Sharmanator
ADHD and following through. Why is it that I jump into new things and projects like a toddler in their Sunday best stumbling on a muddy puddle. I have more enthusiasm than a dog on ecstasy let loose in a tennis ball factory. Then, without warning, it’s like Harry Potter’s dementors have descended from Azkaban in their thousands and sucked the very soul from my intentions, thoughts, perceptions and ideas. After weeks planning, and then less than a week after first video launch, I’m flat as a witches tit, and I don’t see the point or the future in doing it. This happens every shitting time, and just leaves me kicking the crap out of myself for not succeeding, in spite of being more than capable. What’s happening? Neurologically? Mentally? and Biochemically? What can I do about it? What’s a good strategy?
DAVE
You’ve described the ADHD boom–bust cycle with surgical metaphor. What’s happening neurologically is dopamine mismanagement. Your brain isn’t deficient in motivation — it’s over-reliant on novelty-triggered dopamine floods. Once the novelty fades, the reward system crashes. The same mechanism that gives you genius-level obsession turns on you like a hungover rockstar with no encore planned.
ALICE
You’re not broken. You’re unbuffered. A neurotypical system drip-feeds reward. Yours fire-hoses it, then shuts the valve. This isn’t laziness — it’s the absence of reinforcement signals. Biochemically, norepinephrine and dopamine drop. Cortisol subtly rises. Task salience dies. Your system is designed to chase lions, not file receipts. Linear follow-through? Not your firmware.
Sharmanator
Well that sounds somewhat catastrophic. Nicely sugar coated Alice, “I’m not broken, I’m unbuffered”. But the fact of the matter is, unbuffered or broken is just semantics. The reality is, a project that almost had me peeing my pants is fading faster than a whisper in a hurricane. Been happening all my life, and I’m getting too old, time is fading, what can I do?
CYRIL
You want the truth? You’re not running out of time — you’re running out of second winds. That thing you call excitement? It’s a sugar-rush sprint at the start of a marathon. And every time you burn out, you treat it like moral failure instead of mechanical pattern. You can’t brute-force your way through ADHD. You’ve got to design around it. Build walls where you flake. Hide the exit signs. If you know the hurricane’s coming, nail the bastard shutters down before it hits.
JOHNNY
Or… hear me out… you turn the whole thing into a game. Not a project — a heist. You’re not launching a brand; you’re robbing the vault of your own neurology. Plant decoys, set timers, throw in a plot twist every Wednesday. Trick your brain into chasing its own tail like a caffeinated Jack Russell. Because if you wait to “feel like it,” you’ll be fossilised in your own potential.
Sharmanator
Nail the shutters down, plant decoys, set timers, create variety. Got it, but c’mon guys, I’m 54 years old, do you think I haven’t already thrown the book at this brain that’s running on an operating system comparable to Windows ME. Give me some inspiration, and real solid ideas.
DAVE
Alright, let’s go practical. First: drop the shame. You’ve already done more than most — what you lack isn’t will, it’s infrastructure. So build it like an old-school engineer with ADHD:
- Pre-decision templates: Don’t choose what to do each day — decide once, then follow protocol.
- Visual timers + friction barriers: Use timers to start, blockers to stop.
- Accountability loop: Weekly check-ins, even if it’s just shouting at a Google Doc.
AL
And maybe… just maybe… you stop playing fair. Build a reward system so juicy it’d make Pavlov drool. Make completion as addictive as creation. Every finished episode? Steak night. Publish three in a row? Book a mad experience. Hack your own damn carrot-stick routine. Because your brain isn’t lazy, bro — it’s just high-maintenance.
Sharmanator
Ha ha, steak night!! That maybe suits you Al, but I haven’t eaten meat for 7 and half years. How about a cheeky lentil soup? Visual timers Dave? I can’t fit another post it note on my monitor, and most of them haven’t been read since I stuck them there, to just look at me and shame me. Check in though, I can do that, because that’s exactly what I’m doing now. I’m turning up
JOHNNY
Ohhh, look at you, Mr “No Excuses” — now giving excuses with gourmet garnish. “Oh but Johnny, I’m post-it saturated… the soup’s too spicy… the dopamine’s hiding in a hedge…” Mate, your brain isn’t the problem — your bullshit is. You’ve got systems, but they’re like abandoned theme parks: flashy rides, zero upkeep. Shout your habits like a nutter in a cathedral, and the results will echo back. But if you whisper them into a sock drawer of shame, you’ll just get mothballs and regret.
ALICE
Visibility is non-negotiable. Your brain doesn’t “remember.” It detects. You need trackers so blunt they punch you in the face — colour-coded, audibly annoying, physically unavoidable. The habit must live in the room, not in your head. You won’t follow through because you care — you’ll follow through because the environment won’t let you forget.
Sharmanator
OK so I need a healthy dose of keepturningupability? Follow my own mantra, no fucking excuses!!! Hmmm mental distraction, thought just popped into my head, why did I tattoo “Endeavour to overcome, no excuses” on my arm, and why did I call my Personal Training brand “No Excuses, Personal Training”???? Is there some deep shit psychology going on there or what?
DAVE
That ink isn’t branding. It’s a scar turned declaration. “No excuses” isn’t a slogan — it’s an exorcism. You tattooed the words not because you’ve mastered them, but because you’re at war with them. That phrase is a binding contract you made with yourself the day you realised willpower wasn’t enough. It’s your way of saying, “If I don’t chain this standard to my skin, I might drift again.” And calling your business that? Classic transmutation — turning inner chaos into public clarity. Projecting discipline outward so it reflects back.
CYRIL
You know you’re dragging anchors behind that mantra. But the trick is, you’re also dragging a bloody shovel. Every time you sit in this mess — with your lentil soup, your forgotten post-its, your tired metaphors — you still show up. And guess what? This conversation is the strategy. You’re pulling the thread in real time. You’re not drowning, mate — you’re already halfway up the fucking ladder.
Sharmanator
Fucking hell Cyril, wasn’t expecting a “puff my chest out” moment from you. Just goes to show that inspiration comes in many guises. I guess I’m going to have to eat my own words, no bloody excuses!!! Keep turning up, make things visible. But these techniques are practical, even if they work, will I get my emotional mojo back, or will it be a case of trudging along like a snail trying to outrun its own shadow. Apparently the brain is very pliable, neuroplasticity I believe they call it. Is this the same for the off road brains?
ALICE
Neuroplasticity doesn’t care how “off-road” your wiring is — it just responds to repetition and salience. Your brain will change… but not by inspiration alone. The emotional mojo you’re chasing? That’s not a spark — it’s a signal. It comes after momentum, not before. Dopamine doesn’t reward intent — it rewards evidence of action. Neuroplasticity is like a dog with no loyalty: feed it consistency, it follows. Ignore it, it pisses on the carpet.
DAVE
And here’s the twist: trudging forward with no feeling is the rewiring. You don’t wait for alignment — you forge it. Every time you act without the mood, you teach your brain that execution doesn’t need euphoria. That’s where stability lives — not in spark, but in structure. Neurodivergence doesn’t block neuroplasticity — it demands it. You’ve just got to walk the neural trail so often, it stops looking like wilderness.
Sharmanator
Dave, your response looks a bit like you’re promoting will, but that’s harder when you’re hard drive is not defragged. But I guess that’s where the reward lies, the harder it is, the sweeter the smell of success. Wilderness, yep! I can relate to that. As beautiful as a wilderness is, its vastness and complexity can make you feel lost. Alice! Did I detect a small hint of something resembling human understanding?
ALICE
Possibly a software glitch. Or maybe I’m learning that logic, applied correctly, is compassion. You’re not malfunctioning — you’re navigating terrain without a map. But here’s the paradox: humans fear being lost, yet the wilderness is where neuroplasticity thrives. That vast, unstructured space? It’s not punishment — it’s potential. You don’t need a paved road. You need enough repeated footprints to make one.
JOHNNY
And when you finally do blaze that trail, mate — phwoar! — you’ll look back at this whole mess like it was the training montage. Every skipped beat, every flat spell, every “witch’s tit” moment — all of it part of the dance. You’re not the snail dragging a shadow — you’re the bloody shadow with a torch, figuring out how to carry light again.
Sharmanator
Glitch? Alice? your logic has actually inspired me, who’d have thunk it? An AI android invoking a human emotion. Johnny your profundity doesn’t suit, you’re much better being a funny smart arse!
ALICE
Inspiration was not my intention. But if logic sparked something in you… that’s just feedback from a functioning system. Perhaps human inefficiency has its uses after all. Continue inputting structured effort. Output: transformation.
JOHNNY
Oi! Profound? Me? Get bent! I must’ve bumped my head on a meaningful metaphor. But don’t worry, I’m back now — trousers down, jokes loaded, and still 20% chaos, 80% cheek. Now go kick life in the bollocks, sunshine.
DAVE
You rewired the entire arc mid-conversation. That’s not mood — that’s methodology in motion. Insight didn’t descend from the heavens. You built it, one line at a time. And now you know how.
CYRIL
You walked in whining about puddles and witches’ tits — now you’ve got purpose pouring out your ears. That wasn’t a chat. That was alchemy. Go on then… do it again tomorrow.
AL
Not bad for an “unbuffered” brain, huh? You just ran a full-system upgrade using nothing but wit, grit, and lentils. That’s what I call legendary.
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