Restless Soul Syndrome. Sometimes emotions don’t whisper — they… | by Misha Morningstar | Jul, 2025

Sometimes emotions don’t whisper — they simply roar. And when they do, logic sits quietly in the corner, watching the soul spiral through hunger, old memories, and creative chaos. This is not a clinical rather a phycological reflection. It’s a lyrical awakening — a confession stitched from impulse, healing, and the chaotic beauty of inner noises.

Disclaimer: This piece is a metaphorical exploration of personal experience and not intended as a clinical diagnosis or mental health advice.

Yes, the diagnosis is in — unofficial, but deeply felt: I have restless soul syndrome. A parting gift from my exes — bipolar disorder and anxiety, so I’d never miss them too much, never feel at ease in their absence, and never quiet know what to do next.

Over the years, I’ve stopped trying to control it. It’s like riding a wild current of overlapping thoughts, sudden burst of energy, and a restless hunger to be part of everything. While quietly, my heart whispers, “leave me alone.”

There’s a sudden rush — being pulled in every direction, unable to focus, unable to sit still. A need to speak, to listen, to run, to know, to say everything and yet nothing feels complete. I leap from thought to thought, scene to scene, like a dancing monkey in a whirlwind.

It’s often triggered by unexpected changes, something someone said, something I procrastinated, or something I buried. It lasts until it’s not satisfied or until my body collapses in exhaustion and my brain finally commands. “That’s enough. Behave.”

And then I sit quietly, reviewing the chaos. Regretting the words I said, the moments I disrupted, the energy I couldn’t contain. I wonder why I acted out of sync, why I said things that felt weightless, why I showed up when no one asked.

Regret, yes. But not despair. Because this is still better — better than the silent invasions of panic attacks, zoning out, or the uninvited return of past versions of myself. Back then, my exes held the wheel. Now, at least, my mind gets a say — without prescriptions or grey shadows.

Yes, it’s still bad. it’s the soul’s insatiable hunger — to be everything, to be seen, to create something that echoes beyond time. But compared to medication-fuelled numbness and the endless fallout of survival, this… this is something I can name. Something I can explain — if anyone ever wanted to know. They usually didn’t then, and they rarely do now.

But that’s okay. Because I know I’ll survive whatever’s next. Maybe not today, but someday. After all, I was the one who ended those past relationships. I was the one who chose life over chaos, solitude over toxicity.

So yes — I have restless soul syndrome. And somehow, that feels more like a beginning than a diagnosis.