Neurora

It must be nice— not to hear, not to feel, not to notice everything, all the time.

How nice would it to not hear the water rushing down the pipes to not feel every gust of wind going past your skin to not smell the soap the person in front of you used

How amazing would it be to not hear four conversations while trying to hold your own to not feel the uneven tiles or stones below your feet to not get overwhelmed by the taste of food

How wonderful is it to not hear the ticking of the clock to not feel the vibrations of the people in your environment to not taste the different brand product in your meal

How terrific could it be to tolerate sensations like these or even better — to just not register them in the first place

Wouldn't it be awful to hear every click of every keyboard and mouse to feel all the accessories pressing against your skin to hear the fan of a laptop spinning all the time without being able to ignore it

Wouldn't it be horrible to hear the compressor of the fridge all the time to feel the seam of your sock to feel the skin of the chair against your skin without being able to ignore it

It would be dreadful to feel your eyelashes sticking to each other to feel one hair pressing on your skin to be blinded by a dim screen to find almost silent headphones too loud to get irritated by residue on your hands

Sometimes I seem distracted. Like I’m not all there. But really, I’m just trying to keep my head above water while the noise keeps rising.

Talking is difficult. But explaining why is hard to put into words.

Sometimes, talking feels like a waste. Not because the other person isn’t worth it— But because of the effort it takes.

Other times, I’m just not sure what to say. I need more time… Or a voice that gives me friction— so I can begin to create my own.

There are moments when— I have no answer. No opinion to offer. No thoughts at all.

So sometimes I don’t speak. Not out of rudeness or disinterest… There’s silence in me that I can’t explain.

And that’s okay with me. I’ve made peace with my silence.

But that doesn’t mean I have nothing to say. There’s a whole world inside me— thoughts, feelings, opinions.

They just don’t always come out. It’s not that I don’t want to reply. But the words, the thoughts— just… don’t come.

This is me trying to put my experience into words. It will be different for many people. I have met plenty of individuals for whom it's different.

But for me… it's complex. It comes in many different shapes— and caused by many different situations.

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Hearing

Sometimes it’s loud. Sometimes it’s just… wrong— Too sharp, too fast, too repetitive, too layered.

And when it’s been too much for too long, There’s no middle ground left.

I can’t stand any of it anymore. I try to block it with music, but that only pushes me further… And if I try to turn it down… it will be muted.

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Vision

Sometimes the light itself is too much. Not because it’s technically bright— just intrusive—flashes of light.

Even walking past a simple lamp is too bright. The sun reflecting off a wall. A screen's glow, even though it’s already quite dim.

They all start to hurt my eyes.

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Touch

Most of the time, I want neutrality. I don’t want anything tight, scratchy, or textured.

A hair brushing against my skin. The clothing I have been wearing for hours. Even a pet sleeping on my lap.

But when things flip— suddenly they all are too much.

And I want to throw a table. Not from anger, but out of frustration. I just… want it to stop.

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All the things and many more. All of this gathers like a body of water

And if it reaches too high… my brain becomes heavy, like it's drowning

No more fucks to be given— There’s no more pleasure in life. My body gets muted, and sensations disappear.

Until enough time has passed for the water to evaporate. Giving me time to recover, only waiting for the next time it will precipitate.

It’s the last day of a long weekend. Four days off. No work. It should feel like rest. But it doesn’t…

I don’t hate it. But I’m not well either. I feel sluggish. A bit like being tired, but without the sleep.

I have lost my rhythm– the momentum that usually carries me through the day. And then even simple things—starting something, moving, and eating—feel heavier than they should.

I’m not stuck between wanting to rest and needing to work. It’s not like that. It’s more like I’ve lost the thread. And I don’t know how to pick it back up.

I want to build a life that works even without external structure. A rhythm that doesn’t rely on others to give it shape.

But I’m scared of becoming too rigid. What if I build something that helps— but over time, it becomes a structure I can’t leave?

I don’t know what to do with this yet. But it keeps showing up.

Self-expression is a difficult topic, if you ask me. Because: “Who am I?”, “What do I want?”, and “What if I change my mind?“

I hate stickers—not that I can’t stand them. I just never know what to do with them.

Because what if I change my mind about their placement? Or the rotation? Or I just don’t like the sticker anymore… It will either mess up the surface on which i have placed the sticker or it will mess up the sticker itself.

I have always had ‘issues’ with personalization and the expression of myself. It goes way back… Why did I need to make my art more personalized, isn’t art all about self-expression and doing what you want?

I have always been more drawn to picture and images than words. I rarely remember series or movies by their name. But show me a scene or the cover, and I’ll recognize it instantly.

But I have always had trouble expressing things with images or drawing myself. I never could get it right—what ended up on paper doesn’t match what I had in my mind.

I also preferred pencils over pens. If I didn’t like something or wanted to adjust something, I could just wipe it off the paper and change it. But pencils had their own down sides, like they needed to be sharpened from time to time.

For these – and probably many more – I have always felt a mental battle which needed to be fought before I could put something on paper. A hill which needed to be climbed to have an attempt at getting better putting thoughts on paper.

But recently I have had a small victory!

I have bought a myself a tablet with a pen. Being able to draw digitally felt a bit strange at first. But the mental battle before putting something on paper was almost nonexistent.

I found myself way more often grabbing my tablet to draw out my thoughts.

Making the expression of my thoughts just a little bit easier…

It sounds small. Like a non-problem. But it’s not.

I want to sit down. I want to work on my own ideas—anything that feels engaging or meaningful. I want to get into that focused state where my brain lights up and I lose track of time. But almost every time I try, my body pushes back.

It starts with restlessness. A strange discomfort that spreads through my limbs—not pain, not fatigue, just… unease. Like something is off in a way I can’t quite name.

I feel my limbs too much. Why are my arms or legs there? Why is my sock just off? Why isn’t my shirt sitting right? My chair doesn’t hurt, but I can’t relax into it. My desk is familiar, but it feels wrong. Not hostile, just… not right.

I’ve tried changing things. I’ve moved to the couch, bed, floor... I’ve wrapped myself in blankets. I’ve changed the lighting. I’ve played music. I’ve turned everything off. Some things help for a while. But nothing helps every time.

The moment I try to start—even when it’s something I want to do—my body becomes uneasy. Like it doesn’t know how to settle. Or like it’s waiting for something before it will let me begin.

And then the longer I sit there, the more my mind spirals. I want to do something. I like doing things. But I’m stuck, waiting for the discomfort to pass—and it doesn’t.

I don’t hear much about this kind of experience. Not in a way that feels familiar. Not the kind of “distraction” or “lack of motivation” people usually talk about. It’s something deeper…

It’s not that I don’t care. It’s not that I’m lazy. It’s just… I can’t sit at my desk.