11/14/2025
Rewired is home to a diverse group of creatives encompassing artists, writers, poets, dancers, musicians, entrepreneurs. and actors. I am gratified to feature one of our clients who has agreed to publicly and anonymously share their intrapsychic experience with the goal of inspiring others. Their words iprovide poignant insight into a human experience.
Home in the Noise”…A Journey Through Fire, Chaos, and Peace
Part I— Fire Therapy
Sometimes I light myself on fire
just to feel warm again.
Not because I crave the burn, but because the silence gets too cold,
and I forget what it feels like to be alive in my own skin.
I replay conversations for hours,
sometimes days, rewinding moments like a scratched-up record, listening for the part where I went wrong,
the tone I could’ve softened,
the laugh I could’ve faked a little less.
Did I hear it correctly?
What did they mean when they said that?
Was there something in the pause?
Something hiding in the silence between words?
It’s not overthinking,
it’s overfeeling.
It’s my brain running every version of the truth until it breaks under the weight of maybe.
I walk into a room, and feel the air shift before anyone speaks.
I taste the tension, hear the heartbeat behind fake smiles.
They call it “sensitive,” but it feels more like being skinless, every emotion electric against me.
Change?
Change feels like chaos.
Like someone rearranged the stars
and told me to find my way home in the dark. Routine isn’t boring to me
it’s the map that keeps me from falling apart. It’s the only thing that makes the noise sound like music.
And yeah, I stim.
I tap, I hum, I move, I pace—
not to distract, but to survive.
Because movement is the only medicine
that quiets the earthquake inside me.
It’s how I tell my body….
we’re safe,
we’re here,
we’re okay.
ADHD, hypersensitive,
whatever label they slap on it
it’s not disorder, it’s design.
I’m wired to feel deeply,
to see the world through shattered glass
and still find the reflection beautiful.
So yeah sometimes I light myself on fire
just to feel warm again.
But I’m learning now
that I can be the flame
without burning myself alive.
Part II — Too Much, Too Loud, Too Alive
Does this feeling ever stop?
This constant hum beneath my skin,
this storm that never seems to rest.
I overthink what you said to me, every word, every breath between words.
Did you mean it like that?
Did I hear it wrong?
Did my tone twist it into something ugly?
I replay it again,
and again,
and again, until the moment doesn’t even sound real anymore.
Why can’t I focus?
Why won’t my brain stop spinning
when all I want is silence that doesn’t echo?
People say “just calm down,”
as if I haven’t tried to wrestle the lightning inside my chest.
As if I haven’t sat in the dark
and begged my thoughts to stop screaming.
Why am I like this?
Too fast, too loud, too much.
Feeling everything all at once, and sometimes, nothing at all. It’s like being tuned into every frequency, and still feeling out of signal.
Will I ever have a perfect relationship with my wife?
God, I hope so, but how do you love someone right when your mind keeps rewiring mid-sentence?
When you forget what she said
because you were busy fighting off five other thoughts?
When she says “I’m fine”, and I feel the heartbreak hiding behind her voice?
I want to love her perfectly, but perfection doesn’t live here.
Only effort does, and I give that every freaking day.
Am I too much?
Maybe.
But too much is better than empty.
Too much means I’m alive, feeling, breaking, rebuilding, trying.
So……..
ADHD.
Hypersensitive.
Are whatever Labels they throw at me like warnings, but they don’t see the beauty in the chaos. They don’t see how empathy drips from my cracks, how my heart bleeds for things most people never notice.
I’m not broken.
I’m just burning brighter
than the world was built to handle.
So no, maybe the feeling never stops, but maybe it’s not meant to.
Maybe I was never made for stillness.
Maybe I was made to turn the noise into poetry.
Part III — The Quiet After the Storm
There’s a moment, after the noise,
where the mind finally exhales.
It’s small, barely noticeable,
like the space between thunder and rain.
But it’s there, in that space,
I start to understand.
Maybe peace isn’t a place I arrive at,
maybe it’s something I learn to build
between the storms.
I used to hate my mind for being loud.
For spinning, for doubting,
for dissecting every word ever spoken to me.
But now…
I see that same chaos
as proof that I care.
That I feel.
That I love with every nerve I’ve got.
Maybe that’s the beauty of being too much
you never love halfway.
You never show up empty.
You pour until there’s nothing left,
and then you pour some more.
I still overthink.
I still replay conversations.
But now I try to tell myself
maybe it’s okay to not know exactly what they meant.
Maybe it’s okay to not fix every silence.
Maybe it’s okay to just be here, in this imperfect peace, where my brain hums,
and my heart keeps time.
My wife doesn’t need perfect.
She just needs present.
She needs the me that tries,
that listens, that loves in real time, not the me that’s drowning in rewinds.
And I’m learning that focus isn’t stillness.
It’s choosing, moment by moment,
to stay.
To be.
To breathe.
So maybe I’ll always be a storm,
but even storms can be beautiful,
wild,
electric,
alive, and maybe that’s all I ever needed to be.
ADHD.
Hypersensitive.
Not curses
just coordinates.
A map of how I move through the world
loudly, deeply, and unapologetically human.
Because the quiet after the storm
isn’t silence, it’s acceptance.
And for the first time,
I can finally hear myself there.
Part IV — Made of Lightning
I used to think I was too much.
Too restless,
too loud,
too emotional,
too everything.
But now I know—
I was never too much.
I was just never meant to fit in quiet spaces.
I was built from static and sparks,
a live wire in a world that runs on silence.
My thoughts move like wildfire, but I’ve learned to dance in the flames.
They call it ADHD,
they call it hypersensitivity,
like warnings printed on a fragile box, but I’m not fragile.
I’m flammable, and that’s not a weakness.
That’s power.
Because fire destroys,
but it also purifies.
It burns away what isn’t true.
It lights what’s been hiding in the dark.
I used to drown in my own thoughts,
choke on every “what if” and “what did they mean?”
Now, I breathe fire instead of fear.
I speak, even when my voice shakes.
I move, even when my mind spins.
I feel, even when the world tells me to tone it down.
They say I care too much, and maybe I do. But caring is my superpower.
Feeling deeply is my edge.
Empathy is my weapon, and passion is
my armor.
I am not broken.
I am not wrong.
I am just wired for wonder.
Built to see more,
hear more,
feel more.
And yeah, it’s heavy sometimes, but heavy things are what make impact.
So no, I don’t want to be normal.
Normal doesn’t build.
Normal doesn’t burn.
Normal doesn’t turn pain into poetry.
I am made of lightning, and lightning doesn’t ask permission to strike.
It just arrives.
It just shines.
It just is.
So here I stand alive,
electric,
uncontained.
Every spark I used to hide
now lights the path ahead.
Because I am not too much.
I am exactly enough
for the kind of life
that was never meant to be quiet.
Part V — Home in the Noise
For the first time,
I don’t need to quiet my mind
to feel at peace.
The thoughts still come,
like waves against the shore, but I’ve learned how to float. I don’t fight them anymore. I just let them move through me, like wind through an open window.
I used to want stillness.
Now I just want truth.
And the truth is…this is who I am.
A heart that beats in surround sound,
a brain that builds worlds
out of a single sentence.
A soul that feels everything, and still chooses to love anyway.
I don’t need to be cured.
I don’t need to be fixed.
I just need space to exist
exactly as I am.
My wife holds my hand
through the static, and she reminds me…
I am not too much.
I am hers.
And that’s enough.
We don’t chase perfect anymore,
we chase presence.
We chase moments where chaos laughs
and calm listens.
I still talk too fast.
I still think in spirals.
I still feel everything
as if the world is breaking open inside me.
But that’s okay.
Because I’ve stopped running from it.
I’ve stopped trying to mute
the music of my own wiring.
Now……
I let it play.
I let it roar.
I let it whisper.
I let it be.
This is my peace.
Not the silence after the storm, but the rhythm within it. Not the calm that comes when everything stops, but the balance that comes when I stop fighting what never will.
ADHD.
Hypersensitive.
Human.
Alive.
And finally,
finally
I am home in the noise
