Can you repeat that?

I have read that some gifted kids are ultra-sensitive to sensory stimuli. As my dad used to say, "I am on sensory overload." It seems like almost every sensory input is magnified, and once the circuits are overloaded, additional input is unbearable.

Visual images incite emotional reaction disproportionate to the intended impact. Furthermore, once the visual image has been internalized, it is never forgotten. Visually stimulating images are available for immediate retrieval in the most inopportune moments.
Fluorescent lights and abundance of color are sources of visual complication. Fluorescent lights flicker and buzz, causing distraction and irritation.An overabundance of colorful objects in a confined space can cause confusion, distraction, and frustration. In a sentence, I hate mega-markets.

Incessant noises are magnified, particularly repetitive, unchanging tones. Ironically, gifted students have a tendency to be in constant motion. In the absence of physical movement, gifted students will tap their feet, tap their pencils and click their pens ... annoying themselves ... and everyone around them.

Go ahead. Crunch, slurp, or smack your food while eating. I dare you.

 After years of living "on sensory overload," I decided that the best way to deal with additional input is to just ignore it. You could say that I tune out, blast off, or escape. I literally cannot hear you.
My mind is thinking of other things, and my ears are closed.

Although this has shaved years of frustration from my life, it has caused some problems. Often, my children have had to repeat themselves several times, and my husband is sure that I should know some information that he has told me before. Thankfully, the most important information is subconsciously stored in the upper section of my brain (someday, I will present a diagram of a personal visual representation of my brain function), and I remember things at the last moment.

So, if I ask you to repeat yourself, don't be mad. Be proud that you were able to break through the barriers of my tiny fortress, freeing me from a self-imposed prison of silence to which I will happily return the moment I hear a potato chip bag being opened.