ADHD, Brain Fog, and Blowing Up Over Nothing

Why discomfort hijacks attention and patience when you’ve got ADHD

Over the past few days, I've been having this gnawing headache. It's one of those headaches you can feel when you wake up from a really good nap and now you hate the world, but it's never-ending, there at all times. Advil just shrugs at it. I keep trying to drink more water, but even if it does something for it, it doesn't seem to be enough. The dull unending ache is still right there.

At a certain point, when an ache is this unceasing, one has to just keep going with life, so I do. But the ache doesn't want me to forget about it. It keeps tugging at my shirt, reminding me that it's right there. I can't focus. The more time passes, the less it feels like I can do. It's unrelenting, and it's oh-so-annoying. I can feel it slowly dragging me further into grumpy mode.

Alex comes in and out of his office, getting himself coffee or grabbing something from the other room. He's not slamming doors, but even the careful twisting of the door handle feels like a nuisance with this headache. Sometimes he even says something to me, or blows me a kiss or something. That's when I finally snap. "Can you just please fucking stay in your office for like a minute?!? Back and forth, back and forth, the fuck??"

Now, he knows me. We've been together for 18 years now. He knows I'm not being an absolute dick. Well, he knows I am, but that there must be a reason. So he doesn't let it escalate further like he used to, due to taking offense (reasonable as it may be to). Somehow, in my headache-ridden mind, that makes it even worse. What is that silence supposed to mean? Huh? How dare you? What the fuck?

And now my whole body feels like it's itching to fight. My brain is not saying anything. There's just this fog around me. I can't think straight. All I can do is play stupid games on my phone. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. Aren't these meant to calm me down? Why am I feeling rage building up inside of me?

The office door opens again. He forgot to get himself a bottle of water. That's it. I snap again. "Alex! STOP! ENOUGH! FUCK!" ​Now, this is where he draws the line. I'm not his mother. He's not a child. I can't talk to him like this. He should feel free to move around in his own home without being yelled at like this. He has a point. But it does not catch me on my good side. I defend my stance by telling him how annoying his footsteps are, his twisting of the door handle, his presence looming over me as he walks through the living room to get to the kitchen. He counters. What the hell can he do about those things? Become a ghost?

This always happens to me. Pain is discomfort, and discomfort leads to grogginess and annoyance. When I'm annoyed, I become a landmine. My body, feeling the pain, loads the trigger. My brain, in turn, arms it with fog and distraction – just enough to irritate me. The tiniest spark – the door handle twisting, the footsteps, even his presence around me – sets it off.

Kaboom.

So what is this, exactly? And what can be done about it?

My discomfort and pain in the moment is "eating up" all my attention reserves, which are already pretty small to begin with (ADHD, duh). Now I have less resources within me to control my emotions, and even my thoughts. The brain fog makes it so I already can't focus on anything, and when that happens, especially to someone who already struggles with focus on a regular basis, it can feel unbelievably debilitating. So it starts up this slow simmering anger and resentment in me, and where can those go? That's right, they can explode beautifully upon the one person who just happens to be nearest to me.

That's not just me being an absolute dick about having ADHD. There's brain wiring behind it all. The amygdala is a tiny part of the brain that processes emotions and threat. In ADHD brains it tends to be smaller, more reactive, and not very good at communicating with the prefrontal cortex, which is supposed to regulate emotions. So when pain or discomfort drains my focus, the amygdala reacts to every small disruption like it’s a major threat. Meanwhile the prefrontal cortex is slow to step in, so the irritation snowballs unchecked until it bursts out of me.

The amygdala explains why the reaction feels so instant, like my body just goes off without me. But scientists found that emotions are not only about that snap response; they are built in real time. My body throws out signals like a pounding head, tight muscles, or a racing heart. Then my brain takes those signals and decides what they mean. It can call them anger, stress, or even excitement, depending on the story it puts together. The reaction feels automatic, but it is actually a construction, which means it can also be changed.

Obviously, it doesn't have to be a headache. This time it was pain, but the pattern is the same whenever something drains my internal resources like that. My brain would take the scraps it can get and build an entire tornado out of it. But that's no way to live. I don't want to seek fights with my husband due to headaches or stress; that's the last thing I could possibly want. So what can I do to change this construction?

I can’t just flip a switch and stop it. But if I notice it, even a second too late, I can play around with what else those signals might mean. Maybe footsteps are just footsteps. Maybe the silence is him giving me space. Every time I manage that, it takes a little power away from the landmine. It doesn’t fix everything, but it makes the next explosion a little less likely. And if nothing else, at least my marriage won’t be taken down by a bottle of Advil that didn’t work.

Today, it's KABOOM. Tomorrow? Who knows. Maybe just a hiss.