There’s a specific kind of headache that comes from existing in the 21st century, and I’m convinced it has nothing to do with dehydration or a lack of sleep. No, this headache is spawned from the constant barrage of notifications, the glow of a hundred screens, the ceaseless hum of other people’s voices and the pressure to respond to everything immediately.
It is the headache of overstimulation, and I am its most loyal victim.
Let’s set the scene. I wake up to my alarm, which is actually just my phone vibrating aggressively on my desk because the sound of an actual alarm is too much for my already fried nervous system. Before I even sit up, I check my messages. Three new texts, an email from my professor, a Brightspace notification and some promotional email screaming at me about a 20% off sale I don’t want.
And of course there’s Instagram and there’s TikTok. Right there is an avalanche of affirmation quotes – as if that’s enough to ward off the existential dread creeping through us all.
I tell myself I will not get lost in the scroll. Yet 20 minutes later, I’m watching some guy in Michigan deep-fry a block of cheese for reasons I do not understand but absolutely support.
It’s not just my phone, though. Overstimulation follows me to class, where the professor’s voice fights against the hum of whispered conversations, the furious typing of laptop keyboards and the distinct sound of someone unwrapping a protein bar as if they’re trying to do it as slowly and painfully as possible.
I try to focus, but the guy next to me is clicking his pen like it’s a reflex, and someone’s Apple Watch keeps lighting up. And my own thoughts? They’re just running laps in my head, screaming about the 30 things I have to do today.
By the time I make it to the dining hall, I am already teetering on the edge of a complete psychological breakdown. Each noise is a personal attack; the beeping of the hand-scan, the clatter of trays and the high-pitched screech of a chair being dragged across the floor. The lighting is too bright, the air smells like a mix of pizza and burnt coffee and I am one more unnecessary conversation away from losing my last shred of sanity.
Overstimulation doesn’t just cause stress – it breeds rage. Real, visceral, irrational rage.
Like when someone asks me a simple question, and I have to physically restrain myself from snapping because my brain is already operating at maximum capacity.
Or when I’m walking through campus and someone is walking just a little too slow in front of me; suddenly, I am convinced they are my mortal enemy.
Or when I try to study in the library, but someone nearby is breathing too loudly, and I genuinely consider throwing my book at them.
The worst part is, I know I do it to myself.
No one is forcing me to check my phone every three minutes or to open 17 tabs at once or to scroll mindlessly through social media at 2 a.m. when I should be sleeping. And yet, I do.
The world is designed to keep me stimulated, to keep me engaged, to keep me running on a never-ending treadmill of input, input, input until my brain finally gives up and decides to melt into a puddle of exhausted nothingness.
The solution? I don’t know.
Maybe it’s throwing my phone into the ocean.
Maybe it’s running away to a cabin in the woods and living off the grid like a lunatic.
Maybe it’s just accepting that this is modern society: perpetually overwhelmed, slightly angry and always, always on the verge of a breakdown.
All I know is that if one more person tries to have a full-volume FaceTime conversation in the middle of a crowded library, I will be forced to take drastic action.
And by drastic action, I mean turning around to stare at them every four seconds while internally screaming. Because, let’s be real, I’m going to avoid confrontation at all costs.
