That feeling when you start to wonder if everyone has just been waiting for the moment you finally break. Like they’ve all silently expected it, maybe even prepared for it in their own way. And the fact that you haven’t done it yet—that you’ve kept going, dragging it out—almost feels like a letdown to them. As if your existence has become an unfulfilled expectation, a disappointment in a different way. You haven’t given them the closure they didn’t even know they were waiting for.
But then, maybe it’s not about them at all. Maybe it’s just your mind playing tricks on you, making you believe that your pain is something others are tired of witnessing. That your survival isn’t a victory, just an inconvenience. And maybe, just maybe, that’s not true.
