Some stories don’t leave scars.
They leave stains.
Rejection sensitivity in ADHD isn’t just fear
I noticed her smile before I noticed her body.
And that says a lot.
Blonde hair.
Bright fucking eyes.
But that smile?
It got me first.
Then came the rest.
Skinny in the way that people probably tell her to eat more.
But she does eat. She loves it.
She’s just built like that.
And I fucking love that.
She was fit, but not in a loud way.
No gym agenda. No CrossFit flags.
She moved like someone proud of who she is.
Not hot because she knows it
hot because she feels it.
She was newly divorced, glowing, alive.
And it felt like the universe had been spying on my porn search history
and decided to throw her at me like a cosmic dare.
We got pushed together that night.
And it didn’t feel like a chance meeting.
It felt like the beginning of something I wasn’t ready to admit I wanted.
We were laughing.
Flirting.
Oversharing.
I was teasing her, poking her ribs, cracking dumb jokes.
She’d nudge me back, smile wide, hold my gaze just long enough.
Sometimes we held hands.
Sometimes we didn’t.
I was the gentleman.
But also the horny flirt.
Because that’s just how I do.
“That’s the fucked up part of rejection sensitivity for me
you don’t see it.”
I’m not awkward.
I’m not shy.
I’m not fumbling.
I’m showing up as my truest self.
Every signal she wants.
Every vibe she’s responding to.
Every goddamn fantasy she didn’t know she had.
And still
I freeze.
Because I’ve trained myself to mask it so well,
I forget it’s even there.
And that’s the killer part of late diagnosis.
I just thought everyone had this voice.
It’s not a devil on my shoulder.
It’s a fucking sports announcer.
Commentating every second of the play-by-play in my brain.
And while that voice is spiraling,
I’m still multitasking like a goddamn magician.
Reading her eyes.
Tracking her smile.
Watching where her feet are pointed.
Noticing how she tucks her hair.
I’m reading the whole room, the entire energy,
the full goddamn kink of the moment.
Then she said it
“Let’s take another lap.”
And I knew.
I fucking knew.
But I didn’t move.
Because I was in the spiral again.
She felt like too much.
Too rare.
Too perfect.
Too much of what I didn’t want to lose.
We reached her hotel.
I hugged her goodbye—too long.
I told her I’d see her at breakfast.
Said thanks for the night.
She got in the elevator.
I didn’t.
And the walk back to my hotel?
Silent.
Regret-filled.
Full of “what the fuck is wrong with you?” self-talk.
I wanted her.
God, I wanted her.
But I didn’t let myself want her out loud.
And that kiss never happened.
But it lives in me.
“Not a flashback. A memory I jerk off to because it never happened.”
She could’ve just grabbed my hand…
Just that.
One little reach.
Not a kiss.
Not a tongue slip.
Not a “take me upstairs.”
Just a fucking pause.
A moment.
A flicker of her eyes saying, please.
And I would’ve stopped mid-step.
I would’ve turned.
I would’ve looked her dead in the eyes.
My hand would’ve gone straight to her cheek.
Gentle. Open. Like it belonged there.
And I would’ve told her
Right there on that street corner
that I’ve been craving her lips for the last goddamn hour.
That I got lost in her laugh.
That I couldn’t stop replaying the moment her strap on her dress slipped just enough to show her collarbone.
And I knew then
I was fucked.
I would’ve told her how rare it is
for someone to feel both safe and wild in the same breath.
How I didn’t want to take her.
I wanted to meet her.
Right here. Right now.
And then I’d kiss her.
Slow. Present.
Not performative. Not desperate.
Just real.
Just soft lips and stillness.
My hand on her face.
My heart in my throat.
I wouldn’t go for more.
Wouldn’t try to fuck it open.
Just a kiss.
One holy fucking kiss.
Then I’d pull her into a hug
not like a goodbye
but like a memory I was already mourning.
And I’d whisper in her ear:
That was all I needed tonight.
But I’m not done wanting you.
But that’s not what happened.
And I still think about it.
Not because she owed me anything.
But because I didn’t give myself permission to be wanted out loud.
And RSD won again. And I hate losing. (Thank you ADHD)
And you aren’t a narcissist
The Ohio Night I Finally Showed RSD Who Was Boss
It didn’t feel like something was coming.
It felt like every other time we’d hung out.
Flirty.
Familiar.
That kinda magnetic chaos where the world spins and you don’t care who’s watching.
But nothing had ever happened.
So I didn’t trust the feeling.
Not fully.
Even when we leaned closer.
Even when we started talking over each other and didn’t stop.
Even when the bar got crowded and I didn’t even notice
I told myself, you’ve been here before.
“Not only could I picture the kiss
I could feel it. I just didn’t trust I was allowed to take it.”
Then she stood up.
Said she was heading to her room.
Going to grab the elevator.
And I said it
“I’ll go down on the elevator with you.”
That was the moment.
Not the kiss.
Not the bedroom.
That line was the win.
She smiled.
Waited while I paid the bill.
And I didn’t spiral.
I just knew
if I made it in that elevator,
I wasn’t leaving without tasting her.
When the doors finally closed behind us
it was like the world exhaled.
Just her.
Just me.
Just stillness.
I turned to her.
No hesitation.
No overthinking.
No commentator in my head this time.
I reached for her waist,
pulled her into me.
Felt the yes radiating off her skin.
And I kissed her.
Not performative.
Not desperate.
Just fucking true.
Then I pulled back,
looked her in the eyes,
and said
“God, I’ve been thinking about kissing you forever.”
She jumped.
Arms around my neck.
Mouth on mine.
Kissing me harder, deeper
like she’d been waiting too.
From there?
Blur.
Clothes? Did they come off before we got out of the elevetor.
Who knows.
But I remember that hotel room door.
Because before it could close,
I had her against the wall.
My hand racing up her thigh.
My weight pressed against her side.
My mouth crashing back into hers.
And we kissed.
God, we kissed.
The Pattern That Still Lives Here
And yeah, I’m proud of this one.
I showed up.
I didn’t freeze.
I fucked through the noise.
But that doesn’t mean the next time’ll be easy.
Doesn’t mean the next scene won’t trigger the same voice.
The same freeze.
The same old spiral of
what if I’m wrong again?
Maybe even with her again.
Because that’s how it works.
RSD doesn’t give a fuck about your highlight reel.
It shows up every time it smells a new risk.
But this moment?
This one lives in me.
Proof that sometimes the freeze doesn’t win.
That sometimes the almost becomes a holy fucking yes.
That sometimes, the spiral turns into something you come back to
not because it didn’t happen,
but because it finally fucking did.
The Twist You Didn’t Expect
That California girl—the one I didn’t kiss?
A week later, I flew down to see her.
She became my girlfriend.
Eventually, one of the loves of my life.
The Ohio girl?
We’re still close.
Still friends.
Still bonded in that way that doesn’t fade
even if we never talk about that night again.
I think about them both.
I treasure them both.
In their own messy, meaningful, fucked-up perfect ways.
But what fucks me up?
Is how different the first moments were
and how similar rejection sensitivity still showed up.
One where I froze.
One where I pushed past it.
Both of them turned out good for me.
And maybe that’s why they haunt me.
Because I didn’t share
at least in this post
the ones that didn’t turn out good.
“The one who wore special underwear for me and I didn’t make the move.”
“The one who messaged six months later to say she was waiting
and now she’s engaged.”
“The one who blocked me because she thought I didn’t want her
when I wanted her so fucking bad.”
That’s the real mindfuck of rejection sensitivity.
It’s not just the loss.
It’s the not knowing which spiral will turn into something sacred.
It’s the fact that your brain doesn’t trust anything.
And you carry that.
You spiral with it.
You jerk off to it.
You try to rewrite it in your head until it stops hurting.
But every once in a while
a kiss lands.
A night unfolds.
And you remember what it feels like
to take the risk
and not die from it.
That’s this post.
Not a win.
Not a loss.
Just two nights that held everything I needed
even when I didn’t know if I could say yes to it.