There are days when I wake up, but Iām not really awake. Itās like Iām still stuck in that half-dream state, only the dream is my own life, and it feels too far away to touch. I move through everything, but itās like Iām not even here. The thoughts in my head donāt match the motions of my body. Thereās a disconnect, like Iām not in control of anything anymore. Iām just a passenger in my own life.
People talk to me, they ask how Iām doing, and I give them the answers they want to hear. āIām okay.ā āIām fine.ā But Iām not fine. Iām not even close to being fine. Every word feels like a lie, but I keep saying it because itās easier than explaining the suffocating weight that sits on my chest. Itās easier than telling them how tired I amātired of pretending, tired of feeling like Iām sinking deeper every day, and most of all, tired of being invisible in a world that doesnāt even notice.
I canāt remember the last time I felt anything real. Itās like my emotions are sealed behind glass, and no matter how hard I press my hands against it, I canāt break through. I feel nothing, but I also feel everything, all at once. The emptiness is louder than the pain, and the silence in my head screams at me, reminding me of all the things I canāt fix, all the things that are beyond my reach.
Iāve stopped asking for help. Iāve stopped hoping that someone will reach out and see me, really see me, because no one can. They canāt even hear the things Iām not saying, the cries for help buried deep beneath the surface. And Iām not sure if Iām asking for help anymore. Maybe itās easier to stay hidden, to keep all of this inside, to let the weight pull me down instead of facing the exhaustion of trying to keep it together.
I donāt know how long I can keep doing this. The days blur together until I canāt tell one from the next. I donāt know what Iām waiting for. Maybe Iām waiting for something to change, but I donāt know if it ever will. Maybe Iām just waiting for the fog to lift, even though I know deep down that it probably never will.
I used to dream of a life that was full of something. Full of meaning, full of joy, full of hope. Now, I donāt even know what those words mean anymore. I feel like Iām just surviving, just passing through each day, watching everything happen around me, but never really living in it. Thereās a part of me that wants to fight, to pull myself out of this, but that part is so quiet now. Itās buried under so much sadness, under so many doubts, that I donāt even know how to listen to it anymore.
And sometimes, I think maybe Iām not supposed to listen. Maybe Iām just supposed to stay in this space, to stay stuck in this empty loop. Because whatās the point of fighting when you donāt know what youāre fighting for? Whatās the point of hoping when youāve forgotten what hope feels like?
gummygunk
dailybridgerton
vaporwave
titsay
annaxmalina
kaledo-art
stormborns
