"Have you ever found yourself wide awake at midnight, trapped in a relentless marathon of thoughts that you just can’t escape?"
In the quiet of the night, with the lights off and everyone around me asleep, the sound of crickets slices through the silence like a knife. I lie in bed, sometimes stretched out, staring at the ceiling, other times curled up in a ball with my face buried in the pillow. I may appear calm on the outside, but inside, I’m overwhelmed. My mind is racing, running a marathon through the corridors of my memories.
I move from one room of memories to another, dissecting my day. Did I hurt anyone? If so, when was it, and what were the words that caused their pain? Was I productive today, or did I waste the hours? Is it wrong that I spent the day in bed reading a web novel? Should I have replied to that text sooner? Should I have shared that extra bite with my siblings?
Serious to silly, these questions chase each other in my mind, each one leading to another, until I’m exhausted. I drown myself in a lake of dreams, only to wake up and start running again, trapped in a labyrinth where every path ends in uncertainty. Overthinking feels like having a puzzle piece in your hands but not able to find where it fits.
Some nights, it’s as if my mind refuses to rest, caught in an endless loop of “what ifs” and “should haves.” I revisit conversations, analyzing every word I spoke, wondering if I came across the way I intended. Did I make the right impression? Should I have stayed silent instead of speaking up? ( This one is the most infamous question in the corridors of my mind), I begin to look for explanations for the actions of others. My thoughts spiral, each one pulling me deeper into a maze of self-doubt and second-guessing.
The hours pass, but sleep remains elusive as my mind refuses to settle, clinging to every detail and possibility. This is what overthinking does—it holds you captive in a web of thoughts, spinning scenarios that might never happen, yet feeling as real as the ground beneath your feet.
And then, there are nights when my mind turns to the future, projecting every fear and uncertainty into the unknown. I imagine outcomes, both good and bad, and try to prepare myself for every possibility. But the more I think, the less certain I become. What if things don’t go as planned? What if I’m not ready? My thoughts race ahead of me, painting pictures of all the things that could go wrong. I find myself running toward a destination that keeps shifting, never quite reaching a point of clarity or peace.
Overthinking, in these moments, feels like running uphill in the dark—no matter how hard you push, you never really get anywhere. Sometimes I wonder: why do we have to run this marathon, especially at midnight? It’s manageable, until it starts seriously messing with our mental health. It’s in these moments that I remind myself it’s okay to let go, to stop running the marathon, and allow myself to rest.
After all, not every question needs an answer, and not every fear will come to pass.
