The continuing saga of an overthinker
Running commentaries, touchstones, and writer's block
I’m one of those people who have a running commentary going on in my brain; apparently that’s a neurodivergent thing. It’s not really critical or anything (the meds helped with that), but it’s a bit tiring, as if it were real sensory input my body has to respond to. It’s also somewhat boring; the same phrases and bits of sentences usually pop up, especially when I head home from work. Maybe I’m just creating a hypothetical conversation to be used just in case certain people pop up in my path. I would like to have the ability to just experience life without this noise.
I’ve been feeling stuck in my own head again, though, overthinking the simplest things until I’m too exhausted to do them. When my brain’s like this, I don’t want to do the heavy lifting of connection and reaching out, and would rather people just leave me quick and kind messages, or (if they’re feeling up to it) feel free to just do a big infodump about what’s going on with them. It’s probably just my need for validation, or at the very least acknowledgement.
When I see I get some new engagement online, I wonder who’s a real human being behind the account and who’s just some bot trained to respond to certain keywords that show up. Sometimes the bots are just so laughably obvious, like when a new Facebook account that’s just been created with a picture of an attractive person and some implausibly prestigious career sends out a friend request.
It’s astounding how much worse social media has managed to get over the past few years. It’s been an advertising delivery service for a long time, but it feels like it’s even more blatant now when the Facebook feeds are more ads and posts from pages I don’t even follow than anything my friends actually share.
Maybe it’s a sign I need to get out more. In time, I guess.
I’ve been thinking about how some people serve as touchstones for me, whether or not they stay in my life; their names conjuring specific memories and personal qualities. Sometimes it’s because they have a more distinct name (like Genevieve, Amelie, Mireille, or Ida) or a certain thing about them I admire, but more often than not it’s because I got to know them well enough or even just had some good conversations together. They’re the game changers, the ones that you look for a piece of when you meet someone new.
I wonder how many people whom I have yet to meet will end up being one of these figures in my life. Then again, a lot of the magic that comes out of this happening is because it’s so unexpected; you can’t chase it.
I would like the big feelings to spill out on the page but I feel like I’m having a little trouble getting my mind and heart to connect when it’s time to write. I feel things hard, but I never feel like I can articulate what’s happening, at least not in a way that does the feeling justice. Everything I write feels incomplete somehow.
It could just be the side effect of living in my head so much. It could be perfectionism. It could also be self-censorship.
How do I get around this?
I was listening to Sarah Harmer’s You Were Here album at work the other day. This takes me back to my first year at Mount Allison. Weird thinking that was 23 years ago.