Overthinking

Herself speaks.

I fell into overthinking today.

There is a particular sore spot I have in my personal history. This Thing is not something I have done (or not done); rather, it is an unjust perception of a particular aspect of my character. It has haunted me on occasion, beginning in college with rumors here and there among a few people I knew who spoke among themselves, not to me but about me. It lay dormant during my many years of telecommuting, when I did not interact with other people in person terribly often -- it was so quiet I thought it was gone. But no. it reared its head again among a new friend group I finally found here in my desert land (I wrote about that briefly here).  I had a flashback today, triggered by a chance encounter -- that was completely innocuous and pleasant -- with a lovely woman who was a tangential part of that friend group. And then I went and fell into wondering what people think about me, and whether it matters, and most importantly, are there other people whom I need to protect from being tainted by what people think about me? So far down the rabbit hole.

I just want to cry.

I don't want to write or talk about this Thing. But I do. Well, no, I don't. I really just want someone to tell me that I am fine, that they understand why my feelings are hurt and why this Thing sometimes still bothers me, that rumors are stupid and bred from jealousy and bitterness. That those who truly know me, know my heart, and that it doesn't matter what other people falsely believe.

I cannot ask someone else to help me to understand and modulate these particular feelings. Nor am I sure I can express why this Thing weighs so heavily on my heart. The words to describe the Thing may be too painful to put out into the world. I'll just sit with the Thing when it howls, and hope that it goes back to sleep.

I'll turn to John O'Donohue, since his words always do seem to help.

From For Loneliness (from To Bless The Space Between Us). 

.....
When the music of talk
Breaks apart into noise
And you hear your heart louden
While the voices around you
Slow down to leaden echoes
Turning the silence 
Into something stony and cold,

When the old ghosts come back
To feed on everywhere you felt sure,
Do not strengthen their hunger
By choosing to fear;
Rather, decide to call on your heart
That it may grow clear and free
To welcome home your emptiness
That it may cleanse you
Like the clearest air
You could ever breathe.
.....

Current mood.