Fuck

Yesterday broke something in me.

My best friend left. Work. The state. Gone. We spent so many hours together that work stopped feeling like work a long time ago. It felt normal knowing they'd be there. Now I'm supposed to walk back into that building and pretend it doesn't echo.

I held it together yesterday. Somehow. Or at least I tell myself that.

Then, as if the universe thought it hadn't done enough, my ex left too.

It's weird because I don't want her back. I don't even love her anymore. But four years is still four years. You'd think after sharing that much life with someone you'd at least get a goodbye.

Instead she just... disappeared. Packed up and left without a word.

I guess people can become strangers overnight.

Now I'm packing up the only home I've had for six years. The first place that ever really felt like mine. Every poster I pull off the wall leaves another empty square. Every shelf I clear makes the room look less like me. The tapestries folded into boxes. The music gone. The room that used to feel rough around the edges and lived in now just feels hollow.

It's amazing how fast a place stops looking like home.

I don't even know what I feel anymore.

Depressed?

Numb?

Just... empty?

I slept most of today because being unconscious felt easier than sitting with all of this. Every time I wake up I remember it's real all over again.

And in less than a month I'll be moving somewhere new.

The part that's tearing me apart the most right now isn't even the boxes. It's my cats. All five of them have to be boarded while everything gets sorted out. I know they'll be safe. I know they'll be taken care of. But I don't want to leave them. I don't want them thinking I abandoned them. What if they change while they're there? What if they don't understand why I disappeared? What if it takes longer than I expect to find somewhere I can actually afford, and they end up there longer than planned?

They're my home too.

Everything that made me feel grounded is disappearing at the same time.

People.

Places.

Routine.

It's like someone hit delete on the life I'd finally gotten used to.

Everyone keeps saying this is a fresh start.

Maybe they're right.

But fresh starts don't usually feel like attending the funeral of the person you used to be.

Everything just kind of... exists.

Numb.

Like my body is on autopilot while my head is sinking somewhere miles below the surface. I keep telling everyone I'm fine because that's easier than trying to explain what drowning looks like when no one's actually underwater.

I think that's the worst part. You can drown without making a sound.

In just a couple days, my best friend will be gone. Different life. Different place. Everyone keeps saying, "You'll still talk." Maybe.

But people always say that.

Then life gets loud. Messages get shorter. Calls stop happening. One day you realize it's been months since you've heard their voice, and somehow that's just... how it ends.

I'm trying not to think about it because if I do, I know it's going to wreck me.

Then there's my ex.

I don't love her anymore and coincidencely her & my bestfriend leave the same day.

So why does losing her still feel like another brick getting thrown on my chest?

It's not about wanting her back.

Maybe it's mourning another chapter that's ending before I was ready to close the book.

Everything familiar is disappearing at once.

Home.

People.

Comfort.

Routine.

Town.

It's like someone's stripping my life down to the studs and expecting me to smile because "new beginnings are exciting."

Sure.

Right now they just feel empty.

I've been so detached lately. Like I'm watching somebody else's life happen through scratched-up glass. Conversations don't stick. Days blur together. I nod. I laugh when I'm supposed to. I clock in. I clock out.

But I don't really feel like I'm here.

Then underneath all of that...

Anger.

Not the loud kind.

The kind that sits in your ribs.

The kind that makes your jaw ache because you're clenching it all day. The kind that makes your fists stay balled up in your pockets because if one more thing goes wrong, I swear I just want to hit something. Not because it'll fix anything but because I don't know where else to put all this pressure.

I'm tired of pretending I'm handling this well.

I'm exhausted.

Just... exhausted.

Like I've been carrying weight that nobody else can see, and every time I finally adjust to it, someone throws another brick on top.

I keep waiting for things to slow down.

For my head to quiet down.

For life to stop taking things away.

Maybe tomorrow will feel different.

Maybe not.

I'm losing the only place that's ever felt safe. The only home I've had in six years. Every wall here has seen every version of me the angry one, the numb one, the one trying so damn hard to become someone who finally recognizes the person in the mirror. Packing boxes feels like erasing proof that I was ever here.

I'm excited for what's next. I really am.

A fresh start. New streets. New routines. Maybe a chance to become the version of myself I've been chasing.

But excitement doesn't cancel out fear.

I'm terrified that once the dust settles, I'm going to hit rock bottom so hard I won't recognize myself anymore. Like the adrenaline of moving will wear off, and I'll be left alone with everything I've been outrunning.

And somehow life thought that wasn't enough.

A good friend of mine leaves in less than two weeks. She's moving away, moving forward, starting her next chapter. I want to be happy for her because she deserves every good thing coming her way... but selfishly? It feels like someone's taking another piece of home with them.

Then there's the breakup.

I've been pretending it didn't hurt as much as it did. Keeping it shoved in the back of my head because there were bigger fires to put out. But what a sick coincidence... my good friend's last day is the exact same day my ex finally moves out.

One day.

One goodbye after another.

Maybe that's the universe telling me to let go of everything at once.

Or maybe it's just cruel timing.

I don't even know what I'm feeling anymore. I'm sad. I'm numb. Somehow both exist in the same body. Like my chest is heavy but hollow at the same time.

I've spent so long trying to be tougher than I feel. Trying to carry everything on my own. Trying to be the strong one, the dependable one, the one who doesn't crack. The kind of person I wish I could see staring back at me. But strength isn't making this hurt any less.

Everything familiar is disappearing.

Maybe that's what growing up is.

Or maybe it's just grief wearing a different face.

Either way...

I'm scared.

this was the first home i ever had that wasn't my parents'. the first place that felt like mine. not borrowed. not temporary. mine.

and now it feels like it's being ripped out from under my feet.

everyone keeps telling me it'll be okay. honestly, they've helped more than i could ever put into words, and i'm grateful for every bit of it. but gratitude doesn't magically erase doubt. it doesn't get rid of the guilt that keeps sitting heavy in my chest every night when things get quiet.

part of me wishes i could freeze time. just stop everything exactly where it is. no boxes. no goodbyes. no changes. just one more second before everything shifts again.

the thing is, i haven't even had time to process this.

i'm still carrying the weight of the other things that have gone wrong in what feels like the blink of an eye. one thing after another. no breathing room. no recovery period. just another punch before i can get back up from the last one.

and somehow i'm supposed to keep moving.

i am excited for a new start. i really am.

but i'm also dreading it.

both things can exist at the same time, i guess.

kind of like how i want love so badly it physically hurts sometimes, but the second someone gets close enough to offer it, i start looking for the nearest exit. i don't know how to stop waiting for people to leave before they've even unpacked their bags.

today was okay, though.

for a little while, at least.

i laughed. i distracted myself. i convinced myself i was handling everything pretty well.

but the numbness always comes back eventually.

the loud thoughts always find their way home.

they sneak in through the cracks when the distractions run out and suddenly i'm left alone with myself again.

and maybe that's the part i'm most tired of.

having a good moment and immediately wondering how long it'll last before my own head takes it away from me.

anyway.

time keeps moving whether i'm ready or not.

weird in a way i can't really explain.

like wearing a jacket that's two sizes too small and pretending it fits anyway.

i don't know if it's the lack of sleep catching up to me or if i'm just numb again.

maybe both.

i've never been good at figuring out the difference.

all i know is everything feels distant.

muted.

like somebody turned the volume down on the world and forgot to tell me.

i've spent so much time shoving things down that i don't even know what's buried anymore.

anger.

sadness.

fear.

loneliness.

whatever it is, i keep stuffing it into the same overcrowded box in the back of my mind and slamming the lid shut before it can get out.

because that's easier, right?

pretend it doesn't exist.

keep moving.

keep working.

keep making jokes and doing bits.

keep saying "i'm fine." and laugh.

until one day the box breaks open and suddenly i'm standing in the middle of a mess i should've dealt with months ago.

story of my life.

i think the thing that sticks with me the most is this constant feeling that i'm a burden.

that people only tolerate me for so long.

that eventually they get tired of carrying whatever weight comes with knowing me.

and then they leave.

maybe not all at once.

sometimes it's slower than that.

a text answered less often.

a conversation that feels different.

a friendship that slowly starts feeling one-sided.

until one day you're looking around wondering where everybody went.

i hate that i expect it now.

i hate that part of me is always waiting for the goodbye before anyone has even packed their bags.

maybe that's why i keep everything locked up.

can't disappoint people if they never see what's underneath.

can't be too much if you never let anyone close enough to know how much you're carrying.

but damn.

it gets heavy.

carrying everything by yourself gets heavy.

and tonight it feels heavier than usual.

maybe i'll sleep it off.

maybe i won't.

either way, tomorrow's coming whether i'm ready for it or not.

guess i'll put my shoes on and keep walking.

that's what i always do.

and if i'm being honest, i've gotten pretty good at finding distractions.

another show to binge or youtube video to watch.

another story to disappear into.

another late-night scroll through my phone until my eyes burn.

anything to keep my mind busy.

anything to avoid sitting alone with the things i've spent so long trying not to feel.

because the second everything gets quiet, it all starts creeping back in.

the thoughts.

the loneliness.

the weight of everything i've shoved into that box.

so i keep distracting myself.

keep running.

keep pretending i'm too busy to think about it.

but distractions only work for so long.

eventually the noise fades.

eventually it's just me again.

not the kind of tired that sleep fixes. the kind that settles into your bones and makes every day feel heavier than the last.

depression feels like drowning sometimes.

everyone always talks about drowning like it's loud. like you're screaming and reaching for help.

but for me, it's quiet.

it's sinking beneath the surface so slowly that nobody notices.

it's smiling when people ask if you're okay.

it's saying "i'm good" while water fills your lungs.

and after awhile you stop fighting it.

you just float.

or maybe that's the problem.

i don't even float anymore.

i just drift.

detached from everything.

from people. from memories. from myself.

days blur together until i can't remember if something happened yesterday or three months ago.

i feel like a ghost wearing my own face.

and the worst part?

i want love.

fuck, i want it so bad it hurts.

i want someone to think about me when i'm not around.

i want someone to reach for my hand without thinking.

i want to be held against someone's chest after a long day.

i want lazy kisses.

foreheads pressed together.

someone looking at me like staying is the easiest thing they've ever done.

i want to be wanted.

i want to be loved.

i want someone to choose me.

but the second i imagine actually having it, i panic.

because what if they see me?

what if they see all the broken parts i've spent years trying to hide?

what if they realize i'm not worth the effort?

what if they figure out i'm too much?

or not enough?

sometimes i feel like i've spent so long carrying everything on my own that i wouldn't know what to do if someone tried to carry it with me.

sometimes i think i want love.

other times i think i just want proof that i'm capable of being loved.

there's a difference.

and maybe that's what scares me most.

the possibility that someone could look at me and see something worth staying for while i'm still trying to figure out why they would.

anyway.

it's late.

i'm exhausted.

the kind of exhausted that sits behind your eyes.

the kind that makes your chest ache.

the kind that comes from wanting something so badly while being terrified of letting yourself have it.

maybe tomorrow will feel lighter.

but tonight feels heavy.

and i'm still here.

still sinking.

still hoping.

i keep telling everyone i’m “fine” because apparently functioning just enough counts as living. but honestly? i feel like i’m fucking drowning. and the worst part is nobody notices. or maybe they do and just don’t know what to say anymore. either way, i’m still sinking.

this thick, heavy, numb feeling has been eating me alive again. slowly. quietly. like water filling your lungs one breath at a time. i wake up exhausted. i go to sleep exhausted. i exist exhausted. everything feels weird and distant and unreal, like i’m watching my own life through some kind of static on an old tv screen.

the detachment is getting bad again too. i don’t even feel connected to myself half the time. people talk to me and i nod and laugh at the right moments but inside i’m just numb. completely fucking numb. i do have my moments where I feel okay, but they just never last as long as I need them too.

and yeah. relapse happened. i wish i could say i cared more when it did. but i think that’s the scary part...i didn’t feel much of anything at all afterward. no dramatic breakdown. no tears. just emptiness. blank staring.

i want love so bad it physically aches sometimes. i want somebody to stay. somebody to hold me and tell me they see me. but the second anyone gets close, i panic. i pull away. i stop answering. i convince myself they’ll leave eventually anyway because in the end they always do, so why let them in enough to ruin me more?

i feel so fucking alone.

like… surrounded by people, noise, notifications, stupid conversations that don’t mean anything...and still somehow drowning. actually drowning. not the dramatic kind people post for attention, but the quiet, heavy kind where it feels like something is sitting on your chest and you can’t get a full breath no matter how hard you try.

and i’m so angry. for no clear reason and every reason at the same time. angry at myself for being like this. angry at everyone else for not noticing. angry at how everything just keeps moving like i’m not stuck in the same damn place.

i can’t find the motivation to do anything anymore. everything feels pointless. i start things and drop them. i think about changing something and then just… don’t. it’s like i’m glued to this version of myself i don’t even like.

and… it’s been six months. six fucking months. and it’s like it didn’t hit me when it was supposed to. like my brain just went “nah, we’ll deal with that later” and now it’s slowly creeping in, piece by piece. not enough to fully feel it, but enough to make everything heavier. i don’t even know if i miss them or just miss not feeling this empty.

i keep thinking about just leaving. like actually running away. getting in a truck, driving until nothing looks familiar anymore, changing my name, disappearing. no explanations. no expectations. just gone.

not the loud kind. not the kind anyone notices.

just quiet, slow, like sinking in dark water where everything gets heavier the deeper you go.

my mom & him might be getting a divorce.

divorce.

like it’s just a word people say and then everything rearranges itself and somehow that’s supposed to be okay.

but it’s not okay.

because if it happens, she goes back.

back home. the place I long for.

back to the place we were dragged away from like it didn’t matter. like we didn’t matter.

and i stay here.

alone.

i keep thinking about how he pulled us away years ago. how everything got packed into boxes and we left behind people who actually knew us, loved us.

for this.

for something that may or may not happen.

what was the point?

what was the point of losing everything just to lose it all over again in a different way?

my chest feels so heavy i swear it’s like there’s something sitting on it. like i can’t breathe right. like every thought weighs ten pounds too much.

i don’t even know what emotion to pick anymore.

sadness? numbness? yeah. obviously.

but it’s more than that.

it’s anger.

so much anger it makes my hands shake sometimes.

anger at him.

anger at her.

anger at the situation.

anger at myself for not knowing what to do with it.

and underneath all of that is just… disappointment.

like this dull ache that nothing is ever going to stay. everything leaves at some point.

that everything i try to hold onto just slips through my hands eventually.

i don’t want to be here by myself.

i don’t want to pretend i’m okay if she leaves.

i don’t want to start over again.

i’m so tired of starting over.

everything just feels like it’s closing in and i’m stuck in the middle of it, drowning, watching it happen and not being able to stop any of it.

and the worst part is nobody can fix this.

nobody can undo it.

so i just sit here, staring at the ceiling, wondering how everything got this heavy…

i keep thinking i want to be alone. like really alone. no texts, no voices, no expectations. but the second it actually feels empty, i hate it.

i start wishing someone would notice. which is stupid, because if they did, i’d probably push them away anyway.

i want love. i think i do. but also… i don’t know how to hold it without feeling like i’m doing something wrong. like it doesn’t belong to me. like i’m borrowing something i’ll have to give back eventually. touch starved.

i don’t feel good enough for anything. not people, not work, not happiness, not even small things. it’s like there’s this voice that keeps saying, you don’t deserve that, don’t get used to it.

and fuck, i’m so tired of being here. not in a dramatic way. maybe. just… tired. of waking up and carrying this around like it’s normal.

i want someone to hold me. but also not. because being close like that feels too real, too exposing. like they’d see everything i try to hide and decide it’s too much.

and fuck, i hate my body. i feel so fat and gross all the time, like i’m trapped in something that doesn’t belong to me. i try to fix it. i try to fast, or eat “better,” or tell myself this time i’ll actually stick to it. but nothing ever works. it’s like no matter what i do, i end up right back here, staring at myself and feeling worse than before.

and then there’s everything with day to day people.

i swear, i can’t even have a single bad day without it turning into something bigger. like if i’m quiet or off for a few hours, suddenly it’s “are we okay?” or “are you mad at me?” and i just sit there thinking… no, i’m just tired. i’m just not okay. but it’s like my emotions become everyone else’s problem, like the whole mood of the friendship depends on whether i’m functioning or not.

and that makes me feel even worse.

because then i start thinking maybe i am the problem. maybe i’m too much. too heavy. like my sadness leaks onto everything and everyone, and i can’t even control it. so i try to shut it down, try to act normal, try to keep everything inside so no one has to deal with it.

but that just makes the drowning feeling worse.

it’s like i’m stuck between wanting someone to notice how bad it actually is and wanting everyone to just leave me alone so i don’t have to explain it.

like i’m floating just under the surface of everything, watching people laugh, talk, live. like i’m there but not in it. detachment has wrapped itself around me so tightly i don’t even remember what it felt like to be fully present. i keep waiting for someone or something to snap me back, but nothing does. nothing sticks.

it feels like drowning, except there’s no panic. no thrashing. just sinking. slow. steady. almost… boring.

and that’s what makes me angry.

i want to feel something real, even if it hurts. i want the crash, the burn, the absolute wreck of it all. because at least that would mean i’m still capable of reacting. instead, i’m stuck in this endless in-between, this dull ache of boredom where even my own thoughts feel recycled and worn out.

sometimes i catch myself wishing i’d just hit rock bottom already. like, just get it over with. rip the floor out from under me so there’s something solid to push off of. because how do you climb out of something when you can’t even tell how deep you are?

everything feels muted. like life turned the volume down and forgot to turn it back up.

and i’m just here.

no dramatic splashing, no screaming for help. it’s quieter than that. it’s like standing in a room that’s slowly filling with water and just… watching it happen. like, oh. okay. this is how it goes. and for some reason i’m not even panicking. i’m just here. feeling indifferent about the whole thing, like it’s happening to someone else and i’m just stuck inside their body.

my attention span is absolute trash lately. i can’t hold onto a thought long enough to finish it. everything slips through me like water through my hands, which feels kind of fitting i guess. i start things and forget them halfway through. conversations, songs, homework, even my own feelings. it’s like my brain refuses to stay in one place long enough to care.

and the worst part is how it spills onto other people. i can see it happening. how my mood drags the air down, how my replies get shorter, how i stop showing up the way i used to. i feel bad for it. like i’m some kind of storm cloud that nobody asked for. they don’t deserve to deal with my shitty feelings, but i don’t know how to turn them off. i don’t even know how to explain them without sounding dramatic or stupid.

sometimes i just wish i could get in my truck and leave. no plan, no destination. just drive until everything familiar disappears and the noise in my head gets quieter. like maybe distance could fix something that i can’t name. like maybe if i go far enough, i’ll feel different.