Stockholm Syndrome.

Getting me out from inside my own head is hard to do.

I’m debilitatingly shy at times, my inner dialogue rarely makes it outward. I over-analyze, over-think and generally obsess about everything.

The last several weeks of insanity at work (really, months is more accurate) have pushed me so far beyond what I thought I was capable of – emotionally, socially, academically – I’ve blown past pure stress and too the point where┬áI’ve begun to sickly like it.

(I imagine this is akin to the point where athletes work through the burn and hit that endorphin I-can-do-anything rush. I wouldn’t know.)

Why? Because when there’s no time to overanalyze, no room in the day for self-doubt, all that’s left is action. Delicious, unambiguous action. Making decisions, taking names. Sending emails without reading them four times first.

It’s liberating. Addictive.

This is why the idea of ventures like furniture restoration, painting have always appealed to me. I can’t imagine what it’s like to take a quick trip through your intuition, experience, and just go for it. Have something tangible, physical at the end of the day and be unapologetic about how it all turned out.

I hope when all the adrenaline wears off and things eventually settle back down I can maintain a bit of this new, bolder incarnation of me. Minus the frazzled nerves and the binge-eating of baked goods.