Yes… it’s been months of radio silence, and I promise that there’s an acceptable reason for it. But before I try to explain my prolonged absence from the Blogosphere, I wanted to tell you something with how crazy this chick can get some or most of the time.
Writing has been and always will be a sort of therapy for me. When things get to overwhelming, I write — whether I’m too happy or I’m too sad. Somehow, I can’t get into the middle ground of the emotional spectrum. Beats me.
Life suddenly turned lackluster — bland — and mundane. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I relish the mundane sometimes. That’s the introvert in me speaking, by the way.
The silence and solitude relaxes me, quieting the rampart part of my brain that often gives me massive migraines and makes me an insomniac.
All’s good in quiet country…. so it seems.
For the past couple of months though, after one sitcom-like event after another, the gift of writing prose escaped me. I can’t get inspired. My typing fingers became leaden with enough bored weight that I can’t get coherent enough to put words to what I’ve been going through.
Anyway, to cut to the chase, this is me rambling again about the injustice of being saddled with an over-analytical mind.
Every time I start to blog, I hold back. I ask myself, would anyone ever read this piece (of sh*t) in the first place. Would it be crappy just like some of the things I posted here. I don’t want to write something just for the sake of publishing something. I wanted relevant stuff to put out there.
And then, the pestering voice from the ghost of Rosey’s past invades my brain.
“You think too much, Rose,” is what my former manager told me not once, but several times. I remember those moments because they usually accompany events that I’d rather forget, but can’t. He has a point. A lot of points to be precise. I do think too much. So much so that I can’t sleep at night, aggravating my already fragile sleeping habits — or the lack thereof.
You see, over-thinking things seems so automatic to me. I think a lot when I am smack in the middle to trying to put things in rational order. Over-thinking makes me prepared (somehow) on what’s about to come. I think it’s one of the reasons why I learned how to read Tarot cards, tea leaves and palms. I want to be a master of my own fate… yada… yada…
Over-thinking things is bad. I am fully aware of it. But when I’m faced with something that confuses the hell out of me, over-thinking can bring in a myriad of ways not to get too excited or too anything, especially when it comes to emotions that I’m not sure if it’s reciprocated.
It can be anything from trust, respect, faith, love, et cetera. Because I am not God. I am not omniscient. And when I am involved in a particular situation, my judgment tends to get clouded and subjective because I want it to be right — flawless. So, I get confused. I hesitate and become undecided. In short, I get nuts.
That is why — most of the time — I am uncertain on how to respond to simple questions like, “Do you like me?” or “Do you love me?” I simply don’t know how to answer. And it pisses the other person off.
I search for clarity. I search for signs. I search for anything to validate what I feel so I wouldn’t feel like a fool afterwards. I know how it feels to be like a fool. I’m one of many who’ve experienced the bitter taste of love gone awry and I am emotionally scarred because of it. I carry that scar as a reminder that I mustn’t succumb to wild, wayward emotions ever again.
But how can I be certain if what I’m doing is protecting me from hurt or preventing me from my happiness?
You see, I like order and surprises in equal measures. I think I can take a surprise that’s not too major or life-altering. But if it’s something that I know will drastically change my whole life, I step back.
I’m a coward. Who isn’t?
Being very overly-cautious didn’t give me peace of mind or even allowed me to live life freely. Yes, I have control of what goes on in every minute detail in my life, but does that mean I am actually living life?
The answer is a definite NO.
As much as I would like to play it safe all the time, there are circumstances when my other side — the one that like to live vicariously — takes the reins and flip everything and everyone off. That’s when things get testy and a bit more interesting. Sadly, the “getting interesting” usually involves a lot of self-castigation afterwards. It’s the over-analytical me that steps back and makes me miserable for days after going unrestrained for a few hours.
But how can I stop something that have been a part of me since the beginning of my life.
I can’t just settle just for the sake of settling. I’ve been that quiet girl who sits at the back of the classroom, observing everyone get reckless and be wild without any reservations. I’ve been that quiet girl who’s afraid of failure. I had my fair share of failures and they crush me. Who wouldn’t feel bad after knowing that they failed?
And as years passed by, I lived and realized that failure will always be part and parcel to living life. It’s what we do after we fail that hones our characters.
Maturity has taught me a lot. Maturity made me develop a different perception in life… that it’s a series of wins and fails and like balancing checks, life can’t be all the time good. There will be bad moments for sure, but it’s how we rise from it all that defines who we are.
THE GOOD . . . THE BAD . . . AND ME. 