The air around me is tight but not tight enough. I feel like I could fall into what’s around me, become part of it, and disappear, unable to breach any sort of relieving surface. There’s an aching inside my head and everything that brushes against my skin lights up like a match. I snap when I’m spoken to and there’s still a part of me that just begging me to act normal, to put on a straight face, and to deal with things as normally as I can.
My hands are ice and my cheeks are burning. Every time someone so much as glances at me, my heart jumps in my chest. They can see right through me. They can see the static inside my head and the raging eagerness to be alone. I can’t focus. What I want to do is retreating from me, hiding away in all the heightened senses I can’t stand to have right now. Every single noise, no matter how small or insignificant, is like a shrill scream right in my ear. I can’t ignore the heater, or the scribbling of other pencils, or the wind rushing by. All of these are things I could usually put on the backburner, not give a second thought- but right now I just can’t.
This is what overstimulation feels like. Everything is happening at once and it stays that way for a while. It’s like being trapped inside your own body, but also being locked out at the same time. You feel every so vividly, too vividly, and you can’t control it.
To say the least, it’s hell.
I get incredibly angry and anxious when I’m overstimulated. I hated being talked to, but it’s not like I can tell someone “Hey, I’m kind of freaking out right now. Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me.” That’s either because I can’t even bring myself to talk to someone for fear of hearing my own voice boom in my head, loud and clear. Or it’s because I’m afraid they’ll ask me what’s wrong, are you okay, do you need someone? Or, God forbid, they try to hug me or put an arm around me, like any normal friend would.
I don’t blame them for wanting to do those things- they just want to help. But I can’t bring myself to come in contact with another person or talk about how I feel when everything is just so intense. A hug feels like a vice, an arm feels like a leash, a conversation seems like shouting across a vast canyon and it rubs my throat raw with dread.
So, I say nothing. I feel my eyes water and the ground’s unevenness underneath my feet. I feel my heart beating in my chest, which is easily the worst thing in my opinion. Especially if I’m trying to sleep through the episode and it’s the only thing I can focus on when I lay down.
Sleeping through it doesn’t happen often, in case you’re wondering.
Instead, I have to watch everything pass by in front of me and fight through the feeling of absolute doom even though nothing is wrong. Not really. I’ve been through much worse for much longer. But this feels endless, despite me knowing better.
Overstimulation sucks, to be frank. But I try to focus on better things until it takes its turn with my attention and hands me back over to something I’d much rather spend time on. It’s not the first time I’ve been completely encapsulated in this state and, no matter how frustrating it is to admit, it won’t be the last.
