TL;DR: When the only drama you know of is in your own head.
I am a “textbook overthinker”. There, I said it.
The kind that would freestyle on your last nerve.
It is exhausting to be me. And it is exhausting to be my confidant (I make up with arresting banter, though). If you were to peek inside my head, you'd find trapdoors everywhere, of my own making. Each door is decked with at least five Multiple Choice Questions (MCQs) at all points in time. Each MCQ provides me with three potential ‘disastrophes’.
What happens after I pick an answer?
Each choice leads to three sub-choices. The plot thickens with masochistic glee. Also, there are miniaturised nuclear warheads gate-keeping every trapdoor, waiting to blow up every five minutes and cause a mental implosion of sorts.
For example, if I am checking someone out, my train of thought is a volcano of conflicts. Did he notice me checking him out? If yes, do I look the other way or do I pretend to dig a burrow and disappear? What was I doing with my hands while talking to him? Were they looking stupid, just hanging by my side like rambling hilly-billies? Why do I care so much, I ask myself. Are these psychoanalytic cues that are prompting deep, withered questions? Nah. Let's keep it simple. But, if he did not notice me checking him out, does he not care to look my way at all? The coffee date spoke otherwise, right? Or wait, did I read into it a bit too much?
You get the drift, right? It is a minefield with detonating bombs, one thought at a time.
Next, If I am typing out a text, it is never just a text.
In my gnarly understanding, it is a ‘scroll’ that gets archived in the digital annals, ready to be brandished in the years to come, leveraged in the form of potential threats that misshapen words often cater to. Remember, the internet never forgets--choose your words carefully.
So, here's the thing, I am not trying to freak you out. I am just terribly anal about words.
They can’t be taken back. So I wield them with utmost discretion. Except when I am drunk, of course. One should always have fun with the pints.
But when I am not inebriated, here is an overthinker's forewarning:
If you're rushing through your sentences, chances are you've already taken the bait. If you aren't, you are probably annoying people a lot. “It is not an effing performance, Milton. Get to the point,” I was once rebuked, by a snappy forehead that had plenty of creases adorning its wide expanse. But I couldn’t be deterred. Texts are proof-read by yours truly at least twice.
On the other hand, conversations in person are slightly out of an overthinker’s jurisdiction on account of their spontaneity.
So, the mapping out, analysing and rehearsing future replications are carried out in hindsight:
a) I said ‘no’ when I was asked to hang out with a certain group of people last Sunday. Did I sound rude? Should I have said yes, instead? No! One's got to be firm enough and learn to say no, but gentle enough to not come across as an abrasive recluse. How does one even do that? The dichotomy kills me.
b) I agreed when asked to prepone a work deadline. And the volcano inside took charge. Should I have refused politely? No, a job is a job. But wait, I am not a cog in the machinery. I must work my bit and not put up with any steamrolling of sorts. Is there a midway, though? Should I be working on traversing the neutral zone? Aaargh.
c) I noticed the slightest change in body language of a friend. Is he upset? Did I unwittingly do something to piss him off? Everything is not about me, so I should stop doing this to myself. Right? Or wait...
Phew.
Life is difficult. And I’ve only spoken about inter-personal wish-wash. There are also technical dilemmas that have been given a free pass in my overtaxed frame of consciousness:
Did I turn off the gas while leaving home? Did I double-check?
Did I check with the landlord if he's received the rent?
Did I check the meter box to see if the readings are in sync with the usage?
Did I pack my wallet, pepper spray and keys while leaving the house?
Did I...
Okay, I will stop.
On most days, I am just glad that the bare minimum is in place and on my person.
Hands, legs, wallet, and my thoughts.
Bottom Line: Don’t think too much about overthinking.
(The above is a part of TLDR (Too Long. Didn't Read), a weekly blog that aims to crunch things down for you. I will give you the long and short of most things that need to be taken extremely seriously like your bookshelf, beer, existential dread, aimless conversations, rainy days, and bubble-wrap. I promise to cater to all readers, but I brazenly harbour a soft-spot for skimmers, bathroom-readers and infinite scrollers. Now, let's bring the written word back!
P.S: Follow me @medhac1)
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