the art of overthinking

I spent several nights over a single week trying to recontextualise a meeting I had with someone and the possibilities of how our next meeting would go. Those nights, I lay awake analysing every action. It felt like repeatedly picking a rose, petal by petal: “She likes me, she likes me not,” over and over. I pestered everyone with an ear to listen and a heart that could guide, asking, “What does this mean?” or “Am I doing too much?”

Long story short, I was yelling into the void. As a lesbian, I yearn for the love I see between the queer couples that are in my life. The comfort of another who understands them and vice versa. And it hurts like a bitch to know that it’s never easy to come by, but a chance would be nice, and so here comes the whirlwind that comes with a so-called crush.

In a single week, it felt like I had experienced an entire season of emotions: hope, excitement, anger, frustration, fear, and anxiety. My mind was deliberating decisions that had me at a standstill, where nothing could happen. Flip-flopping over everything, reading into the smallest things, “Am I really going crazy?”

You see, I had to watch a sad movie as an excuse to cry, because who’d wanna be the person who cried over someone’s lack of clarity. Because what is there to cry about? A lot, actually, and a character asking for fried chicken in Korean triggered it (This was Past Lives, by the way).

Damn bitch, you’re really going through it.

Yeah, I was apparently. I guess needing an outlet worked great for me in this instance. Otherwise, my mind travels back to the library in the Art Gallery of NSW in Australia in 2022. A quiet, serene place that felt so still and at peace with itself. I need to be like that place, allowing people to come by, let them serve me, and I would serve them. If they leave, they leave; if they stay, I welcome them with open arms.

So why did I choose to write about overthinking a crush I had? Well, I mean, it’s an overdone topic plagued by the persona of “thought daughter.”

Well, the art of overthinking is a never-ending cycle of thoughts, strung together, going on and on, that offer no tangible results. The mood swings that have you ranting to the significant people in your life, repeating the same story you’re telling yourself until you find that small sliver of clarity. And whether that means asking yourself difficult questions or sitting in the discomfort of difficult answers.

Knowing how to unpack those emotions about any situation is understanding that no one else can do it for you. Choosing to be outspoken and stand on business is how I choose to go about mine. Coming from a chronic overthinker, it hurts more to dwell and mourn the what-ifs without giving it a go. Chapters can’t be fully closed if you don’t, and with one wrong move, you might be letting the wrong person or energy back into your life.

But my reply to the question, “Am I really going crazy?” It was no, or at least I chose to contextualise what I experienced as truth. However, I can admit that things were read into here and there, but at the end of the day, people can’t always be who they think they are, and neither can I.

But I try, and I’m sure they do too.