There comes a time in life when everything around you becomes unbearable. You feel like you’re drowning under the weight of expectations and disappointments, and no matter how much you try, it gets harder to take a breath. It’s as if the air itself betrays you, tightening around you until your every moment feels suffocating. You don’t want to continue, and yet you find no way to truly escape. The mountains call to you, the open road whispers promises of freedom, but running away isn’t really an option. Instead, you retreat inward.
You grow weary of fighting, weary of trying to explain yourself. The energy to hope, to trust, to love—it slips away. At first, you try to pretend everything is fine because that’s what people want to hear. But soon the excuses start. You cancel plans, ignore calls, reply to messages hours—or days—later. It’s not because you don’t care about the people around you, but because you feel like you have nothing left to give. You tell people you’re unwell, maybe even fake a smile now and then, all while dying to be alone. Alone feels safer. Alone doesn’t judge.
It’s not that you don’t want connections. Deep down, you do. But the pain inside you makes you cautious. You don’t want anyone else to feel the flames that consume you. You don’t want your anger or sorrow to hurt the ones you love, and so you build walls. You keep your feelings locked away because explaining them seems impossible. You fear being judged not just for your actions, but for your story—your scars. And in this digital age, where reputations and whispers spread like wildfire, you don’t want to become someone’s rumor. Vulnerability feels like a risk you cannot afford.
But oh, how it hurts. The weight of what you’ve lost, what you’ve endured—it clings to your soul. The nights are the hardest. Your mind replays every moment, every word, every memory of what was and what could have been. You think, “If only.” If only you’d done something differently. If only you’d been enough. The ache is constant, a dull throb in your chest that never subsides. Your soul shivers, your heart feels like it’s breaking over and over, and you’re too tired to even cry anymore. Even tears feel like a luxury now.
For me, it all began when I lost something precious—something that meant the world to me. The kind of loss that leaves a void so vast, you can’t imagine how you’ll ever fill it again. This wasn’t just about losing a person or a relationship; it was about losing the part of myself that believed in trust, hope, and love. I didn’t just lose someone dear to me—I lost myself.
And though time has passed, some things haven’t changed. My feelings for her remain, unwavering despite everything. The love I once gave, the memories we shared—all of it lingers, etched into my heart like a tattoo I didn’t ask for. But I can’t go back. I can’t risk bearing that pain again, nor can I trust so blindly once more. My heart doesn’t have the strength for another fall.
If you’ve ever felt this way, know you’re not alone. The truth is, many of us carry burdens we don’t show the world. The scars we hide, the tears we suppress, the smiles we force—they’re all a part of surviving. And while it’s instinct to retreat, to find solace in solitude, there’s a quiet strength in reaching out, in letting someone in. Even if that someone is yourself—your truest, most broken, and yet enduring self.
Pain changes us, but it doesn’t have to define us. Healing isn’t linear, and love—whether for another or yourself—takes time. Forgive yourself for the moments you feel weak. Honor the love you carry, no matter how complicated or bittersweet. Above all, hold on. Because even the heaviest burdens don’t last forever, and even the deepest wounds can heal.