Overthinking in Boredoms

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, at least some part of that being I didn’t feel like I had anything interesting to write about. That’s why I have trouble keeping in touch with people, also. I’m very aware that I’m a boring person, and I go through a lot of trouble to try and dredge up something interesting to say to people when I interact with them but if I open up too much conversation it’ll be quickly apparent I’m too, well, dumb to hold my end of a deep conversation. Some of the people I interact with are pretty tolerant about this, but with others I can see how trying it is for them to listen to me.

There are a lot of things tearing back and forth across my mind right now. I spent hours last night staring into the dark of my room and just trying to…do something about them. Sort them? Make sense of them? I hate having a busy mind because I can’t apply any of that. I can’t focus, can’t concentrate, can’t relax. It takes me forever to get to sleep unless I push myself until I’m completely exhausted. Even then, sometimes, a strong enough thought will keep me awake for another hour or so.

I want to be able to just vent all this out but I can’t help thinking about how people react to things. I tried just doing private entries. Just for me but it’s no different to talking to myself which I do anyway. I can/do/have put those things here and I may get one or two people who will put in their two cents or even just a supportive word here and there and that’s nice but what stops me is my paranoid thinking. Maybe not paranoid. Seeing judgement everywhere is what I do. There are solutions to every problem isn’t there? And people are more than happy to help you find them. How many people have heard me venting or seen one of my ridiculous entries and rolled their eyes and just thought: “Fix your shit! Do this or do that and get better, change things for yourself.” Unless you put forth every effort to better yourself or find your place in the world until the very moment that you die then you never tried hard enough. You spent 20 years trying to figure who you are or what you can do for the world? You should have spent 21 years, that last year would have made the difference. Or maybe you do try and never get there and drop dead the very next day, then it was just that you didn’t try hard enough, or didn’t do the right thing in the right place or with the right person.

All of my thoughts are rambling insanities now. Oh, maybe I should get a therapist? Except I don’t know what I want from that? Do I need someone to just listen? Or someone who can offer world-shattering revelations to me that I can use to change my very being? I still think the answer is drugs. I want to be erased, turned into a zombified shell. They can stick me in a corner to quietly run out the remainder of my life with a brain full of fuzz. It would be quiet then, wouldn’t it?