Overthinking it?

For the fourth month in a row, I feel dead on the inside. A little on the outside, too. I walk, I talk, I smile, I laugh, all the while either feeling overwhelmed or underwhelmed. Both ends of the spectrum have a hold on me, and moderation is a strange theme here. Do I falter? Yes, all the time. Stumble? Have I ever not? Going in any direction feels like I’m moving, but it’s the wind playing tricks on me. I’m on the spot, marking time, not even going nowhere fast, and my destination remains that; a destination. Breaking through, like massive wealth, feels like it is exclusive to the one percent. I shed a tear here and there, reminding myself that all I can do is stretch. Whether I grab and hold on to something is debatable, with the argument leaning heavily in favor of missing the grab and plummeting to the ground. Wrong there, surely, for I am on the ground, and the grab was an ascension attempt, One of many too numerous to count. Am I stricken with ill? Is there a hex on me, I wonder. If I take an actual bold step, will it push me yonder?

A lot of things are my own making. A healthy amount isn’t. Self-growth, self-improvement, grinding hard. Eventually, it’s the ones you have no control over that get you. And they hit hard in ways that make you live your life dogged by self-doubt. The things you cannot change see you working on the ones you can actually change and decide to stick a rod in the spoke of your wheel. Balance would be nice. Reciprocation for my efforts. Constantly too, and on time. but if wishes were horses…

I sit in the dark and consider variables. I plot and analyze permutations. I feel down and hate how it feels like hope exists, but not for me. I despise it. Is why, with bloodshot eyes and a heavy heart, I contemplate. Will the crushing weight of the debris of my decisions let go of me? Or will I lay there, unmoving, lungs filling with dust from toppled dreams? Is everything pointing to ruin, or am I…you know…overthinking?