At least that's how it is with me.
Writing has always been the best way for me to channel my restlessness. I'm one of those people with busy brain that never stops talking and processing thoughts, digging deeper and deeper into things, connecting and retrieving information and thoughts, and turning it over and over again inside the skull of my head. Sometimes, the thought it's playing with is not that important, often times, it's absolutely not important at all. But it doesn't seem to mind that I actually question my brain's judgment on making priorities.
It's really tiring to hear all the talking inside my head. And for years I've been unconsciously developing a mechanism to shut them up by putting them down on paper (and by paper here I also mean a blank white page on computer screen_kind of paper look alike). I don't always indulge it though. Most of the time, I ignore the talking until they turn into some kind of a scream, or a cry. Then I'd force myself to sit still, face the blank page, and deal with them with true honesty that will only come out through writing.
It's never an easy process. The waiting phase, the phase where the thoughts start transforming themselves from thoughts to screaming thoughts, or crying thoughts, is painful. The heavy feeling in my chest, the restlessness, the constant looking back or looking aside diverting me from whatever it is I'm trying to do, whatever it is but writing, is annoying. After days, I'd feel incoherent and unable to focus. I'd spend almost thirty minutes just to write a simple email to a colleague. It's annoying the way they keep diverting your attention from the current moment you're in and pulling you back to somewhere, some time, where the thoughts dwell.
What strikes me the most is, actually, how I never learn that it's a battle I'd never win.
I've always known it that those busy thoughts are not something I can ignore. In fact, they are actually something I have to follow and indulge, if I want to be at peace with myself. But I keep ignoring them, turning away from them, throwing promises that I'd visit them at proper times, proper occasion, proper mood, proper place. Hence my never ending restlessness.
In these past few days, I've been drowning with the feeling, unable to settle them down, but also failed to make myself to sit and disentangle the knotted thoughts inside my head. I've been refusing to say yes to them. I imagined myself, slightly upset, telling them to grow up and stop pestering me and solve their own problems, stop being so demanding because I have another life to tend to so they cannot expect me to always be there all ears and ready with pen and paper whenever they need me, and for God sake, they really need to shut up for a while and be quiet, how would they think I'd be able to understand what they said if they keep talking and talking, and really, haven't they heard about priority?
As usual, feeling totally exhausted as a result of constant denial, I finally sit and wrote. I wrote, because I've tried reading, I've tried browsing for articles, listening to songs, watching TV, working, drinking coffee, daydreaming, staring at the rain, even sleeping. All failed. I have to admit that the only way I could calm them down is by writing them down. And bear the consequences of possible another spark of thoughts appearing along the way, ready to bloom into another screaming thoughts within the next few days, creating another restlessness within me, stuffing my chest until I finally give up and turn around and face them. And write again.