Overthinking Again

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Waiting for the tea water to boil. Mornings are always useful for gathering my thoughts. I need to utelize this more, instead of worrying and forecasting events that may never come to pass.

It is frustrating to be in a place where there is so much that you know needs to be done, but to also know that, in order for it to be done properly, you need to heal. If creating art is healing, how much rest vs how much creativity towards a cause that you believe in does a person need? My therapist has said that we will always have trauma, so there is no “perfect end” to this road. 

When I start thinking like that, everything turns into numbers. And numbers and I don’t always understand each other, so I have to wait for my brain to calm down again.

Maybe that is the answer. Wait for the feeling of “I know this is my goal; I know this needs to be done.” But, as I mentioned before, I know that this is also how PTSD can present itself. And PTSD can very much wreak havoc. It can be blindly striking out at whatever gets too close.

If the answer is “I can’t know the answer”, is it okay to just do what I think is right? But just doing “what I think is right” is the very thing that has caused some of the most horrifying events in history.

I am aware that I can’t predict what is going to happen. I know that I might try as hard as I can and, in the end, change nothing. It would be okay for me to just live and rest, and not try.

But when I was a kid, stories kept me alive. Stories kept me alive.

I don’t know if I believe in humanity as a whole, if I’m being honest. I believe in individual people. I believe in stories. And I believe in individual people being changed and inspired by stories.

So if I keep learning and changing myself, so that I can be as honest with myself as possible with every word I write, and if I keep writing stories…. Maybe that is all that I need to do.

I can’t change the landscape and I can’t predict whether the things I say are meant to resonate with people. If I can’t get published, that is all right. If I end up looking like an idiot, that is all right.

If I end up hurting people….

That is less all right. There are a lot of factors to consider, and stories that kept me alive that I cannot, in good conscience, utilize.

Everything that I say has the potential to hurt somebody though.

So I guess it comes down to research, conversations, and motivations.

I would rather try than be tied down by my own perfectionism, in the end. 

And, thankfully, writing stories takes time. 

Maybe I need to trust my own brain and body more, and my alters. I should instinctively know when to write and when to heal, and when those things are one and the same. I just need to listen to myself.

It is aggravating. I was born knowing how to listen to myself. I wish that I could go back and re-write every time I trusted my abusers’ words over my own. But I can’t do that. It’s too late. Not too late to remember who I am. Not too late to grow. But the time wasted and the hurts caused over lies makes me furious.

It’s easy to want to follow that anger and hunt down my lost mind. But I’m not even that person anymore, anyway. Why would I try to fight with somebody, somebody I know I can’t trust, somebody I know uses tactics beyond my capacity, to regain something rotting and dead?

Anything useful I will have to create from scratch.

If I’m being honest, I look forward to it.



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