Every day she drifts between two worlds: the life she’s living and the life she dreams of a fantasy she can never quite hold. She longs for peace, not grand or perfect, just stillness. a break from the noise, the ache, the pull to keep going when everything inside her wants to stop.

Torn between a deep desire for peace and the chaos that surrounds me, between the urge to scream for help and the instinct to hide that scream from the world. It is both poetic and heartbreaking, a reflection of my inner turmoil and a desperate yearning to feel free, even if only for a fleeting moment.

I don't want it to matter anymore

I hate how fragile I am with this particular problem. It makes me spin in place, losing grip of everything in zero gravity where nothing weighs much in life except this heavy stone on me. I hate it. How many times can I endure it? I’m tired, and I don’t know what to do with that.

What to do with all this weight on top of me? It’s suffocating