“What goes on in your head?”
I was sitting next to my husband in bed on a recent weekday night, and we were discussing how differently our minds work. Me: creative emotional artist with a side of ADHD. Him: linear, left brain engineer.
“Like, what do you think about?” I asked him. “I’m genuinely curious.”
“You mean what I’m thinking about on a Saturday? Or like a Tuesday when I’m at work?”
“I don’t know. Does it matter? I guess a Saturday.”
“If I’m working on a certain project, I’m thinking about what I need to complete it, each step it will take to get it done,” he explained. “And then when I move onto a different task, I’m thinking about those steps. I don’t really think about much outside of what I’m focused on at that time.”
“Why, what do you think about?” he asked.
“I’m not sure you want to know. My mind is a crazy place.”
“Well, give me an example.”
“Say I’m cleaning the sink. I’m not thinking about cleaning the sink. I’m thinking about the funny thing one of the kids said last week, and then about a conversation I had with one of my friends about a podcast episode she recommended, and then I realize that we’re out of parmesan cheese and I need to add it to the shopping list before I forget, but then that thought gets interrupted by one of the kids saying he’s outgrown all his pants and can I please get him some more, and then I feel guilty about a text I forgot to respond to yesterday, and all of that is happening within the space of ten seconds. And the only time that ever stops is when I’m sleeping but usually not even then because my dreams are equally insane.”
He just looked at me. “Really? That sounds kind of exhausting. How do you shut that noise off?”
And then I laughed and laughed and said IT USED TO BE WITH ALCOHOL.
I have always craved quiet. I hate cities. I wince at loud noises. I sometimes have to cover my ears when my younger son is speaking at his regular (read: super high) volume. The great irony of my life is that my mind is the loudest place on earth. Naturally, I’ve always assumed that everyone’s mind is like that, like a swarming hive full of angry bees that’s just been batted with a stick. Turns out, there are people like my husband whose minds are more like a harmonious hive full of happy worker bees, buzzing through one linear task at a time.
I have gone to great lengths to shut off the noise in my head. I’ve climbed to the top of mountains. I’ve binged my college roommates’ food from our shared pantry in the middle of the night. I’ve meditated with varying degrees of success. I’ve spent countless hours on running tracks and back roads and gym treadmills frantically trying to outrun my thoughts. I’ve organized my spice drawer with meticulous precision. I’ve bought a lot of shit on Amazon. I’ve word-vomited my thoughts at a string of different therapists. I’ve experimented with myriad hobbies. I’ve listened to music at ear-bleeding decibels. I’ve read thousands of books, written hundreds of thousands of words, slugged back countless bottles of wine. And still the noise persists.
For many years, drinking was a lovely, albeit temporary, stopgap. Once the alcohol hit my bloodstream, all thoughts seemed to vacate my head, as if the bees had decided to visit some other hive for a while. The world felt sunnier and more pleasant without the nagging thoughts of my parents’ eventual death or the rising cost of gas or the best way to frost a chocolate cake. I could breathe. But then of course came the nasty side effect of attempting to drink one’s brain quiet: once I became less able to control my drinking, all my thoughts centered around what a piece of shit I was. A different stick, another whack to the hive.
In the twenty years I’ve been with my husband, I’ve never seen him addicted to anything. I used to think it was just dumb luck; he’s got plenty of addiction on both sides of his family, so it’s not like he won some genetic lottery. But in our discussion about how each of us thinks, I realized how much more prone to addiction people like me are--people whose brains are always simmering, blooming, exploding with ideas and plans and worries. It is our superpower in many ways (I do truly believe that) but it is also absolutely fucking exhausting to manage day in and day out. We will do anything for five consecutive minutes of peace and quiet.
This is the part where I’m supposed to tell you how I found the thing that finally quieted my brain. I took the pill, completed the program, read the book, bought the product, and now look at me, all shiny and new. But so far it’s all just stop gaps. The meditation works, sometimes. The journaling works better than most things. Being in nature is a fantastic temporary antidote. Reading, particularly fiction, gets me out of my head temporarily and into another world. Writing gets the crap out of my head and onto a page, which is always a relief. Cleaning and organizing is my go-to when my brain is truly on fire. Having people in my life who are willing to help me metabolize all those thoughts through deep conversation is beyond helpful.
It all works a little or a lot, for varying amounts of time. In lieu of a singular antidote that I just haven’t discovered yet, I figure I’ll just keep trying to do what I can with what I’ve got at my disposal.
Much more difficult is the work of trying to accept this noise, to consider it an integral part of my chemical makeup that makes me exactly who I am. For a good portion of my life, I’ve seen it as a detriment, something that complicated my life and held me back from some perceived greatness. It’s a difficult switch to flip now, as I start down the back half of my thirties. But the older I get, the more I realize that without that buzzing hive of a mind, I wouldn’t be nearly as creative or artistic or uniquely weird. I probably wouldn’t concoct invented holidays to celebrate with my kids or have read half as many books or remember the lyrics someone had in their AIM profile in 2003 every time the song comes up on shuffle. At least in part, I am who I am because of all that noise in my head.
But damn, a little peace and quiet would be nice every now and then.
Whoa, I could have written this entire thing myself. This is exactly how I feel!!!! Love how you were able to put that feeling into words!