I've had a problem of overthinking for quite a few years. I think. Then I overthink. I stress too much and then I feel useless and frustrated. This used to ruin my day and it made me feel as if I was capable of doing nothing with my life. I wanted to have a feeling where I could let my feelings out and then leave it to the Universe. Hence, one fine day, I decided to start writing. I rummaged through my study desk cupboard where a proud pile of diaries were kept, that my father would bring in every year. I'd keep them in the hope to use it later. But it never happened. And that day, I went through all of them and removed the one I felt suited my needs the best. A thick black one which wasn't too long.