Whispers of a Teen: What It's Like Living in My Head Sometimes

Sometimes, my head feels like a stubborn lightbulb that never turns off.

Living in my head is when I'm laughing or pretending to listen, but the back of my mind still buzzes. It reminds me of my thoughts bouncing chaotically, like echoes that don't have a clue where to land. It's not the kind of loud that makes me want to scream. It's the "quiet" kind of loud — the type that's under the surface, like the complete bottom of an ocean. It never comes back up. Just stays. Like a broken, rusty shipwreck.

Living in my head also means remembering everything — whether it was something from the past or present. This includes the good, the bad, and all the awkward moments people tend to forget so easily and move on from. A weird glance as I walked through my school hallway. Something I said weeks ago that didn't come out right. The look on someone's face when I tried to be my most vulnerable self, and regretted it all in a single instant. I replay these moments as if they were songs on a never-ending loop, except they don't have any choruses — just quiet parts that sting.

Living in my head is like having a second version of reality inside my body, where I can imagine every possible outcome of an overwhelming situation before it even happens. I do this to grasp onto any safety line, I think — to prepare for the worst-case scenarios. But to be fucking honest, it makes me tired. I overthink everything. I wonder if people like me or if they're just being "polite." I question the way I worded a message. I basically edit myself the way writers edit their drafts, except I never hit "publish" on who I am.

Although, there are gentle days of living inside my own head.

Living in my head can become a soft place to land. I daydream about the future. I imagine being seen for who I am, and not just because I'm a faceless human living on this planet called "Earth." I create tiny worlds where I don't have to explain why I'm quiet, or why I suddenly disappear when I feel overwhelmed. I think about healing myself, my inner child, and about growing into someone I'd be proud of.

Living in my head sometimes means I talk to myself more than to other people. I make sense of my own emotions in raw silence. I cry privately, process things slowly, and love people deeply — even if they will never even know it. It means being misunderstood sometimes. Because I don't always have the energy to explain what I feel — especially when I don't understand it either.

But surprisingly, I'm learning that it is okay to be this way. To be the soft and sensitive version of myself some days. To be thoughtful in a world that is full of high confidence and fast answers. There's something sacred about the quiet way some of us exist. Something strong about showing up, even when your own mind is loud and your soul is full of endless rest.

This is what it's like living in my head sometimes. It's both the messy and beautiful kind. And most days, I wouldn't trade it for anything. Because within the thread of chaos, there's space to reflect and keep growing on the days where we all feel drained and overworked.

If you're the same, and if you feel like living inside your own head can be daunting and scary, don't be scared. Let it fill your room, and let your feelings run deep. I see you. And I'm so glad you exist.

—Bell

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