Being neurodivergent often means that I feel things more deeply than most.
What might seem like a gentle ripple to someone else—a change in routine, a cancelled plan, a friendship quietly drifting—can feel like a tide crashing through my chest.

Sometimes, it feels like grief.
Not the movie-scene kind with violins and rain.
More like walking through fog with pebbles in your shoes—
a low hum of discomfort that follows you everywhere.
Thoughts spinning like clothes in a washing machine, thudding quietly but constantly.
There’s no off switch—just the hope that it will slow down eventually.

If this sounds familiar, know you’re not alone.
And if it doesn’t, maybe this gives a little glimpse into a mind that feels the world in technicolour, even when everyone else is seeing greyscale.