 45 minutes of swimming, I get about an hour of inner quiet. It's become essential.
Writing. Not necessarily to publish. Writing to empty out. When the ideas spin too fast, putting them on paper is like opening a valve. They come out, they're somewhere, I don't need to keep them in memory anymore. This site, in a way, is also that.
Deep conversations. Not small talk (that exhausts me differently). Real conversations where someone listens and responds with their own ideas. It channels the flow. Instead of 5 threads in parallel, there's just one, shared with someone.
Acceptance (in progress)
I'm not going to tell you I've made peace with all of this. Some days, the mental noise weighs on me. I wish I could sit in a cafe and just be there, without my brain going in 6 directions. I wish I finished more projects and started fewer.
But I've also understood something: the creative flow and the mental noise are the same thing seen from two sides. I can't keep one while turning off the other. The surprising connections and the 3am thought loops come from the same place.
So I'm learning to live with the volume, not to cut it. To put down what I can. To empty when it gets too full. And to accept that some days, being in your head is just too much.