Too much and not enough

How is it possible that one could feel like too much and too little all at once?

I make too many jokes. Have too many opinions. My face behaves like it’s in a silent film—every micro-thought gets its own exaggerated close-up. My lips, so obscenely full I constantly get accused of lip filler by strangers on the Internet. But, no, I was just stung by a bee once. My words, too elaborate in their phrasing. I’m too brainy and analytical. I take IQ tests for fun.

I think too much. Notice too much. And feel too much. When I’m at a party, I feel like a firework someone accidentally lit indoors. I can’t stop myself. And I sense that everyone’s merely politely humoring me, but deep down I worry that they’d rather just see me drift to the edge of the room, and let them be.

I try to reign myself in, but instead of shrinking, I somehow… inflate. Then—pop—and suddenly I find myself in a full-blown existential crisis from a Dostoevsky novel, trying to reconcile the futility of life with the absur…