LIFE OF AN OVERTHINKER
Every overthinker has once been told, “just stop overthinking it, it’s not that hard”. If only it were that simple, then maybe communication would be even easier.
It’s quite humorous how you can overthink an experience as little as your waiter giving you a straight, intense look for laughing too loud in the restaurant — with your friends. There is absolutely no difference between a big issue and a small one since it would appear that brain has a mind of its own and every other thing is overprocessed nonetheless.
You spend every moment weighing the odds of some arguments, blaming yourself for not being able to just take it off your mind. There’s the reminder that it makes no sense to have your mind wrapped around something that you’re not in control of.
You get left on read. As much as you try to be understanding and not be self-centered or make everything about you, you have a million and one questions as to why. You’re doing your best not to ponder on it but the thoughts keep pouring in all on its own. You saw them last night and they were so happy to see you. You assume their schedule so you know you should get a text back in 48 hours at least.
Either way, you don’t. Now you’re stuck in between something bad happening, if you did something wrong or if it’s just a personal issue.
They are not speaking, you are not speaking. They don’t even seem bothered, yet you feel like you can interpret the silence. The heavy load they will be lifting off, if they could just open the floor and let it out — is like a woman taking off a tight underdress after a nerve-wracking day.
Some days, it feels like an insensitivity to their love for you. You find yourself second-guessing even the most obvious sweet gesture.
“yes! I see it but I’m trying my best not to assume it is all a hidden agenda!”.
It is almost a torture to be you, not to imagine the one that has to love you. What you wouldn’t give to see or think about things differently. It is quite a blessing and a curse.
You really have no power over the choices of the people around you, neither do you seem to control the works of your mind. You notice every tone, every nod, every extra body movement.
The evil stares, exasperated sighs and the irritated retorts after bringing up an issue that doesn’t seem to matter to anyone but you — even when you don’t want to. Someone in the room has to explain why there are ten thousand different possibilities to that outcome.
It’s not an easy life up there. It’s a mess. It is a chaotic metropolis that we have to live in within ourselves.
