Date: April 21, 2025
Author: Evan Grant
I can’t remember the last time I felt like I had a reason to get up. The world outside my door feels like a blur, and I’m stuck here in my room, just existing, not living. Every day feels like a repeat of the one before it. I don’t know what happened to me, but I’m losing myself. I look in the mirror and I don’t even recognize the person staring back.
Sometimes, I feel like I’m a ticking time bomb, just waiting to explode. I don’t know where these thoughts come from, but they’ve become constant companions. There are moments when I think about hurting myself or others, and I can’t push them away fast enough. I don’t want these thoughts, but they cling to me like a shadow. And then there’s the guilt, the shame—thinking that I’m a horrible person because of it. That I’m not worthy of anyone’s love or care. I treat people terribly, even the ones I care about, and I can’t seem to stop.
I’ve locked myself away, thinking that if I stay in this room long enough, maybe the pain will stop, maybe the thoughts will stop. But it never does. I’m so numb, but at the same time, I’m angry. Angry at everything. At myself, at the people around me. The world outside feels like a cage, and I hate it. I hate the place I’m in, the people who live in it, the constant pretending we’re all okay when we’re not. I wish I could just scream, but even that feels too much.
Some days, I wonder if I’m losing my mind. I don’t know if I have a name for what’s happening to me, but I feel like I’m not myself. There are flashes, moments when I feel like I’m not even real. I think maybe I have schizophrenia, maybe it’s something else, but I don’t even know where to start to figure it out. All I know is that I don’t feel normal. I feel like I’m breaking down, like a part of me is slipping through my fingers, and I can’t do anything to stop it.
I can’t talk to anyone about it. I don’t know how to. Every time I try, the words get stuck in my throat. It’s like I’m stuck pretending that I’m fine, that I’m tough. But it’s exhausting. Every day is a battle to keep up the act, and I don’t have the energy for it anymore. I just want it to end. I want the pain, the confusion, the darkness to stop. I want to stop pretending that I’m okay when I’m not.
But then I wonder, what if I don’t have to pretend anymore? What if I don’t have to keep carrying this weight? What if I could just let it all go?
But I know that deep down, I’m not ready to give up. Not yet. Even though it feels like the world is closing in, I’m holding onto the smallest sliver of hope. I have to believe that there’s something on the other side of this, even if it doesn’t feel like it now. Even if I can’t see it.
So for now, I’ll stay. I’ll keep breathing. And maybe, someday, I’ll find the courage to ask for help. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll find a way out of this dark place.
