I missed writing into this blog. I guessed I’m not much of a writer than I thought I was but it never stopped me there. I kept writing not because I think it would be great. I kept writing because I need it. The disease in being an overthinker is that you never stop thinking. You never stop at being a mere observant. You wanted to be a storyteller. You wanted to be heard.
I kept a journal but I barely write on it, too. I had this brilliant words that I kept holding on in my mind that I hope I would have time to write. By the time I step my shoes in our home, I began craving for the bed. And then when I woke up, there it is… a fresh batch of ideas filling your pillows.
Being an overthinker led me to think of dark thoughts, too. Ever since my dad died, they kept haunting me like shadows. It didn’t stop until I faced the truth: I want to die, too. I kept entertaining the thoughts of dying. I never thought of killing myself until I got so stressed out from school. The truck was passing by just outside of the school and I wanted to jump. I felt the rush of blood in my head and the voices in my head but I just can’t. I thought of my future child and how much I would love him. I would love him just like how my parents loved me. And I can’t love him if I die. How far and wide must I think to save myself.
Being an overthinker leads you to many places. You get curious of the world. You kept making up weird and unsolvable questions. You kept asking your purpose. You kept planning the smallest details of your very short life. Everyone will think you’re weird. You will question yourself a hundred of times and you will never get tired of it. But when it comes to a question about death, you’ll have to think. So think hard and carefully. Think of good things. Think bright and clear. Think of hope and love. It all starts with the first thought then, actions flow. You can only save yourself so start thinking.