#adhdreflection

I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. Back then I didn’t know it had a name. I just thought I had a wild imagination. It was my escape. My comfort. My drug. I could be sitting in a classroom, trapped in a long church service, or lying in bed with nothing to do, and I’d slip away. No one noticed I was gone because my body was still there.

When I finally found the term for it in college, I felt this rush of relief. I wasn’t the only one. There were other people like me, and researchers were actually studying it. I thought, “Yes. Finally. If it has a name, there has to be a cure.” But that hope faded quick. The research was new, and it wasn’t something you could just fix.

My worlds have always been intense. Sometimes I’m a singer or an actor, someone overlooked until the world suddenly wakes up and realizes I’m everything they’ve been missing. The love, the attention, the guilt from everyone who ignored me, I drink it in. I feel it in my chest. Sometimes the stories last weeks. Sometimes they turn sexual. In those, I’m not just wanted, I’m unavoidable. People can’t get enough of me, and they never stop wanting me.

It’s addictive because in my head, I control it all. No disappointments. No half-hearted praise. No failed attempts. Just a perfect loop of validation and desire.

Real life doesn’t do that for me. Even big wins, things I worked for, don’t hit as hard. I passed a major exam recently, got the congratulations, but the high didn’t last. In my head, achievements are pure joy. Out here, they come with pressure and expectations I’m not sure I can meet.

MD has been my safety net, but it’s also been the trap. It’s kept me company in the worst moments, but it’s stolen time, energy, and attention from the life I keep saying I want. I’ve imagined the abs, the career, the travels with people I love. But I’d spend more time imagining them than doing the work to get there.

Only now, with the right treatment, do I feel that gap closing. I have more energy. I can act on things instead of just thinking about them. And I want that kind of control, the kind where I decide what I do with my life, not just what happens in my head.

If I could tell my younger self anything, I wouldn’t tell him to stop daydreaming. I’d tell him: You’ll never stop looking for ways to make this better. You’ll fight to understand yourself. And that fight will get you closer to the life you’ve been picturing all along.

Five days strong, then whoops. Still, five days is five days. That counts. Tonight’s slip is not the end, just a bend in the road.

Hey, it’s okay. You slipped tonight. That does not erase the work. It shifts the angle of the path. You have been in tougher places and you know how to climb back.

You also know why it happened. The gap before your third dose of meds ran too long. You tried to surf the dopamine from reflections and small wins. It worked for the second dose. The third hits different. When the energy drops there, the coping rules you built can wobble like old wood. That structure was not built in a day. It grew from family expectations, school pressure, career highs and dips. It has held you through pressure and praise.

Then the laptop stayed open after 4 PM. You planned to do trackers while watching Drag Race with him, but low energy plus easy access pulled you into validation hunting online. That spiral was not random. You know the roots. Both sides of your family were the poorest among their relatives. Your parents worked to prove themselves. That drive to be worthy landed on you, the eldest. When looks and achievements brought praise, the loop got stronger. When career praise thinned out, daydreaming and social media filled the gap.

The wiring lit up tonight. That is true. Another truth is you have been learning how to steer.

Next time, remember:

If the third dose gap is too long, skip multitasking. Low energy means light, grounding activities.

After 4 PM, if it is bonding time, keep it just that. Laptop closed.

Set your space before low energy hours. No open tabs, no feeds that trigger comparison.

If you want validation, pick safer sources. Lie next to him, watch the show, share reactions.

For food, adjust portions and calories instead of going all or nothing.

For games, lore videos are fine. Skip gameplay that tempts pulls.

For porn triggers, choose real connection with your partner over escape.

For social media, avoid rooms that breed comparison or body envy.

If focus will not come, choose resets that ground you. Rest, plan your week, take a cold shower or simply be present.

You do not need punishment. You are not only breaking habits. You are taking apart an old scaffolding, beam by beam. It took years to build. It will take time to retire. Every time you resist, another joint loosens. One day it will not hold.

Five days without my addictions. Five days of showing up, even when it wasn’t perfect. It’s not about a flawless streak. It’s about building wins that last.

Some mornings, ADHD makes it feel like my brain is running two competing to-do lists. One for the things I planned to do, and another for the things I end up doing instead. Today was one of those days.

I woke up early, ready to start a deep work session for tasks I can’t do in a busy office. But somewhere between opening my laptop and looking at my notes, I slipped into personal errands. The frustrating part is, I know why it happens. Evenings are short because I sleep early to sustain my early mornings, so personal matters get pushed into my deep work hours. It makes sense in the moment, but it chips away at time I need for the work that matters most.

The other challenge is emotional control. ADHD doesn’t just scatter my attention. It can make me a prisoner of my feelings. If I’m excited about a task, I fly through it. If I feel resistance, I stall. Some days medication helps me find that emotional neutral ground where I can move forward without mood dictating my choices. Other days, I feel the drag.

But here’s what I often forget. Even on the days where I feel I’ve failed my plan, I’m still building wins. I’ve gone five days without falling back into my addictions. No gacha gaming like Genshin or Honkai Star Rail. No social media scrolling except for career-related updates. No porn. Less emotional escape through maladaptive daydreaming. Fewer impulsive food choices. I’ve stuck to my diet. I’ve kept showing up for deep work sessions even when they weren’t perfect.

There are other wins too. I showed up to a meeting recently where I had to answer questions on the spot, and I did. I prepared everything I needed for the next day before going to bed, something I normally leave for a last-minute scramble. I’m making small but steady progress toward my goals.

The problem is, I tend to focus on what I didn’t do. The unchecked tasks. The missed gym session. The “easy” email I delayed sending. I give those moments the spotlight, and the wins fade into the background.

So maybe the work right now isn’t just about managing time or focus. Maybe it’s also about training myself to see the progress I’ve made, even if it’s not perfect, even if I wish it looked different. Because when I zoom out, I see more than skipped workouts and delayed emails. I see small steps stacking into something bigger.

Early sleep, simple meals and prepared mornings are three small wins that keep my ADHD from running the show.

I used to think I needed massive changes to get my life together. Turns out, the real magic came from three small things: sleeping early, eating with intention and starting my mornings prepared. Yesterday proved it again. The calmer I start the stronger I finish.

Yesterday didn’t go exactly as planned but it still proved I’m moving in the right direction. The biggest win was sleeping early. I mean really early. I got eight hours of rest and woke up at 2:42 a.m. Even if I had aimed for 1:00 this was still a strong start. That early sleep gave me the clarity and energy to claim my deep work hours this morning.

The second win was sticking to my diet. Bananas, sweet potatoes and a small cracker for dinner. It’s simple but it’s working. I’m reminding myself that workouts can shape the body but it’s the diet that shapes the results. My mom has been cooking for me a week at a time and it’s been a huge help for both my health and my connection with her.

Work brought its share of “productive chaos”: deadlines, system glitches, firefighting with clients and some team friction. There was even a moment where I had to push back against a colleague whose habits I’ve let slide for too long. Still, I noticed I handled it with more control than before. I can see now how the way I start my morning sets the tone for how I handle stress later in the day.

If there’s one thing I need to repeat today it’s going to bed early and waking up ready for deep work. If there’s one thing I need to avoid it’s showing up unprepared. In my line of work lack of preparation leads straight to burnout and burnout is the fastest way to start questioning whether I should even stay in this role.

This isn’t about overnight change. It’s about stacking small deliberate wins until life feels steady instead of scattered. Sleep early, eat well, prepare ahead. If I can protect those three everything else has a better chance of falling into place.

If you have ADHD, you know this pattern. You promise yourself you won’t get caught in the same chaos twice. You believe it. You even feel prepared for it. Then it still happens, and it feels like the universe just hit replay.

Yesterday, I told myself I wouldn’t go through the same chaos again. I really believed it. But today, it hit me again, maybe even harder.

Last night was already a lot. I skipped my medication after work, and without it, the tiredness hit like a wall. I was stuck in traffic for hours on the way to the concert, answering calls about problems I couldn’t fix from the car. People wanted decisions, designs, and changes all at once. My brain was already juggling a thousand tabs, and now the tabs were catching fire. I tried to push it aside and enjoy the night, but the exhaustion was in my bones.

Then came this morning, and the real storm landed. My phone lit up with messages about a project I thought was ready to go. I had made the plans, sent the instructions, and followed up. Everyone said it was fine. It wasn’t. The site wasn’t prepared, and now the blame was in my lap. That’s the thing with ADHD. You can pour all your focus into getting ahead of a problem, but the second someone else drops their part, it feels like your whole effort collapses. And it’s almost always you who gets the call to fix it.

For a while, I was ready to fire back with frustration. But somewhere in that rush of adrenaline, I caught myself. If I replied right away, it would be pure emotion and no clarity. So I waited for my meds to kick in, told them I’d call in a bit, and then handled it. That pause, as simple as it sounds, kept me from sending a message I’d regret later.

If I look at it honestly, the core problem isn’t that I messed up. It’s that I’m one person doing the work of several. Ten projects at once is not sustainable, no matter how many to-do lists I make or how early I wake up. ADHD makes you believe you can hold it all, and sometimes you even can, but eventually you can’t.

So I’m drawing a line. I’ll still own my part, but I’m making sure the people above me see the gaps for what they are. I’ll share what happened, what I already did to stop it, and what needs to change. That way, I’m not silently carrying the weight and then wondering why I’m burned out.

I woke up earlier than I expected (around 1 a.m.) and for a while I debated whether I should get up or go back to sleep. I had promised myself I’d do something this morning, but I wasn’t sure what time exactly. After counting the hours, I realized I had already slept for six. Maybe that was enough.

And as soon as I became fully awake, the memory settled in.

Here at home, at the family house, I remember him even more clearly. My dad was always the one who woke up first before a trip. He would quietly prepare breakfast, clean up the house, and move like clockwork to make the morning easier for all of us. The absence of that presence hit me again, especially the memory of his footsteps and the calm way he used to take care of everything.

I saw pictures of him today. I was reminded again that I still dream of him clearly. In my dream, it was just a normal morning. He looked at me, smiled, and said, “Good morning, Kuya.” That was how our mornings were. Sometimes he would ask what we wanted for breakfast or ask how work was going.

But if the dream had gone further, I think I would have asked him a question I’ve been carrying for months now: Is it really over? Can I no longer talk to you? Can you still feel anything?

That’s what I really want to know.

I wish he could see me now.

Not because I’ve accomplished anything massive, but because I’ve changed. I used to show love through support like financial help, occasional gifts, and saying I love you. But I wasn’t present. Not really. When my mom was struggling at work before, I didn’t know how to comfort her. I just told her to resign. I promised I’d earn more to cover for the family. My dad was the one who handled the emotional work. He was the one who sat with her, talked to her, and held her when I couldn’t.

Now, I’m doing what he used to do. I call my mom three to four times a day. I listen to her, ask how she’s feeling, and stay on the line when she needs to vent. It’s not just about support anymore. It’s about presence.

But I’ve also made mistakes this week that I want to leave behind.

Yesterday, we were talking about selling my dad’s motorbike. My mom mentioned raising the price. I told her, without thinking, “Let’s not talk to Daddy like that.” I meant it in a gentle way, but it came out wrong. Her friend laughed. She didn’t. It hurt her deeply. She carried it the whole night, and when I came home, she told me it left a mark. I didn’t mean to make her feel like that, especially not in front of someone else. But I did, and I regret it.

I also regret the times I snapped at my boyfriend when he was just trying to have fun. He was playing around while I was working from home, but truthfully, I should not have been working then. I should have been present with him. I want to become more conscious. I want to respond instead of reacting.

And if you asked the version of me from a year ago what would surprise him the most, it wouldn’t be the growth. It wouldn’t be the job changes or even the medication. It would be the fact that my dad is gone.

He would ask what happened. He would panic. I would tell him to take Dad to the doctor. To track his blood pressure three times a day. To get a second opinion. To not wait. To spend more time at home, to cherish it. To help with the cleaning, to sit longer at the table, to talk more. To love deeper while there’s still time.

Today, everything I touched felt like it meant something more.

At work, I was put in charge of something I didn’t start. The pressure was unfair, and the expectations were rushed. People wanted results without doing the prep, and I had to be the one to say we stop until this is done right. It was hard, but I did it. I said it respectfully, and I meant it.

Still, there’s always that ache. It’s the part of me that wonders if I could’ve done more—if I should’ve started earlier, managed things better, or moved faster. It’s not exactly burnout. It’s more like a quiet hum of regret that I try to ignore by staying busy, but it doesn’t leave.

Then there’s the bike.

The one I bought for my dad. He loved it. He cleaned it every day and told everyone about it. It made him feel young again, free again. He said he’d pay for it through his pension, starting in March. He died in March.

I told myself I’d ride it. Learn, even if I never learned to ride a bicycle. I bought one and fell a lot. It took me a full month just to ride straight. But the motorbike was too much. Too big. Too full of his fingerprints.

It sat untouched.

As the months passed, I realized I wasn’t preserving him. I was letting the thing he loved fade. My dad would’ve hated that. He took care of everything he loved, especially that bike. So I knew it was time. Not to forget, but to pass it on.

We tried to offer it to someone in the family, but they disrespected the memory by trying to get it cheap. I couldn’t take that. That bike is part of my dad’s joy. His story. If we’re letting it go, it has to be to someone who sees it the way he did.

Someone might buy it now. It might find a second life. Maybe that’s how I keep him close, not by holding on, but by letting the love keep moving forward, even when he can’t.

Later today, I visited his grave. I told him I missed him. I said I still couldn’t accept that this is forever. I don’t believe in afterlives. I believe in silence. But still, I talk. I hope.

The hardest part of grief isn’t crying. It’s the almosts. The what ifs. The never agains. And the way they show up in the quietest moments, like while I’m driving home or holding the keys to a bike I never got to ride with him.

If I could bottle anything from today, it would be that quiet regret.