A Housing Crisis of the Mind
Overflowing thoughts and eternally empty hands
It’s gotten far too crowded inside my head these days. Rent is skyrocketing. Thoughts are losing their homes left and right. They’ve bubbled up and over the brim, oozing out my ears and evaporating into nothingness almost instantly.
The thing is, there just isn’t room for everyone anymore. My utter failure to let these thoughts breathe or evolve, to commit any of them to the page, has led to a mental housing crisis of unprecedented proportions. The dam finally burst and now it runneth over with thoughts wild and amusing, filthy and unhinged. I’m drowning in all of the words I’ve refused to let out. Being smothered by all those I smothered. An eye for an eye and all that.
Unlike the actual ongoing housing crisis, this one isn’t caused by limited supply or increasing demand. Unfettered population growth isn’t the problem. The issue, quite simply, is that I’ve been a militant gatekeeper for my entire life. The unwitting architect of my own destruction. Nothing is ever good enough. Nothing ever gets finished. There’s this sick part of me that can’t help but pull out a shotgun and pump any new idea I have full of lead. Every story gets its feet shot full of holes the moment it starts to take root or gather momentum. My own impossible standards have kept me quiet for so…
