Threats of an Overactive Mind

Set up this usual course. 

Overreaction. Overthinking. Over… everything. So much so that it comes out in the physical realm. My mind overreacts, so my body does too. Allergies, they bother me incessantly, and knock me on my ass when all I want to do is live my motherfucking life. But these face huggers keep on me at the most inappropriate times and refuse to let me go despite my own attempts to be rid of them through any means necessary. I don’t feel like I have a cold, but that’s the way that shit goes.  

Seems to be the metaphor for my life. Everything about me is an overreaction, but nothing can be done about it. Am I simply trying to hard to take care of everything? Am I just going too much too fast? I mean, this is the second time in two months that I have become floored just by having this illness attack me in ways that I never once desired. It seems like a joke almost, to show that everything about your being is an overreaction. That’s essentially what allergies are: an overreaction of the immune system to threats that aren’t real.
Sounds exactly like my anxiety: an overreaction to a threat that is not real. Why is everything about me an overreaction? I didn’t ask for any of this. Yet here I stand with it, facing it for what it is.  

But if my body overreacts, and my mind overreacts, what are those perceived threats that my mind is making like this autoimmune response that provides no purpose? Well, my therapist and I were talking about triggers the other day, and I responded that I was not even sure of my own. Well, one of them happened last night, and even then I would hardly call it a trigger. Hell, a trigger is when someone goes off the rails at the mere mention of a traumatic incident.
Yet my own therapist states that I have indeed gone through some sort of traumatic incident to be feeling like there is indeed this threat that I have to constantly be on the lookout for. But I mean, even if I did indeed suffer from some sort of trauma, there are others who have gone through much worse than me. Who am I to claim that, “oh this terrible thing happened to me, let me play the victim so everyone can feel sorry for me and I can get the attention that I was denied for so long while growing up. Oh boo hoo for me.” Really, who am I to be on the same level as someone who got raped? Who am I to be on the same level as someone who witnessed the horrors of war first hand? Who am I to remotely claim some sort of relevance because of my own personal experience? Harden up, you candy ass.
Harden up, because you’re irrelevant. Harden up because your experience is just plain overreaction. So your brother wasn’t nice to you growing up: whose is? So your dad was hardly ever around. Who cares? So your mother didn’t believe a word you said while growing up because she knew you for the liar that you were. Who the fuck cares? So you got your face eaten off by a dog when you were younger. Do you know how many others go through the same thing and turn out fine?
Do you know how many people out there have survived physical abuse? Do you know how young children are married off against their will to men 4x older than them? Do you even note that there are some that get sold off into slavery and never escape? Do you even care? No, you only care about the inanity that represents the cushy life you had and dramatized it to make it more appealing. You made everything up because you can’t stop lying. You never think your story is good enough, incredible enough, worthy enough for people to take note and notice you. You are a speck of dust that wants to feel important. Welcome to life and all its inequities. Deal with it. You’re irrelevant, and there’s not much you can do to change that. 
Your sensitivities have cost you much… including a sense of peace. Your exponential reasoning of your past has made it so dark that you can’t even tell what’s truth and what’s fiction anymore. Look at yourself. You’re living in a world where you’ve even said yourself that your dreams and your reality are blending together. Your timelines are crossing into one another. How do you know that this is from *your* timeline? 
Now I’m sounding insane. 
By god, was… was that a trigger? Would you call that a trigger? 
And now I’m going down a rabbit hole to become more informed on psychological triggers. BRB. 

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