Thinking out Loud (1)

Sometimes I wonder — is this me living in the past?
Or am I just trying to figure shit out?

Should I not be thinking about all the things I could be doing?
Am I supposed to just sit here and wallow in everything that’s already happened?

I don’t know.

I guess that’s what solitude does — it makes you think.
And honestly, how else am I supposed to come to center with myself if I’m not thinking through everything — from beginning to end?

And then you give that to someone like me — an overthinker — and it’s a mess.

Add perimenopause on top of it? I’m throwing that into everything now. I don’t even care. If something’s off? Blame perimenopause. Boom.

But here’s the thing — I’m not a pessimist.
If anything, I’m the opposite. I always try to see the bright side, even when I know the dark side is there.

I’ll clock it. I’ll name it. But I’ll still try to push through and say, “No — let’s look at what could go right.”

That’s why I get caught up in ideas. I’ll say, “This might take off, this could be good, if I do this, maybe it’ll work…”

And then the doubt creeps in.

It’s always a bit of a ride — up, down, side to side.

But at the end of the day, I want to believe that people would care. That they would want to hear my story — maybe even relate in some way. Or maybe it will help, help to know that they are not alone. I know it helps me when I feel like no one would understand, and for a better part of my life it’s been just that — I’m misunderstood. And because of my history, it shaped me into who I am. And that doesn’t mean something is wrong with me. I’m just different because of my history.

But I am also kind, honest, loyal to a fault, and real.
That’s what I love most about myself — that I am real.
Especially because we live in a world where too many people hide behind masks.

I have to stay as positive as I can and keep hope alive, because hope is a drive for people — well, at least it is for me. Because with hope, there is always possibility. And with possibility, there’s always a way forward. I don’t have it figured out yet, and I’m not done trying. Maybe things will shift — not all at once, not how I expect — but enough to remind me that I’m still pushing forward, still trying. And honestly? Some days, that’s all the hope I need.