Muddle Friday: Circling, Coping, and the Familiar Chaos of AuDHD

Diary like blog entry's.......

I woke late — ten to seven — and immediately fell into the usual chain reaction. Half-cleaned the guinea pig. Glue gun heating. Cold porridge forgotten on the stove, turning to cement. The guinea pig running free, half-cleaned out, half not.

By 7:15 I was supposed to take my medication. I forgot. Then realised I hadn’t ordered any and only had three left. Prompted myself to go on the NHS app, started the order, forgot again. Drifted straight into sorting the dishwasher.

I’d shaken the guinea pig rug out of the back door, so the door wouldn’t shut. Walked back in from the step, missed my footing, and caught my leg on the oven door handle — fourteen years in this house and I’ve never done that. But there I was, bruised and baffled.

It struck me how familiar this pattern is: starting one thing, dropping it, moving to the next, then the next, never reaching the last thing. The circling. The constant motion. The busy‑ness that isn’t productivity, just momentum.

My ADHD part of my AuDHD feels worse now than it ever was. I circle back to fix things, but start new things while I’m fixing the old ones. I have to be strict with myself to stop, stand still, and think — but standing still feels unnatural.

I wonder what I was like as a small child. There was fear in my house, so I didn’t behave like this. I don’t remember much before age seven, when my youngest sibling arrived — a blank space, just a baby suddenly home. I imagine the whirlwind of three close-together children getting out the door each morning, and me as the hyper‑vigilant eldest in a hostile environment. Managing variables. Masking. Learning to cope young.

I know I played with my hair constantly. Any clothing with tassels, I wound or chewed until they were cut off. Sensory seeking disguised as fidgeting.

I grew up managing everything. Now, I’m more like my happy-go-lucky grandson — circling, bouncing from task to task, not heavy-headed, just impulsively moving. I only realise what I’m doing when I hurt myself, which is most days. Then I stop, reset, and start again.

I’m always busy — the undiagnosed ADHD part of my autism insisting there’s method in the madness, i will argue it until I'm blue in the face, even when there isn’t. I used to complete the tasks. Now I start them, don’t finish, and injure myself along the way, forget what I started.

Walking into the cooker door handle this morning — after fourteen years of never doing that — summed it up. Came back through the back door, lost my balance around the corner of the worktop, and walked straight into the oven door.

A muddled Friday. Maybe a dip in oestrogen. Maybe just me — the juxtapositions, the weirdness, the circling, the coping.

Footnote

AI says “But it’s familiar. And it’s mine.” But it’s not. It’s time‑wasting. It’s circling. It’s putting off things that actually need doing. It’s fighting against myself every single morning. It’s not some quirky ownership of chaos — it’s exhaustion.

I don’t have an official diagnosis because everything overlaps, and our system wants one neat label at a time. I’m not one thing. I’m many. And because I’m many, I fall through the cracks.

I’m still cyclical. Still circling. Still pushing myself to research help before the next dip hits — and when the dip comes, I forget everything. Empty‑headed. Starting again from scratch. It’s a constant push to help myself, followed by the crash where I can’t.

It’s not “familiar and mine.” It’s familiar and frustrating. It’s familiar and unseen. It’s familiar and unsupported.

And I’m tired of fighting myself just to get through a morning.

Dear Molly, my strong, funny, tenacious, independent, courageous daughter.

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