I am unsure how to deal with the mental anguish that overcomes me in moments of confusion and distress. A deep depression overshadows any joy or sense of exhilaration I would otherwise feel for anything that typically would cause me pleasure. I cannot find relief in any fashion: not from others and not from the pen. Why can’t I let things go? Why must I hold onto every shred of confusion and manipulate it, turn it, examine it, until I either understand it or refute it for its absurdity? Why? And I may never know.
Years ago, a beautiful woman told me that I over-analyze everything, and perhaps she is correct. But that is how I am. I think, and I reason, and I try and make sense of everything around me. But I cannot seem to grasp the ridiculous decisions people make, nor their lack of explanation of why they make them. I am tired of hearing people respond that they don’t know why they reacted or behaved in a specific manner, and even more tired of hearing people back their decisions with the ludicrous explanation that this is just how it is. Whatever happened to the pursuit of understanding?
