The average person has approximately 60,000 thoughts per day. Of these 60,000 thoughts, 95% or 57,000 are repetitive. And, of these 60,000 thoughts, 75% or 45,000 are negative. I got these statistics from a quick, basic Google search. Let’s roll with ‘em.
So, we’ll call that 42,750 (95% of 45,000) negative, repetitive thoughts in one single goddamn day. Fuck. That’s eye-opening and heartbreaking and disappointing and not surprising all in one, isn’t it? I mean, I don’t consider myself a negative human being and for the most part, I figure everyone else is the same: Generally happy. Relatively positive.
Good morning, how are you?
I’m good. How are you?
Good.
We’re good, right? We’re all good? These statistics suggest otherwise. Now, let’s be real – I’m not concerned about everyone else so much as myself, because I like to believe that I am a snowflake – you know, a super-duper uber special woman unlike any other. The kind of woman who can fix any one or any thing with a little bit of elbow grease and a smile. Um, hello, two divorces and all the other failed relationships that had no business beginning in the first place, pleased to meet you. Can’t say I didn’t try.
Maybe everyone else has a high level of negative thoughts, but not me – I can be the one to help them with that.
Hah! I can hardly stand to listen to myself think sometimes. What a dumb dick thing to say out loud in my head, really. I’ve been tossing this statistic around in my head for months – half agreeing with it and half disagreeing with it. And the truth of the matter is – it’s TRUE.
I catch myself consistently playing thoughts on repeat – from imaginary conversations that go south (Why do they always have to go fucking south?), to reliving encounters that truly did go south, to telling myself I’m never gonna get it all done and I need to get my shit together and we’ve got the ugliest yard on the block and those angry lines are looking deep as fuck – time for some more Botox you angry motherfucker, and on and on and on and on. I tell myself I’m tired. I tell people I meet that I don’t like people. And I don’t like kids. And I’m antisocial. And I can be a real dick. Maybe some of this is true… sometimes, but mostly I don’t think it is.
Why does it come out of my mouth? Because I think it. Why do I think it? I dunno – a lot of these thoughts got stuck in there a hundred years ago during a conversation with my mom or my best friend or my fucking high school drafting teacher (shoutout to Mr. Arnold, wherever you are). I don’t know how these thoughts got in there, I just know that they’re there. Awesome. Acknowledging you have problem is the first step.
I love that I have this problem and that everyone else has this problem. This means I can help people who want to be helped because I have the same problem they do, so I can totally relate. The only difference is I’m more aware of it and I can hold clean space – two invaluable attributes when you’re helping people with their mental maintenance.
Still, I have some pretty negative thoughts.
Like, did we really have to print that on the box? What in the fucking fuck?
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Rachel Lewandowski