One Sunday, she hit a wall. Her brain felt like an old laptop with 47 tabs open, fans screaming. She tried to read a book—a real one, paper—and made it three pages before her hand twitched for her phone. That scared her.
Ella had a name for herself: stimaddict . She said it with a wry smile, like someone calling themselves a chocoholic. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t cute.
Here’s a short, helpful story about someone who identified as a “stimaddict”—not in the clinical sense, but as someone hooked on the buzz of constant stimulation, from social media to multitasking to caffeine and late-night scrolling. stimaddict
And that was okay. Because she’d learned that sitting with that discomfort, even for five minutes, was like watering a dried-up plant inside her. The quiet wasn’t empty. It was where the real growing happened.
Her mornings started with a phone grab before her eyes fully opened. Notifications, news, memes, messages. Then coffee. Then a podcast while brushing her teeth. Then work—two screens, three chat apps, and a YouTube tab playing “lo-fi beats to focus.” By noon, she’d checked Instagram, Twitter, Reddit, and TikTok at least four times each. One Sunday, she hit a wall
Sometimes the answer was boredom. Sometimes sadness. Sometimes just the discomfort of being alone with her own mind.
The restless craving will scream at first. But beneath it, there’s a calm you forgot existed. It’s still there. Waiting. That scared her
She still used her phone. She still loved a good dopamine hit. But now, when she felt the frantic pull toward more, more, more, she’d pause and ask: What am I trying not to feel right now?