The Writing Of Rebecca Bones

I move fast toward anything that makes me feel present, anything that cuts through the noise in my head.
It’s not about recklessness—it’s about quieting something that never really settles.
When something feels good, I don’t ease into it.
I’m already there.
Fully invested before I’ve had time to ask if it’s safe, or real, or meant to last.
And by the time I slow down enough to see it clearly, I’ve already given more of myself than I meant to.

People think ADHD is just distraction.

Like I misplaced my keys or forgot what I walked into the room for.

But it’s not just that.

It’s living with a mind that never fully settles—never fully lets you rest.

It’s waking up already behind before the day even starts.

It’s knowing exactly what needs to happen and still feeling like there’s a wall between you and doing it.

Not laziness.
Not a lack of care.
Just… resistance.
Constant, invisible resistance.

It’s starting everything and finishing nothing.
Watching your own intentions slip through your hands like they were never solid to begin with.

And then there’s the other side.

The hyperfocus.
Where you disappear into something for hours— forget to eat, forget to respond, forget the world.

It looks like control.
But it’s not.

It’s just losing yourself in a different direction.

*But the part that costs the most is the impulsivity.
The way something feels right just because it feels good.
The way urgency replaces logic.
The way your brain convinces you this moment matters more than anything else.

Dopamine doesn’t feel like a reward.
It feels like relief.
Like finally being able to breathe for a second.
So you chase it.
In decisions you don’t fully think through.
In people you attach to too quickly.
In anything that makes you feel something loud enough to cut through the noise.

Sometimes that includes sex.

Not always from connection — but from craving.
From needing to feel present in your body instead of trapped in your head.
From wanting closeness, intensity, validation — all at once.
And in the moment, it feels real.
Grounding.
Like you finally landed somewhere.

Until it’s over.
And you’re left sitting with yourself again, trying to understand why something that felt so full can leave you feeling even emptier after.

You say yes when you should’ve paused.
You dive in before you understand what you’re stepping into.
You feel everything all at once — and then sit alone trying to make sense of why you didn’t slow down.

Sometimes it looks like permanence.

Like tattoos—
marks of a version of you that felt certain in the moment.
Proof that something was real even if the feeling didn’t last.

And sometimes it looks like heartbreak.
Not just because it ended — but because you were already all in before they even decided if they wanted you.

That’s the part that stays with you.
Not just the loss — but the realization that you keep investing
faster than people can meet you.

It’s emotional, too.
Stronger.
Faster.
Harder to regulate.
Rejection doesn’t land softly.
It sinks in deeper than it should — like confirmation of something you’ve been trying not to believe about yourself.

So you learn to hide it.
To look steady.
To seem in control.
To pretend you’re not constantly managing your own mind.
But underneath that— there’s pressure.
To keep up.
To not fall behind.
To not be too much or not enough all at the same time.

Living with ADHD isn’t just about attention.

It’s about trust.

Trusting yourself not to act too fast.
Not to give too much too soon.
Not to let a moment decide everything for you.
And rebuilding that trust every time you don’t.

Some days, you get it right.
You pause.
You think.
You choose differently.
And other days — you’re right back in it.

But I’m starting to understand this:
My brain isn’t broken.
It just reaches for relief in ways that don’t always last.

So I’m not trying to erase it anymore.
Not the impulsivity.
Not the intensity.
Not even the parts that hurt me.

I’m just trying to learn how to feel deeply without letting it cost me everything.

Because I don’t regret who I am.
I just don’t want to keep paying for it the same way.