ADHD Lives in the Scroll, and Dies There Too

We came here to be seen, and left more invisible than ever

If these words felt familiar, I’m glad you’re here. This space exists for quiet minds and slow growth. You will never find a paywall here, but if you’d like to help keep it alive and open to all, a paid subscription makes that possible.

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There was a time when creating online felt like an invitation.

Now it feels more like an obligation.

Especially for us with ADHD, who already live inside constant internal multitasking, emotional noise, and the pressure to catch up, the digital world apparently stopped being a place of connection.

It turned into another job we never asked for.

We're expected to appear. To be everywhere.

To stay visible.

To produce.

To respond.

To keep feeding the feed.

But visible to who?

The feed feels full and vacant at once.

Like a party where everyone already left, but the lights never went off.

We scroll past twenty posts, recognize four. People record experiences they’re not even living.

Apps promise connection, then leave us more alone.

Emotional collapse gets packaged and sold as personal branding.

And somehow, we're expected to function in this.

This isn’t just about being tired.

This is about being drained at the root. Fatigue that comes from having to perform who you are, all the time.

Turning every thought into a post.

Turning every hard day into something digestible.

Turning a whole life into something marketable.

Someone said,

“I feel like I’m swimming against the current of digital marketing.”

That felt too familiar.

If you're not performing, you're invisible. But if you're only performing, you vanish from yourself.

This isn’t a crisis of creativity. It’s a crisis of honesty.

It’s what happens when depth becomes inconvenient.

When speed wins over meaning.

When platforms don’t know how to reward anything quiet, slow, or different.

We crave something real. But we’re stuck inside a system that thrives on surfaces.

For people with ADHD, this is unbearable.

We want stimulation, but we need substance.
We want connection, but we’re offered performance.
We want to feel alive, but we’re forced into loops that dull us.

Some of us still post because we’re afraid not to.

Afraid to be forgotten. Afraid to lose whatever fragile thread of connection we’ve managed to build.

What if connection isn’t here anymore?

What if the noise we’re clinging to is the very thing keeping us apart?

“Every excess leads to exhaustion. It's the body defending itself.”

That sentence stuck with me.

This isn’t a lack of will. This isn’t failure. It’s the body saying, “Enough.”

And it’s time we listen.

Instead of asking how to keep up, we could ask what feels real again.

What feels like breathing again.

What feels like us.

If you needed to hear this, sit with it.

Don’t share it. Don’t comment. Just let it stay with you.

Because there’s nothing wrong with you.

You’re not lazy. You’re not broken.

You’re simply human.

And that’s still enough.

💚 If this reminded you of your own quiet struggle, or that unfinished project hiding in fifteen tabs, feel free to share it with someone who gets it.

💚 Got something to say, like “same here” or “this platform is melting my brain”? Leave a comment. I’ll probably overthink my reply, open the comment box five times, write three versions, and still answer late. But I will. Eventually.