Are writers prone to angst?
Or are angst-ridden people prone to writing?
I wonder, if all those years when I was a little kid, clicking away at my sister's typewriter, scribbling in my pink and purple lock-and-key diaries, filling up pages of notebook paper, it was because, even then, I was driven by the need to vent?
Even at that young age, I thought about Stuff. I worried. I pondered Life.
Much like my oldest, who recently asked if he were to touch his daddy's and my hands when we went to heaven, if maybe, just maybe, we could take him with us, and how he had decided, right then and there, that he would, in fact, touch us, "just in case." All of this...from a 5 year old. The one who Hubby says is the emotional and psychological spitting image of me.
It seems his brain never shuts down.
I can relate.
My mind is never quiet.
And it is usually when I am in A Place...some weird place I can get in...either surrounded by plans or dreams or worries or fears or all of these, that I feel the urgency to write most. Even when I don't write (as has been the case on this blog lately), I am constantly composing in my head. The sentences are formed, the words swirl around, all in an attempt to make sense of it all: whatever is in there, currently, in my head.
Perhaps it is like a defense mechanism: the words are my safety net that catch the thoughts that threaten to drown me. They give me the very false feeling that I am in control. Of something. Of anything. At the very least (or the very most?) of myself.
And so I wonder: is it the writer in me that over thinks everything? Or is the thinker in me that has to write?