the switch

there is a specific kind of frustration that comes from social dynamics when your internal world operates on a completely different rhythm than the group’s.

recently, i experienced a moment where i completely lost my composure. it was a situation that, to most, would seem minor. it was a simple change in plans during a drive. but to me, it felt like a total collapse of the day’s structure. i often obsess over having a rhythm that is tightly planned, yet there is a painful irony here. despite my insistence on structure, i frequently find myself procrastinating to the point where half of that planned routine is eroded anyway. it makes the moments when things do go wrong feel even heavier, because i know how much effort it takes for me to try and build that order in the first place.

when a deviation occurs, it is not just a minor inconvenience. it often feels like the foundation of my entire day is shifting, which leaves me struggling to reset. the difficulty lies in the “crashout,” that sudden, overwhelming shift where the internal frustration spills over. it happens in an instant, like a switch being flipped.

this is part of living with eupd, and frankly, it is incredibly difficult to navigate when so much of it feels like a private language. in the heat of the moment, my internal narrative can swing wildly. at times, i feel completely blameless, asking why the people around me didn’t support my need for a specific plan. in the next breath, once the storm has settled, the blame swings inward, and i become convinced it is entirely my fault.

it is an exhausting cycle. i try to advocate for myself, letting people know when something is frustrating me, but often it feels like my requests are met with a dismissive humor. it is the idea that it’s “just a small thing.” i recognize that double standard in myself. i want to participate in the kind of casual, sometimes abrasive humor others enjoy, but when it is directed at me in a moment of vulnerability, i struggle to handle it.

the real catch is the cycle of suppression. i feel the frustration building up, but i intentionally push it down, further and further. i do this because i know the end result of my anger can be hurtful, and i want to protect the people i care about. yet, it feels entirely counterproductive. i know that bottling it up is just a slow-motion way of ensuring that same hurt occurs later, but i am paralyzed by the fear that if i say how i feel to their face, they still won’t take it seriously. it leaves me wondering: if i express it and it’s ignored, have i just ended up bottling it up all over again? i find myself wanting to be the person who can hack that social dynamic, yet i constantly find myself overwhelmed by it.

i am trying to learn how to articulate these needs, the struggle with structure, the impact of unplanned change, and the intense emotional regulation that eupd requires, without expecting others to carry the weight of my reactions. therapy provides the tools, but when those tools feel like a novelty or become too easy to set aside, i find my boundaries slipping again.

it is a messy, circular process. my brain often feels like it is everywhere but where i actually want it to be. i am not always sure how to handle it, but i know that communication is the only way to break the cycle. i am trying to learn how to advocate for my own process without losing the people who mean the most to me. this is a work in progress. it is about learning to hold space for my boundaries while staying connected to others, even when the rhythm of the room feels impossible to match.

yet, there is a strange disconnect that lingers after these moments pass. i am left with this utter sense of grief and despair, but it is a grief that remains locked away. i feel the crushing weight of emotions that i cannot even name half the time, and i am waiting for the release, but my body refuses to express it. there are no tears. there is nothing to offer that physical sense of catharsis. i find myself trapped in this state where the depth of what i feel and my physical ability to express it are worlds apart. i cannot wrap my head around why it stays trapped, but i am learning that even if i cannot name or release it, simply acknowledging its presence is a start.