I’m not comfortable in this world

Some things are incomprehensible and most of the time they’re the things going on inside my head. The chatter, thoughts, loud blaring music, the scene, people, experiences, just stuffed and clustered into the tiny, secluded space inside my skull. What do I do with it? What do WE do with it?

For the past couple of days, I’ve been ruminating over my emotions, my thoughts, and how I’m generally feeling. Now I’m aware I’m not supposed to give my thoughts as much power and I’m certainly not supposed to hold onto emotions, it’s not healthy I get it. But you see, that’s the problem. I don’t feel comfortable in this world.

There is a certain sense of rawness, a sense of numb wounds every time I step out of my house and interact with different people. I’m only being metaphorical of course, don’t go assuming I have issues (I might but that’s a post for another time). Is it that I lack trust in other people? An introverted personality I didn’t know existed until now? Perhaps I’m just lonely….? Maybe? I don’t know the answers to any of these questions.

All I know is that I’m not comfortable in this world.

I’m uncomfortable with the way people talk to me and the constant chatter inside my head telling me maybe I should back off, maybe I should go back home, maybe I should think about how the information they’re giving me is going to affect me later on. And then I think and I think and I think.

I’m uncomfortable with people touching me sometimes, just a friendly touch begins a frenzy in my mind too. It’s not that intense but it’s there. I ruminate about everything leading to the touch and why the person did it. Do they like me? Do they have a secret vendetta against me because I swear they just pissed me off a day ago? Am I spinning? Am I losing my mind?

I’m uncomfortable that others are more comfortable than I am. That people interaction is easy, a piece of cake for most of the people. I’m uncomfortable being an adult in this world, it gets too much at times. I’m uncomfortable being uncomfortable.

I don’t expect any of these things to make sense to anyone. It’s just how it is. I am not depressed, I am not anxious. I am uncomfortable. And maybe that’s just what makes me me.