#gensad

"500 Days of Summer" turned into 500 unread messages. I just bought a new phone, though - I’m just overwhelmed with your “feeling unwell.”

I’m closest to myself when I throw stones on train tracks, until I become the wreck. I don’t let anyone in - and then I wonder why I’m sad.

Got a new prescription, now I haven’t slept since Saturday. I follow Adventists online and wish their certainty were mine.

Hookup culture’s not for me. We all have sex, then cry at the end. “Doomscrolling” is a word no one knew sixteen years ago now it kind of runs the show.

I started running - TikTok’s call. Bought new shoes. Bought them all. Wore them once, then quit again. I hate that sport. It’s just a trend.

And there’s this girl who always shines. Her style is sharp, her body fine. Her hair’s a golden waterfall. I want to be her - want it all. I watch her videos endlessly, until I collapse in jealousy. The clothes fit her, but not my pain. I shop, I sink - still feel the same.

I can’t stop buying. I can’t stop overthinking. I have the most beautiful flat, but it’s empty - silence sinking.

I have 18 different plants with 18 different names. I have 3 real friends, and 20 pounds of weight gain.

I have a laptop, an iPad, AirPods, new Nikes, enough money to buy my flat white. 20 pairs of shoes and a bank account that cries at night.

I have the life my grandma dreamed of. I have opportunities and hope. I could go anywhere, break through, do everything I want to do. But I bury dreams in a casket, cold. My flowers wither. Stories go untold.

Everything feels like stress. I want to rot inside my bed. I rot and rot - it fills me with dread.

Then reels appear - another face, a girl who’s drowning in the same place. Kids with plenty, yet still feel lack. They date, they ghost, they don’t text back.

Boys alone with glowing phones, scrolling through silence, endless tones. Girls who go on dates, but can’t find relationships.

COVID-19 turned into the male loneliness epidemic. Isn’t it pathetic?

Things go by, but wars remain. TikTok. Tinder. Endless pain.

They call us Gen Z - “Slay,” we do, but joy keeps slipping out of view. Sometimes I wonder if they’re wrong - maybe we were mislabeled all along.