December 8, 2025.
The day unfolded like a dull photocopy of yesterdayblurry edges, faint ink, nothing worth saving. Classes dragged on, each minute heavier than the last, not because the material was difficult, but because my mind had already checked out. It wasn't lazinessit never is. It was that familiar pull inward, the kind that drags you under even when you're sitting upright in a plastic chair under fluorescent lights. Schizophrenia doesn't ask for permission. It just shows up, uninvited, and starts rearranging the furniture in your head until everything feels off-kilter.
Today, it brought along its usual baggage: memories wrapped in guilt, promises that were never kept (by others, by medoes it even matter anymore?), and that sharp, familiar ache of betrayal. Not the dramatic kind you see in movies, but the quiet, everyday kindthe kind where people stop looking at you, stop including you, stop remembering you exist. You're still there, still breathing, still taking attendance as Class Representative like nothing's wrong, but inside, something's hollowed out.
It hit deep today. Not in a dramatic breakdown kind of wayno tears, no shoutingbut in that slow, suffocating way where your nerves start to feel like frayed wires. Like if someone touched you, you'd spark. I could feel it in my limbs, that strange tension where blood doesn't seem to flow right, like your body's forgotten how to be soft. It's not medical, not exactly. It's emotional gravity pulling so hard that even your cells feel the weight.
And yet, somewhere in the background of all this, there's this stupid, stubborn whisper: Life is full of love, happiness, and positivity. I don't know why it popped up. Maybe it's muscle memory from all those self-help posts I've scrolled past while watching reels in bed at 3 a.m. Maybe it's the part of me that still clings to the quote I hold dear: "Where there is life, there is hope." But right now, it feels like a bad joke. Like someone handed me a sunflower in the middle of a blizzard and said, "See? It's spring!"
Nah. Not today.
The truth is messier. The truth is that joy and pain don't cancel each other outthey coexist, tangled like headphone wires in your pocket. You can believe in hope and still feel utterly crushed. You can help your classmates with their code, smile during presentations, speak confidently in three languages, and still sit alone on the stairs after class, wondering why your chest feels like it's caving in.
But here's the thing: right now, in this quiet moment, there's peace.
I'm sitting on the concrete steps outside the computer science building, backpack slumped beside me, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the empty quad. No one's around. No expectations. No pretending. Just me, my thoughts, and the cool air brushing against my skin like a quiet apology from the universe.
It's not perfect. My mind is still buzzing with echoesof voices that aren't there, of memories that won't stay buried, of that haunting image of ex-friends laughing together, taking pictures without me. But for once, the noise isn't screaming. It's just… there. Like distant traffic. Present, but not overwhelming.
Sometimes, showing up is the bravest thing you can do.
I don't have answers. I don't know why friendships fracture or why my mind betrays me or why some days feel like walking through wet cement. But I do know this: I'm still here. Eleven pills a day, irregular meals, midnight snacks, wandering campus aloneI'm still here. And in this moment, sitting on these stairs with the wind in my hair and silence in my ears, that's enough.
Maybe tomorrow will be boring again. Maybe the schizophrenia will whisper louder. Maybe I'll feel the guilt like a stone in my stomach. But maybejust maybeI'll find another quiet moment like this. And in that stillness, I'll remember: I don't need to be happy to be worthy. I don't need to be fixed to belong. I just need to breathe.
And so I do.
In. Out.
The sun dips lower. Shadows stretch.
And for now, that's peace.