A Bit Too Much

There I was, collapsing into myself so that nobody could see me. It was easier to be folded and tucked away into a corner than it was to be myself. It's hard to take up space when you've been pushed into a box over and over again. Throughout my life, I've always felt like I was too much. There were always too many thoughts swirling inside of my head, too many ideas, too many contradictions, too many dreams. Ever since I was a child, I carried this peculiar intensity and curiosity for life. I was always in search of something greater than myself, and I was desperate to make sense of the universe and my place in it. There was an ocean inside of me, yearning to be explored and seen.

Not everyone welcomes that sense of curiosity; I was met with a lot of resistance. Why would anyone  want to hear my musings about the mirroring of life and death when they could be carefree, bathing in the sensations and ecstasies of life? In other words, who wants to think when they could feel? I was probably too deep for a lot of people, and I lacked the ability to conceal that depth. Maybe, in some twisted way I liked being uncomfortable in my own thoughts. A sort of self-torture if you will, or maybe an addiction to chaos. After all, I found more thrill hanging on the edges of existentialism than I did in pursuing worldly excitements. 

​I remember my parents telling me that I was thinking too much, and that I needed to get outside of my head, but why? At least when I'm in my head I can get lost in the realm between what does and doesn't exist. I can ponder about the nature of the universe, and learn more about the substance that makes up my soul instead of obsessing over this fleshy carcass of a body. The truth is, you need people like me in the world. You need daydreamers, flower pickers, and star gazers to make meaning. We're in this mess because there aren't enough of us. 

The truth is, I'm simply overflowing with life and if that makes someone uncomfortable, so be it. I long to learn about the universe, to uncover all of its secrets, to understand the fire burning inside of me. It's the sort of thing you can't really put into words, you sort of have it or you don't. I still remember walking home one night when I was a child, and looking up at the moon, asking my mom why I was here. Maybe I wasn't supposed to be here, maybe I didn't think I'd be here, maybe I'd been here before.