I talk too much—my arms and hands flailing wildly about as I speak, shout and, most likely, repeat myself over and over again. I have a tendency to say whatever comes to mind, to rant on and on without thinking (or sometimes breathing) until I start to get lightheaded and short of breath.
It's really been bugging me lately.
I want to be stoic—a warm, inviting stoic, but stoic nonetheless.
I am getting tired of talking so much. Regretting so much. Wishing I could retract so much. And of telling myself over and over again, slow down, Lia. Slow down.
I don't try to be this way. It's just "the way I am." I hear an idea, a thought, a problem and my brain readies for battle, hell, it might even toss the first spears. Whether I am being "attacked" or just asked for my opinion, I go ALL in. I am a too-open book of options, answers, solutions, confusions, help, bigger problems, accusations, comforts. I just want to help.
I want to be helpful. I want to be—and be known as— a go-to kind of person who can be relied upon in a time of need, or any old day of the week. I long for acceptance (therein, respect) from my family, my friends, my peers, because it's what keeps me going when all else fails. I cringe at the thought of someone thinking me lazy, or careless or selfish or unwilling.
The more and more that I go on, it sounds all about me. And I guess maybe it is. But not consciously. I don't think, how can I help myself by helping you? It is just a given. I help, and in that I am helped. I comfort and feel comforted. I solve (sort of) and I feel fixed.
Maybe it's just these little daily/momentary victories that I am searching for. Enough of them to load into my pockets and provide me with the contentment I need to get through the day. Maybe it's just that my wild mind is stuck trudging through boredom most of the time that I am chomping at the bit for any little problem, any little chance to show that I am worthy. That I have a voice. That I am still here, as much as I may often feel like I am disappearing.
Medicated or not, 150 miles per hour all the time is no way to run. It promises quick wear, little control. So much guilt and frustration. Speeding, I often feel lost in certain areas (most recently, my career) and it should be no surprise. How do I detach from what drives me at such dangerous speeds, and slow down, take deep breaths and–for once—just be quiet and listen?