Evenings were worse. She’d watch Netflix while scrolling Depop while texting three people while feeling vaguely anxious. At midnight, she’d think, I should sleep. Instead, she’d pick up her phone “just for five minutes.” Two hours later, she’d hate herself.
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.
Sometimes the answer was boredom. Sometimes sadness. Sometimes just the discomfort of being alone with her own mind. stimaddict
No phone in the bedroom. She bought a $10 alarm clock. The first morning, she felt raw, almost hungover. By day three, the quiet felt less like emptiness and more like space.
A “stimulation budget.” She allowed herself 30 minutes of scrolling in the morning and 30 at night. The rest of the time, if she felt the itch, she’d do one thing—just one—without layering on more. Wash dishes without a podcast. Walk without headphones. Evenings were worse
After a month, Ella didn’t feel cured. The urge to check, click, swipe, refresh still hummed under her skin. But she’d learned something:
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. Instead, she’d pick up her phone “just for five minutes
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?