My brain, she’s very loud. She’s a terrible tenant, too. She’s noisy and keeps me up at night. I know she’s always trying her best, but sometimes I wish she’d just stop.
She’s great with birthdays and putting names to faces. Faces are so memorable to her, in fact, that I think she might be a super recogniser. She has knowledge of random facts committed to memory. Dick Van Dyke was once rescued by Porpoises.
She also has a range of important dates that have stuck after years spent studying for exams at school. The Magna Carta was written in 1215. Boudica and the Iceni rebellion was in 61. Barbed wire was invented in America in 1874.
Memory is often challenged as proof of one’s dedication. Particularly, if you are declaring yourself as a fan of something - especially music. If I have ever found myself challenged, it has usually been in the form of a demand and made by a man. You like this band? Well, name me every single album, their dates of release, and their top five selling singles.
My memory doesn’t work like that; it’s selective. Only I’m not the one selecting the things to remember. The human eye can see more shades of the colour green than of any other colour.
Because I find my memory volatile, I like having proof of things I have done. Goodreads, Audible, Letterboxd. There is great satisfaction to be found in documenting. Everything can be validated because it can be measured. There is a yes or no. Have I watched this film before? Yes. Here it is, written down. I might not remember it, but that doesn’t matter because factually, it’s correct.
I find it’s nice to store information elsewhere, too. A bit of respite for a mind that whirs. Not everything needs to be in my brain, or at least not thought about all at once. I’m just so worried I’ll forget everything. What would happen then? Who could I rely on to tell me things about myself? That’s why I must write it down. What’s another to-do list, anyway?
There is a logical side of my brain that is in near-constant battle. The creative daydream writer side does not get a look in when the “logic” comes in, kicking, screaming, and dictating things. How can such polarising ways of existing both wish to dominate space?
She is here right now, this “logic”. She’s invited herself in because she thinks I need a critical eye. Someone to take control. I am stressed. I am overwhelmed, and I can’t keep myself from worrying. She’s here because she thinks I need her, though I don’t. Her judgment is distracting and only makes things worse.
The constant reminder of outstanding things to do means that, despite feeling exhausted, any downtime feels wrong. Going for a walk only creates distance from the tasks I am supposed to be focusing on, making me feel teary and on the verge of spiralling into a panic. There is no breathing space or platform from which my needs can be heard. The “logic” is merely a disguise for fear. What if it all goes wrong? How dare you think you deserve a break when there is still so much to be done?
See, it is not logic at all! Not logic in the sense of rationale. It is a warped form of reasoning based on survival instincts that have taken shape from all the experiences I’ve ever had. My instincts have been to avoid vulnerability and asking others for help. To be wary of too many external variables. You can only depend on yourself!
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I am trying to fight my way through the noise. It’s been a while since I have felt so unsettled by my brain that won’t switch off. My usual avoidance tactics are no longer working, and the fort cannot be held. Like Boudica, into battle I must go. But I will not be armed with swords and spears. I’ll bring my words.
This critical, “logical”, reasoning part of me needs to listen. I need to be heard! Kindness, curiosity, and self-acceptance are the antidote she loathes to see coming. Not because she hates me. But she’s dubious of kindness’s ability to fix things. She’s always equipped with a shield and a barb of her own. Poised for defence. I will attempt to soothe her with a lullaby of positive reinforcement, convince her to meet me where I’m at, and ask her to turn it down a bit, please.
