The Worst of a Good Situation

The Worst of a Good Situation

I am an overthinker, 100%. About everything. I have this theory that by thinking something through, even when it’s been thought and re-thought and revised and thought about again, the thinking will make it better. I have yet to be proven correct. I can say that thinking something through is a good thing, but when it comes to overthinking, I’ve made an unhealthy habit of it.

I overthink everything. What to make for dinner, where I should put furniture or artwork. Which chore to do first, the workout planned for the next day. I think about my submission, am I submissive enough, too much?

I think about my blog posts for way too long after they are posted. I think about the words I’ve said, and if I could have said them better. I overthought this post before I wrote it.

So while I was overthinking my post on overthinking, I thought about how that internal war feels and thought maybe that’s more like what I need to say.

Tell them all I said hi, hope you’ve been well.
You’ve been asleep while I’ve been in hell.

The thoughts circle inside my skull. Logic seeming to come undone as I follow a long trail of broken speculations. Like a red string, tangled and jumbled, they surround me day to day, task to task. Encasing me in their fibers, I become a slave to the lure of their call. Conversations become one-sided, others speaking and me living in my head, thinking about the what-ifs, the could have beens, the whys, and the wherefores.

Each expectation sabotaged by the rumination, like the circling of a vessel going a million miles a minute around a vantage point, a tiny door from where no one returns. The mess threatens to take hold, to tangle my mind in a kaleidoscope of color and confusion. Needing an anchor, a lifeline, I search for foundation. A buoy at sea. There, a bright point. The smile of a child, a lovers embrace, a simple pleasure exchanged. A night-time kiss, a climactic ending. Temporarily, I’m liberated from the contemplation. The crimson muddled strands loosening their hold.

The respite delays the inevitable, the endless musing once again claiming my inner reflection. I march forward while looking back, unaware of the dangers ahead while my mind is glancing at the past. The brick wall comes from the abyss, slamming me to a stop. Enclosed in a cage filled with words, I’m plunged into a pool of cold deliberation, tangled among the ropes of uncertainty. The chaos echos through me, forming my expressions, lining my face, masking my slumber.

Dreams fill with visions of ulterior versions of a truth that my mind accepts but wants to reframe, rewrite, rewire. The sensations pull at the strings, creating in me, a puppet of restlessness. Pulling me forward while I try to stand firmly in place. Resisting the drag, planting my feet in the sand, the threads tear, their strength diluted under my desire for peace.

The filaments become frayed, the ends unraveling in the winds of time. Each coil shortening, disconnecting, wearing away to eventually float and scatter among the fallen leaves, laying in their silent shrine, but never far away. For a brief flash, all is calm, until the next moment of decision, when the strands begin anew.

MrsK

Edit: I spoke to Mister K about how I find I overthink almost everything and asked him if he has ever experienced this jumble of overthinking. One to always seem stoic and refined, I don”t see this internal wager happening within him. His reply is that he believes that overthinking is a part of the female mind. As the gatherers, the nurturers and the ensurers of the next generation, it’s set within us to think about everything, sometimes all at once.

What are your thoughts? Is overthinking strictly a female curse or do members of the male gender experience the same turmoil?

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