I like being smart. I admit it freely; I don’t say this to be condescending; If anything I bring it up as a burden. I understand that sounds stupid to say, but allow me to explain.

When your brain is constantly firing on all cylinders, not only do you have the opportunity to think, you overthink. I’ll give a few examples for good reference.

When you talk to your boss at work and they ask to speak with you, you automatically panic. Most of the time, the news is good! But in the overly analytical mind, you go through all the negatives. Am I fired? Am I good enough for this position? Am I worth anything at the end of the day? It simply devolves from there. When your highest functioning organ (your brain) simply won’t shut off, it complicates things to say the least.

I’ve always been prone to issues with depression. Part of of it is genetic; there’s a relatively high rate of mental illness in Irish people. Part of our culture is drink, and that certainly doesn’t help the matter. Working as a journalist in the Irish community as I have the past two years, I’ve grown to get more in touch with my roots through my parents, but I’ve also seen the darker side of things. Alcohol is a depressant. As much as I love going into the pub for the cure, seeing my friends and the people I love, there are definitive drawbacks. I’ll defend Irish culture until the day they stick me in the cold, hard ground, but there are certain truths to be confronted.

“You think too much!”

It’s been the constant mantra from many of my friends and loved ones have said to me.

Without my thoughts, I am nothing. I feel that applies to anyone who shares my experience on this rock hurtling through space. Granted, most normal people aren’t listening to Patrick Kavanagh poetry while trying to fight off crazy people on the New York 6 subway, but that’s what makes me, me.

Often with overthinking comes the shirking of the most basic of responsibility, especially when coupled with depression. That pile of dishes in the sink? That’s not on the same plane as my love life troubles. Taking care of myself? Why does it matter anyway? It’s not like anyone cares about you; you’re done after 70 or years anyhow. You have all these high-level dreams about doing your doctorate back in Ireland, but why would you actually aspire to that when you can sleep all day? Granted, most of these perceptions aren’t true, but when you’re in the tunnel of darkness, that light of positivity is hard to find, especially if you think about it. Every. Single. Second.

Intelligence and depression are a combination that causes both brilliance and disaster. These past few months have been a roller coaster — I’ve fallen in love and dealt with the repercussions. I’ve navigated the troubles and positives of a new job. Yet this entire time, I’m always thinking two steps ahead, which is good and bad simultaneously. I’m inspired by figures like Van Gogh, Hemingway, and the like, not just because of their final decisions (which I have not done, because I’m writing this), but because of the beauty of their struggle. They produced beauty of out the sadness. I know that’s an incredibly douchey thing to write, but someone who can struggle with the combination of smarts and illness and produce something beautiful is someone positive in my book.