What if?
What if everything I left behind came rushing back?
What if the thoughts I fought so hard to silence one day became reality? What if this suffering inside me never truly ends? What would I do then?
The betrayal, the pain, the tears, the nights when breathing itself feels like suffocation—somehow, they still weigh more than the world outside me. I keep wondering what happened to me, what broke so deeply inside that even after all this time, the pain still knows how to find me.
I try to tell people. I try to put the heaviness into words.
But how do you explain a pain that has no language?
How do you describe something that sits quietly on your shoulders, growing heavier with every passing night, even when no one else can see it?
And when words fail me, I begin to feel even more alone.
Everyone suffers. Everyone wakes up the next morning and somehow finds the strength to continue—to work harder, to chase their dreams, to reach for the life they want.
But I remain here.
Stuck beneath a weight I cannot name.
At midnight, I lie awake, waiting for morning to arrive, while a part of me wishes the night would never end.
Because somewhere deep inside, I am afraid of the sunlight.
Afraid of another morning.
Afraid of having to carry myself into another day when I still haven't figured out how to put down the weight of yesterday.