On thinking too much

When I was in my teenage years, I used to constantly be told that my problem was that I thought too much. I resented it, it made me so angry. I thought, How can I just switch it all off? If I could just elect to think less about things or stop thinking altogether, then I would, but I can't. I am stuck in my pathology.

Now that I have grown up that little bit more, and life has happened to me those few years more, I have finally arrived at the stage where this is possible. I am able to numb my mind, to put things on hold, to distract myself sufficiently that I can stop myself from facing up to things and thinking about the things that are in the foreground of my mind. I can go on autopilot and get on with the robotic motions of life, suspend all feeling sufficiently to function as an unnoticeable, ordinary human being who gets on with all the normal things that people do.

I have arrived at the pitiable realization that it doesn't work. All that happens is the biding of time until the next inopportune moment when everything that ever happened to you comes flooding at you like some insane monster and you lose complete control, and you are left feeling stranded and helpless, thinking obsessively that you are better off dead. When it subsides, all that is left is the immovable feeling that you have no idea where to go from here.

Last Sunday I spent 70% of the service in floods of tears, unable to control myself and stop my tears from coming and my nose from running embarrassingly. I spent the next few days unable to stop looking at my life and consequent wishing for death. Now I am back on autopilot, getting on with life for the most part.

When I sleep I dream. Many dreams. Last night I remember two dreams. I dreamt I was watching a stranger that had become my friend flirting with and winning over my husband, while lying to my face about having no such intention, and eventually telling me exactly what she thought of me. I watched the beginnings of an affair unfold, feeling the insane jealousy of every turn. I woke up from this dream only to have another dream about my brother threatening to push a blade into my genitalia, and the only way that I could stop him was to hack off his limbs with a knife. My dreams are disturbing. They scare and distress me.

I feel stuck in my life. I am still stuck in my pathology. I can't escape it. It haunts me. But no matter what, life goes on. I get on with it. I do chores. I cry and dream.

It feels merciless sometimes.