Sometimes, it makes you say the wrong thing. Trying to fit in, which you never really learned how to do, you will say something cruel yourself. Trust me that when that happens, the overthinker doesn't ever forget it. The person you might have said it to or about might have long-forgotten it ever happened but it is going to keep you up at night.
It sounds kind of ridiculous as I write it out. And you might be wondering what the point of this rant is, then.
Overthinking is what gives me the ability to write. To imagine how a character might be feeling in a situation like that, to wonder what the sound of a ghost in her very worst moments, trapped for eternity, might sound like. To visualize the joy of finding a friend, even then. To hear the sound as the wolves circle you, growling low in their throats, as a lion chuffs your scent over her powerful glands and smells you delicious.
So, on those nights when I'm explaining to my oh-too-sensitive daughter why sometimes you just have to push through that pain, and I know that one day, when she is older, she will be able to write like nobody's damn business, and yet as a child of a really ridiculous childhood I know that the pain she feels because a teacher once ate a popsicle in front of her without offering her a bite is nothing compared to my own being homeless and/or almost being killed and/or harmed in other ways as a child---- pain is pain. Overthinking it, over analyzing what that meant-- that's my superpower. And I'm gonna keep on keepin' on. Just fair warning to anyone who wants to push something rocky and pointed my way: you might end up in one of the stories, cleverly disguised but there. And you might just be having the worst day of your life, eternally, as the Author laughs and laughs. The last laugh, indeed.