I AM WRITING ABOUT MY WORRIES AND I DON’T KNOW THE TITLE TO COME UP WITH IT

I spent a lot of time worrying. Worrying about myself, worrying about my future, and worrying about others (well, not so much about their well-being as it is their thoughts about me).  The list of things that I always worried about includes (but not limited to): future jobs, grades, relationship, social status, the “right” answer for so many aspects of living,  my feelings and so on and so forth.

A lot of people have said that I spent too much time worrying and… well they are right. By the end of things, it’s all still swirling thoughts, ideas and scenarios that played out in my head that’s not yet realized. Why worry about things that are not even true or hasn’t yet proven true? The world is always a far bigger place than my own headspace would allow, so there’s always certain variables in people’s thoughts that I could never account for. My fear for the worst case scenarios is always going to lack that variable.

But… as much as I would like to not think about things, I just couldn’t. It’s just something that slipped to me naturally without me realizing it. Maybe I was just being stubborn. Maybe I just wasn’t trying hard enough. There is, however, some part of me that’s just like to insist that this is just part of who I am.

Part of that comes from the fact that I’d like to believe that this over worrying of mine is what actually makes me special. Like, maybe its what allows me to see what others couldn’t. I indulged in the fact that this is something that makes me stand out from others.

Then again, maybe I am just tired of trying to change. As much as our personal identity is fluid and indefinable, maybe there are just some things that are inherent in our core being.

I don’t know.

I don’t know when did I became like this. It feels like it’s been so long that I kinda assumed I was born this way. I had a theory that it has to do with my childhood trauma. Many people said that you need to confront your trauma in order for you to heal.

But… what does it mean to confront your trauma? Try to relive it just like that? There’s some catharsis in doing that for me, but I feel like the mental wound it left behind never really goes away. How do you heal your heart? How do you heal something you can’t even see but you know it’s there?

I don’t know.

Other people often found solace from their misery in the company of others. Friends, family, anyone who they can share their problems. But for me, I always find it difficult to do so. It kinda feels like everybody I talked regarding my problem with didn’t have much useful insight.

Of course, they didn’t need to have a solution to my problem. All they needed to do was just to listen to my problems and let the burden lift itself off my chest. But… I don’t know. I feel like I’m just not comfortable talking to others about my problem despite knowing that. The most frustrating was the fact that I couldn’t really explain why. Maybe because the people I talked with wasn’t really a good listener? If it’s so, what does it mean to be a good listener anyway? Maybe because they just don’t really share my view? If all they do is agree with me, then how do I find breakthroughs in my problem?

I don’t know.

It’s all complicated and weird. It feels like there is never a single correct answer to anything.

All of us parse reality by filtering it through our varying lived experience. To a certain degree, all of our differing experiences is, in a way, a form of truth. Even if you adhere to a religion that believes in a singular truth, the truth that comes from whatever deity that you pledges yourselves can invite multiple interpretations based on your lived experiences.

God, I don’t know anything.

I don’t even know how to end this writing.

Should I just come up with some nice platitudes that could somehow wrap up all of these thoughts in a neat clean bow? Considering I don’t have the answer to any of the question that I just pose that feels disingenuous. Should I just be ambiguous and said how I should just leave it up to you? The person who is reading this right now? That feels kind of pretentious. Or should I just-

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