OverFlow: You Are What You Train Yourself to Become
In an effort to finally grow up, I’ve made it a point to be more responsible, be more responsive, be more attentive, be more everything—except, it seems, myself.
OverFlow is what happens when I overthink, overflow, and over-everything. When my feelings have nowhere to go, I write about them. Full disclosure: This is something I wrote on March 21, 2014. Sometimes, I still feel this way—which is a problem I am slowly trying to solve.
It’s getting harder and harder to hide that I’ve been routinely downplaying how I’m constantly being affected by everything that brings me down—things that stress me out emotionally, things that hurt me, even legitimate problems that I have with certain people, and certain situations.
In an effort to finally grow up, I’ve made it a point to be more responsible, be more responsive, be more attentive, be more everything—except, it seems, myself.
I haven’t been myself, or even by myself, for a very, very long time.
There’s no reason to complain or whine, really. I feel like my life now is fantastic. I love my job. I love being married and coming home to Raf and Loaf every day. I love that I get to make music the way I want. Here’s the gist of the problem: because I feel like I have nothing to complain about, I often feel like my problems are insignificant or not important enough to bother other people with—even people who are my closest friends. Why should I bother people with stuff like this when I already strain to even talk to them at all? I always want to have positive interactions because I’m afraid that every friendship I have will eventually fade into dust because of my inability to keep in constant touch.
It was easier when my best friends were still around to witness my dysfunctions on a day-to-day basis.
Now that they’re all far away, my life is tied up in a neat little package–which doesn’t include regular, healthy discussions and heart-to-heart talks with anyone outside my marriage. From far away—and sometimes even up close—I’m the picture of a content 30-year-old, and I would be if only I didn’t train myself to tamp down my negative emotions every time I feel the urge to express them.
This is a cry for help and I don’t even know whose name I’m calling out.
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
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