The curse of the urge: ADHD, writing and me
When I was a kid, I always wanted to be a writer. I also wanted to be a veterinarian and an interior designer, but writing was one thing I kept coming back to. I read voraciously and dreamed of one day creating something just as good myself.
Here are some other things about what I was like as a kid: I was easily distracted, but would not shut up about particular subjects I found interesting. I left all my schoolwork until the absolute last minute and yet somehow still got good marks, except when I combusted spectacularly. I zoned out by myself and interrupted people in equal measure. Either I loved something passionately, or I struggled to focus on it at all.
As an adult, my childhood dream stalled out. As usual, I got distracted. I made a few abortive attempts at NaNoWriMo, but it seemed like writing a book was one of those ideas I liked that would never actually come to fruition. I figured I was fine with that. I was never going to become a vet or an interior designer either.
Also as an adult, I got diagnosed with ADHD. I went on medication for the first time and it kinda helped. But in 2024, an international med shortage kicked in and I couldn't find it anywhere. I took my final dose and hoped for the best.
Just a few days later, I Got Into Something.
Lightning strikes
What it feels like when I Get Into Something may be familiar to anyone whose brain functions in a similar way to mine. That Something becomes all I want to think about. I can amuse myself for hours just by staring into space and thinking about it. In fact, doing that feels preferable to doing just about anything else in my life.
Sometimes this only lasts for a few days. But this time, the Getting Into Something hit me like a truck. I didn't have my meds to break up the hyperfocus, and, to exacerbate things, I had a week off work. No distractions, only the Something.
As usual, when I Get Into Something, I wanted more of it. So I did what many of us do in that situation: I went on AO3. Unfortunately, in this case, AO3 did not deliver. Nobody had written exactly what I was looking for yet, and I didn't want to wait around for them to do it.
"Fuck it," I thought. "I've got time. I'll write my own."
So I wrote a one-shot that met the specific More Of Something that I was looking for, and then I figured I might as well post it. And then people liked it, and I liked it, and so I wrote more.
And roughly 14 months later, when my Getting Into Something subsided, I realised I had written almost 300,000 words. And I felt like I was nowhere near done.
The purpose
Writing gave me a lot of things. It gave me goals to chase and meet. It gave me better self-esteem (especially when I got nice comments). It gave me a connection to my creative side that I hadn't felt since childhood. I told my therapist that writing felt like I'd discovered an entirely new room in my house.
My therapist seemed happy for me. I was coming off a particularly tough couple of years, and now it felt like I was emerging from hibernation. I was excited about things again. My other problems seemed more bearable, because I was excited to write.
I realised that at some point, the Something that I had Got Into had become the writing itself. I wasn't as interested in the characters that had originally kicked off my whole obsession as I was in the versions of them that I'd created for my own stories. And if I could write a novel-length fanfic, then it seemed increasingly plausible I could write an original novel.
I took a step back from fandom, picked one of the ideas rattling around in the back of my brain, and wrote.
Alone with my books
Right now, I'm sitting on two in-progress novels. I finished the first draft of what I'm calling Threshold last summer, and now I'm working on the first draft of another book (working title Undertow).
I know I'm in a fortunate position when it comes to writing. My life and job allow me enough free time and energy to write most days. If I build up a good head of steam, I can regularly hit 1,000 words a day, sometimes much more.
But writing my own original stuff can also be lonely. When I was Getting Into Something and other people were also into the same thing, I could scratch that itch by talking to them about it, or reading something they'd written. Now that my Something exists only in my head and a few Scrivener documents, there's no other outlet for me but to write more of it. Maybe that's why I keep project logs on this website – it's another way for me to externalise the thing that's occupying so much space in my head.
I also have a tendency to pile pressure on myself if I like something and feel like I'm good at it. Maybe I could do this for a living. Wouldn't that be great? All I'd need to do is put way more time into it and write faster and faster and get better and better and keep pushing, don't rest, don't let that momentum slip and consider what sells because if you don't do this right then you'll always kick yourself that you missed out on the opportunity to really, truly succeed. What if this is what I was born to do and I fuck it up? Can't let that happen or I'd be a complete and total failure! (Oops, internalised capitalism!)
The urge
When I do write, everything feels amazing. Suddenly, my mind is in flight. I feel strong and accomplished and alive and more in touch with myself. Like I'm drawing on some well of power I have no other way of accessing. It's a really, really good feeling.
But the ADHD brain is fickle, and sometimes, I just can't get started. Or other things come up and I don't have time to write as much as I want.
And the feeling of not writing is bad. I beat myself up about not meeting my targets, which are usually wildly ambitious. I worry that the spark has slipped through my fingers and I'm never going to get it back again and will spend the rest of my life wondering what might have been.
Sometimes I feel the not-writing like a pressure at the back of my skull, a tension in my body that I just can't shake. It's uncomfortable in a way that's difficult to explain.
Back to before
One of the reasons I felt like writing this post today is that I'm finally going back on my ADHD meds again, and I'm unsure how that's going to affect my relationship with writing.
It might be good. The strength of my urge to write can make me extraordinarily productive and happy, but when it turns on me, it can feel like a curse. Being able to step away from that pressure could actually be quite freeing.
But I also worry that I might board up the door to that room in my house. The creativity feels like a gift. So does that sense of actually having a purpose. What if I end up losing my grip on it?
As usual, I'm probably overthinking it. Hopefully, the meds will be a good thing for me and I'll be able to reach a healthier balance with writing. Because I wrote this blog post instead of working on my books, and I can already feel that pressure at the back of my skull again.
⬅️ Back