Nowadays I am feeling overly chatty.
It’s been a while since I wanted to turn to my keyboard and write, freely, and for hours. But to be alone with myself felt like such a burden after all. That weight you needed to lift of your chest, that literal weight almost felt physical and hard.
There is so much going on in my head right now. It’s a mediocre description of a huge messy ball, all tangled up, with emotions and thoughts. An unorganized drawer of aha-moments, perceptions, various states of minds and unstable conclusions about my existence, our existence, and our entire world.
Have you asked yourself ‘what is sense and what falls in the norms of making sense?’. Why do we need to make sense when we speak, when all some of us wish for is to talk, and to figure out our thoughts out loud.
The other day a friend asked me what is holding me from doing what I really wanted to do with all the free time handed to me, now that I am a freelancer.
I talked for what felt like an hour, about my concerns, my fears, and about my determined belief that having expectations is something bound to fail.
Why almost every time we expect something thinking if we had planned it right all along, it would likely take the wrong turn. About the infinity of probabilities of the turning of events, and how we are (I am) still expecting that one perfect scenario to come true. He said that I talked about a lot of things, but I still didn’t make sense.
Sometimes when I feel a surge of emotions come through me I end up with a sore throat. That sudden need that fills my chest and make me light-headed causes a sore throat like if had been screaming for hours. That happens mostly when I feel like talking but am not able to do so.
That lack of stimuli from even the smallest banal conversations leaves me with irrational thoughts, and pains in my throat.
Sometimes I get carried away with talking, throwing around my random thoughts, some that may trouble or enchant my mind, filling my noise in the head of uninterested receptors, sometimes undeserving at all.
But this can leave a strange feeling of remorse and guilt. Conversing too much makes me feel like I am naked, exposing all my weaknesses and sensitivities. Giving away all that intimacy makes me feel ashamed.
But really, what’s wrong with talking too much? I’ve had a lot of urges lately to express myself more and be more present and vocal with my thoughts and that weird melancholic mind of mine. This overwhelmed realm of thoughts and ideas that was told to stay shut, to conform, to follow the normal daily pace and where society thinks you fit best.
The overwhelming feeling from feeding on knowledge and discovering new horizons and ways of thinking, connecting the dots and coming to end with some simple or complex life matters has left me dizzy and disoriented. That beautiful and creative mind of mind that I silenced for years to sustain and move along with the crowd has been awakened, but must be handled carefully.
Did this make sense? I hope so. Well… not really.
I wish I can talk more to myself.