Visual stimuli have provoked unexpected emotions in previously unknown areas of my brain over the last several years. I do not have the first idea about why it responded positively to the things I saw or how to best proceed. When I choose not to indulge those parts of my brain, I find them deeply uncomfortable and difficult to acknowledge. They have brought me some pleasure, but at the moment I do not believe that I would wish to live if they were known to anyone other than myself. Sometimes, it would seem, discretion is the lesser of two evils.
I am confident that I can, with practice, separate the best and worst of my thoughts and personality so as to ultimately placate both the misanthrope and philanthropist. I cannot reliably sustain either for a prolonged period of time, so they take turns at the wheel from hour to hour or day to day, whenever I see something inspiring or selfish, beautiful or heartbreaking.
Maybe I do think too much for my own good, but turning thoughts into words is at least a time-consuming process that occupies time I could otherwise spend poorly. When you do not want thoughts any more, it is a small relief to have somewhere to put them.