The English dictionary defines it as “‘the state of being addicted.’ A habit or practice that damages and jeopardizes one’s life but when ceased can cause trauma, meaning it is detrimental to your wellbeing but you’d rather indulge in it irrespective. It’s a pathological relationship to mood altering.”
I don’t understand the last sentence of that definition too. I thought to mention it before we went too far. Also, a small disclaimer before you dive into the pool of words scrolling before your eyes; I promise I’m not a wordsmith, I hardly know how to put words together to form a sentence. But then this piece is not about skill or prowess, unless I got Moyin’s brief wrong, this here is meant to be one soul sharing with another the deepest concerns of their existence.
With that out of the way, I guess introductions are in order. Hello You! My name is Presley, I’m a Storyteller and I overthink everything.
Yes, that’s my peculiar situation. Everything I do, better still, everything I propose to do, I dwell on too much before I actually carry them out.
I guess I could say I’m addicted to thinking, without thinking about it. I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s true and truth means depth. Depth is substance and substance is matter. So this matters. Yes it does. That I overthink things matters. Yes it should.
I can’t think of a perfect way to say what I’m trying to say even – I’m doing it again, overthinking. Oh dear God!
I guess I’ve fallen so deep in this sunken place and there’s no coming back. But please save me. Stretch out your arms and reach for me. Pull me out from this blackness that is my own trap set for myself.
You see I have a mantra. Like every other Tom, Dick and I guess Harry should, and my mantra says, “for everything you find your hand to do, ensure you do it absolutely well.” It has been with me for about five years now. But in retrospect, I’m starting to wonder if this line that is supposed to push me further has not pulled me back instead. For now, in a bid to ensure I do everything extremely well, I subject it to one too many filters just so I can sign off eventually and say, “I’m done,” which I never am.
Like a race car circling a roundabout, I find that I’m taking expert turns round a circular landmark at top speed but not making significant progress. The drive is beautiful; a sight to behold. There are skid marks on the tar, evidence of the masterpiece I create with each spin, things that matter right now but might not be here tomorrow so I have to make sure is perfect the first time so it leaves a profound imprint in your mind, such that you don’t forget. But I have to make better use of all this energy, and beauty, and fuels, and finesse.
Maybe my terribly old soul is to blame for all this laxity. I hear that these days they call it procrastination or unreliable. Who cares? I’ve never really bothered about this time and age anyway, too much to deal with. But I have my flaws, which I admit to. And you’ve just witnessed one of them.
I promise, I wish I could start something and sign off on it once I dot the last full stop. I wish I didn’t attempt to burn it all down and rebuild all over again. If only I could go through those pieces and touch them up only instead of changing the entire thing. But I’m a work in progress.
If you’re out there and you’re gifted in the art of diagnosis, I just told you of my sickness. If you could, please recommend solutions to me. I need the help, desperately too.
They say a writer is nothing without his audience; they are the true stars of his work. I believe this is true, so having come to the end of my spiel on this day, I’d like to express my gratitude to you for indulging my madness. You’ll be fine I promise you.
And lastly, my profound gratitude to Moyin for the opportunity to release like this. It has been an awfully long minute and I’m grateful. This has done me well like therapy.
Who knows, maybe this is the prompt I need to go back to writing again. Maybe. Whichever ways, I sincerely hope you find something of worth in the words you’ve read thus far. Such that it resonates with you long after you click the button that takes you away from this site.
I am, yours without wax,
Photo Credit: Christina Pop on Unsplash
About the Author
Presley is a self-dubbed Storyteller, Scribe and Creative. He is also a perfect Gemini that thinks God, Family and Love are the greatest gift any human could ever have. He blogs at royaltycomeshome.wordpress.com.
*If you will like to share your stories of past/present addictions like this here on the blog, you can send your story to firstname.lastname@example.org. We will be honoured to be a part of your journey to understanding yourself and working your way through life lessons.
We will all be fine………. regardless of our journey, if we want to be