The Pendulum: Between Everything and Nothing

There are days when I cry over a random TikTok video — and it's not even a sad one. Then there are days when I can't feel myself existing at all, so I pinch my nose really hard just to be able to feel something, even if it's pain.

Weird, I know. But maybe that's my life — a rollercoaster of emotions with no seatbelt. After all, I was diagnosed with Bipolar, so I guess that explains a few things.

I spend the majority of my day being anxious about things I can't control. I'm a part-time writer and a full-time overthinker. I overthink a lot, I think. See? I think you could tell just by reading what I've written. See? I say "I think" again. Told you.

And I also like telling jokes. I think you can see it too. Aha! ...Again, sorry. Can't help it.

I'm very well aware of everything around me. Hyper-vigilance, they say. But more like exhausted, I say. I also happen to be super empathetic. You feel, I feel. But for some reason, I mostly absorb the bad stuff — sadness, stress, or awkward tension in the room.

I like solving problems. Well, other people's problems, I mean. And mine? I'd rather shove them into a metaphorical box, duct-tape it shut, put it in another larger metaphorical box, duct-tape it again, and pretend nothing ever happened.

So if you ever hear me say I need to be alone, that's not self-care. That's usually the early warning sign — that something inside me is short-circuiting and someone's going to be electrocuted. And unfortunately, that someone is me.

I took a debate class once. I was the team captain — planning tactics, poking holes in the other team's logic, exploiting their weaknesses. I didn't realize back then that I would develop a habit of contradicting everything, especially to myself. Turns out it's very difficult to win an argument when you're on both sides.

From being overwhelmed to entirely disconnected. Doesn't make much sense, does it? But here I am: defying gravity. Feeling everything, then nothing at all. Maybe that's just my brain trying to protect me — shutting everything down just before I overheat.

What does it feel like, you ask? It's like taking local anaesthesia straight to the brain (I know it's not medically correct, but you get the idea). You see what's happening to you, but you're too numb to react. You're just...unbothered by everything.

And honestly? Part of me enjoys it. At least I don't spiral. I'm not anxious. I don't overthink. I can finally rest, at last.

But it won't last, and eventually, the silence gets too loud. The floodgates open again, just like that. Back to feeling everything — from being irritated by anything that moves, to crying over something stupid. Back to overthinking. Back to the pendulum. Just like clockwork.

My brain pulls the emergency brake when it's too much. And when the silence lingers too long, it hits the fire alarm — because apparently, chaos is still better than nothing. A heartbreak is better than not knowing love, right?

People chase after money, fame, happiness, or whatever it is out there. Don't get me wrong. I'm heading in that direction too. But more than anything, I crave balance. Not too much. Not too little. Just enough. I don't want a life that's either chaos or numbness. I just want peace — and maybe a moment to breathe.

Maybe life is a rollercoaster. Maybe the swing is part of being alive. Maybe the goal isn't to stop it — but to hold on long enough until the next calm comes.

If you ask me why I'm still here after everything I've been through, I'd say it's curiosity. I want to see if it gets better. And man, I hope it does.

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