Over it.
Overloaded. Nervous system overwhelmed. Overpowering beliefs I will never overcome.
I overthink. I’m over thinking. Thoughts overspilling, no tap to cut the flow. I feel it pool in my heart. The pain, overreal (not a word, it’s my perogative. You knew what I meant).
As thoughts dissipate, they are lost. Much like my memories. The part that’s driving me, overcommitted to my anxiety – no space for kind or rational thought.
My overriding themes from the voice that lives rent free in my mind – not enough.
The voice that invades my every thought: “not able to”, “not worthy of”, “not clever enough”, “not beautiful”. “Shit at sport.” Some ring true. Truth hurts.
The power of the mind to change, overestimated. When a part is so ingrained it is you. You are it. It? She. Forever in her mind, never living up to expectations. So she reminds you.
How do you have self esteem, if you don’t have self. Dissociation is my way of being. I have been masking since so young, I had no idea who I was. Masking doesn’t describe it, for me.
Emulating. Wanting badly to be like her. Be liked by her. “Her” changed, over the years. Changed in person, changed how I liked. Overlooked sexuality.
I overshare. I don’t read people well. And I have overstepped boundaries. My own. I am overflowing now.
Over analyse. Task paralysed. That’s why it’s anonymous – so I can be me.
Don’t overreact. Shut down social media accounts. Rejection sensitivity dysphoria.
Not just a feeling in a moment (although that as well). A lens through which you look over everything. Over and over, you examine.
Judge, jury. The defendant? Me. “Judge Judy” – the name to try and tame this part. Just makes it more absurd that I still listen to her voice. Perpetuating belief systems.
Lost friendships, close family relationships, love. Grief overpowered by fear. Always disappointing others. Nothing for them but my leftovers.
Body overwrought, mind overcome with anxious thoughts.
Footnote
Sometimes I publish unfinished thoughts. I may choose to return and finish them, I may not.
About the writer.
I am HF. An autistic ADHD’er – “AuDHD’er”. I identify as Queer. Like many autists, I also identify strongly with the lived experience of many women who were diagnosed as autistic later in life, whose stories are told on the podcasts I listen to. Those stories made me feel like I wasn’t alone. That I wasn’t just weird, I was weird for a reason (I say that with love – weirdoes unite!). Since diagnosis, I have had my eyes opened to the dissociation, processing, executive functioning and RSD-related issues that have kept me from connecting with others. I am yet to understand and break through my PDA, ODD-style tendencies and this limits me. Through hearing experiences like mine, coming from other’s podcasts, I have learned so much about myself. I am still on the journey of discovery of “Self” – I have yet to break free of my parts, and they very much drive me daily. To the detriment of being able to help myself, regardless of how much I want to. There is much judgement in the notion of ‘getting over' yourself. “Just do it”. If it was that simple, addiction wouldn’t be so prevalent. And so… all that to say; I share my own experience here. It may come in poetry, prose, articles – I don’t know, yet. I don’t date my work, so it can be evergreen.
I look forward to finding myself, through the process of writing my thoughts, anonymously.