burnt out

Imagine this: right now, they’re living their life without a second thought about you, and they’re not wondering if you’re okay. The love you poured into them, every small gesture, every night you stayed up late comforting them, every part of yourself you gave—they’ve let it all go. The memories that keep you up at night, the moments you replay in your head, don’t carry the same weight for them. They’ve probably moved on in ways you don’t even want to imagine.

Sometimes I look back at who I was as a kid, hoping to find some trace of innocence, something good that could remind me I wasn’t always this way. But all I see is a mess—a selfish, thoughtless, reckless kid who only made things worse. I think about the times I made my parents worry, the times I hurt people I cared about without a second thought. I was always falling short, always disappointing someone, always screwing up.

Felt like I needed to repeat this and emphasize it:

It’s this cold, gnawing fear that sits deep inside me. No matter what I do, how hard I push, it’s like I’m walking in place. Every time I try to climb out, the ground beneath me just falls away. I look around, desperate to see a way forward, some sign that things will change, that I won’t be here forever—stuck in the same patterns, the same endless cycle. But the horizon stays empty, stretching out, taunting me.

There’s this heavy ache inside me, this desperate need for someone to hold me, just to make all of this feel lighter, even for a moment. I crave comfort so deeply, it’s like a hunger gnawing at me. But every time I think about reaching out, even just saying something, I freeze. The thought of someone else carrying this weight with me feels wrong, selfish. Other people have their own problems, real struggles that they’re fighting through every day. They don’t need to carry mine, too.