the overthinker’s guide to addressing your existential crisis
(what i would be telling my shrink if i ever get over myself and finally see one)
often i think ive lived a bigger life than i actually have. for some unjustified reason, i believed my life has been one for the books. my stories, worries, and wins have always been so exciting for me to tell. people laughed at me, admired me, pitied me and praised me, and whatever response i received, i was somehow satisfied. i was grateful that i even had these cool experiences to share with others. i could see in their eyes that they were infatuated with the illustrations im painting before them.
im not sure when it started, but all my glorious truths now feel inadequate. inadequate for what, i have no idea. i dont know if i stopped caring or others stopped caring, but i can’t feel its weight anymore. those concrete histories that composed my foundation have silently imploded and i feel so light, i could float away. everything up to now holds no significance outside of the context in which it took place and ive been so naive to think it ever transcended it.
some people make this feeling worse – the ones that are in more of a sweeping romance with their past than an affair with the future. now these people have lived. they have explored, improved, loved and betrayed, and experienced all these things that i cannot even begin to comprehend. ive always thought i knew, or at least could imagine, these emotions but now when i compare myself to these people, i feel silly. i don’t know the first thing about anything. and whatever i thought i knew is just so insignificant i might as well just forget it.