How Hay Fever Spiraled Into Existential Dread About My Mind & Cognitive Ability

Amidst allergies and fatigue decimating me, I’m pondering on notions of intelligence and ability I’ve been inundated with throughout my life.

Allergy Hell

I have been borderline dysfunctional for 5 weeks. I’ve always had allergy problems. Back in high school, the runny nose never ended, and my eyes burned so badly I could hardly see. 

The fatigue has sapped me of the energy to do anything. The fact I can hear cars vrooming in my sleep indicates the quality of rest I’m getting. I wake up feeling like I never closed my eyes. And my limbs are like jelly.

I can hardly stay awake by two in the afternoon. My eyes are dry as hell, it’s a headache to keep them open. I have to nap for 3–4 hours, which ruins my sleep schedule. 

And so the cycle never ends.

I don’t know when the symptoms will end. I’ve taken medications to varying degrees of efficacy. Eye drops, pills, and nasal sprays — which interestingly, contain an ingredient called corticosteroids. While they prevent excessive discomfort, my batteries remain low.

I’ve also heard vitamin D deficiency plays a role in fatigue. Besides knowing vitamin C drops are good for sickness, I never researched my health knowledge much. 

The brain fog was absurd. My mind was devoid of thought, and I could only stare into space as if my synapses were fried. 

I was pushing through with work on a mobile app feature and needed to check the logic in another file. I opened the directory… and sat there clueless.

Within a single mouse click, I forgot what I was working on, why I had opened the file navigation, and what file I needed to check. I strained my head to conjure a thought, but nothing appeared.

I finally broke through the haze and remembered after feeling frustrated and yelling internally for a solid minute. That whole time, a single word floated across my mind.

~dementia~

I wondered if I reached a mental breaking point between unemployment, isolation, and stress. Maybe I had gone insane, and become incapable of mustering anything but a blank expression.

This struggle with cognitive function has made me think about everything I’ve gone through — the nature of my thoughts and actions, my abilities, emotions, and the psychology of my mind. 

The thoughts feel quite… uneasy.

I never thought much about physical health’s role in my mental health — at least beyond “exercise good.” The idea of my consciousness through the lens of chemistry sounded dehumanizing. 

Even the simplest of actions feel like a trudge. I get nothing done in days, and not from a lack of wanting to. I know I can progress as demonstrated in the past, but my present motivation makes it rough. 

My thoughts become this tug-of-war between the polar extremes. One side fostered inadequacy through detrimental notions of “just” not trying hard enough. If I rest too much, it becomes actual complacency. But forcing myself too hard led to burnout, remaining paralyzed, and getting nothing done anyway. 

These ideas have both worked and failed. Sometimes, I pushed through difficulty and made progress. Other times, I stared at the white page, only fixating on the nothingness in a relentless cycle. 

Sometimes, I returned to a problem after a few days and solved it immediately. Other times, months of break didn’t do squat. 

There was no apparent pattern or trick — it was basically random. 

This brings me to my existential rumination. I’ve experienced how mere pollen can decimate my cognitive ability and pondered how vitamins play a huge role in focus and clarity of thought. 

Was the time I spent stuck on my projects the result of that? Just mere nutrients? Could I have bypassed months of my problems just by taking some supplements or medications?

An unknown mental issue might’ve made my endeavors a million times harder. There’s almost a sunk cost fallacy that I don’t want to believe — was I struggling against that invisible barrier pointlessly?

These are all hypotheticals, of course. I don’t know if I have a disorder. I’ve only had insight insinuating my health is stress or anxiety-related. But it’s agonizing to think my struggles may be so easily fixable. 

If so, what was the purpose of my difficulties?

I stay far, far away from the typical vices. Not interested or worth the risks, and I’ve got social media addiction going for me already. But I’ve heard “creativity-boosting” psychedelics exist. 

I thought one’s ideas and work were a facet of consciousness and self, so increasing mental attributes like a video game stat blows my mind. Just the idea I can take some tablet and suddenly be able to write that story or build that application I always wanted to, it’s unfathomable to me.

I’ve spent the past two years feeling the lowest I’ve ever felt. Like I wasn’t even worthy of life because of how deficient I was. Doomscrolling sucked me into ideas of worthy and unworthy. 

Those born a certain way, just able to do amazing things from the second they exited the womb. And those who were fundamentally inferior (i.e. me). 

The notions established a higher class over stuff like… knowing what a memory profiler was. I heard endlessly how not everyone was cut out for certain topics, and my struggles indicated my inherent shortcomings.

I later had the opportunity to explore concepts and realized how stupid the elitism I conceded under was.

But this idea permeated me since first grade — and not necessarily with nefarious intent. For example, I was called smart when I did well, indicating a binary state. 

I became obsessed with that identity as I aged. My actions were focused on nothing but that status. Not breezing through everything indicated my inherent deficiency — and that’s what happened in high school. 

It felt like the end of the line when I suddenly couldn’t ace tests without studying anymore — or even with studying. I felt dreadful and subpar. But topics in college became easy again. 

What was I then?

In short, the adversarial notions of intelligence have always been ingrained in me. My environments were obsessed with defining it, proclaiming its significance, and comparing it to others.

It has no use in my life. I’ve grown utterly exhausted by the bombardment of trite, vacuous definitions. Apart from my stark aversion to generalizations and “being” anything, the notions often spiraled into absurdity. 

I’ve gained nothing ruminating on defining talented/smart, but I’ve lost time and energy to the dread it evoked. It’s dehumanizing to hear — always categorizing and separating over trivial pedanticism. I feel terrible regardless of whether it compliments or demeans (usually the latter).

If I’m “smart” and “intelligent…” then what? Do I stop there and rest on that laurel? Does knowing that change anything about my motives or decisions? If not, and my brain wiring is objectively inferior… do I just give up and off myself then? I don’t see what the information’s for. 

I live and proceed based on my reality. A status changes nothing — I act regardless of the subjective metrics. And I resent having my experiences explained arbitrarily based on them, and forcefully compared and constrained to a list of criteria.

I’ve realized in the past year that no concept is beyond understanding when given the means to find that key insight — that wonderous lightbulb moment. I’ve discovered infuriating simplicity in subjects I was convinced were reserved for an “elite” intellectual existence.

The challenges of inclement conditions are more apparent though. I’ve spent years feeling like I was going nowhere in my endeavors. I was likely lost and stuck in ineffective methods, but this mental blockage has never felt so futile.

This leads me to another big question — what defines me? I want to believe my consciousness dictates my works, thoughts, and actions. 

But if pollen can reduce my cognition, and other natural attributes can boost my thoughts… is it me having these ideas? Or is it wiring and chemistry creating these outcomes? Why do ideas flow effortlessly sometimes, and other times I can’t remember what I just did?

This is the uneasy dehumanization I don’t like — cramming my identity into reduced notions of “intelligent” attributes and creating assumptions based on them. 

It feels like I’ve become autonomous. It’s been difficult to define effort and events. No matter how significant an achievement, it just fades away into nothingness, and I feel like it never happened. And of course, my setbacks garner the same emptiness. 

So, this is it then. Is this what comprises my existence? A bunch of numbers and checklists of contributions (or lack thereof)? A pure sense of utility as an asset?

Well, to hell with that then.  

Perhaps I have been doing things wrong. Unknown born deficiencies may make achieving certain things harder, or even impossible for me. Developed issues throughout the years certainly have. 

Maybe I’ve been pushing against an unbreakable ceiling, and my efforts were futile to begin with. The year of writer’s block was a sign I just wasn’t cut out, and my current motivation drought is too. 

I could’ve had a more optimal route this entire time. Instead of trying to force through barriers, I should’ve found the “right” way. Maybe a panacea to unblock my mind was a pill away. 

But I don’t think I’d ever forgo these experiences.

These struggles and setbacks comprise an unreplicable aspect of my existence — my story. 

God, that sounds so self-centered. But I suppose it’s true. 

My experiences are the quintessential image of my existence. Not a deconstruction of one’s mind to where my humanity is stripped entirely. 

My actions and ideas are not just facets of my consciousness, but of my journey. The emotions, the feelings — nothing more, nothing less.

My imperfections are not a subjective value against a benchmark, but proof of the existence I live. Those complications drive me to the next stop, even if I’m running on fumes.

Maybe it’s stupid to try. 
But that won’t stop me — it may even be my greatest asset.

That being said, I’ve seriously felt something off. My situation might've marginally improved now, as I can write these last thoughts. But I was barreling down the mental decline train tracks this last month.  My mouth keeps hanging open as I stare blankly at my screen.

I need to solve this — the issues with energy and motivation. I need to know if I actually have a health problem that’s screwed me for these years. I’m tired of the slow trudge, continuously failing to make my ideas a reality. 

There has to be something I can find. Some insight or consultation that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg. I’m still pretty lost though. Getting started is the hard part. 

On a related note, I might be on the cusp of beginning a new life — though I’m still awaiting my results from last week. Maybe if it works out, that’ll be my catalyst. A positive outcome would solve my most harrowing issue, at least. 

In the meantime, I can only continue exploring this existence. Navigating its challenges, to find an answer only I can discover.

What makes me, and what makes that worth everything?

Hopefully, I’ll know more soon.