can i breathe?

still heavy

seriously, is life meant to be this way? or am i just so unlucky? it’s 2am and i’m supposed to be up and running by 7am but here i am with my best friend, insomnia. my tummy hurts as i try writing this piece largely because i starved myself, but i reached for cookies, my small holy grail of comfort, but the pain only grew stronger. a reward for ‘‘try to eat something’’, no?

this life ting yeah? let’s talk.

life has been heavy lately. not in the dramatic, movie-like way where everything collapses at once, but in the slow, grinding way that wears you down little by little. it’s the kind of heaviness that creeps into ordinary days, turning them into something that feels endless. i wake up each morning hoping for a shift, some sign that things are getting better. but instead, the days blur together. i go through the motions, i check off tasks, i smile when I have to, but underneath it all there’s this quiet ache that doesn’t go away. nights are the hardest. i lie awake staring at the ceiling, my mind replaying every mistake, every unfinished plan, every conversation where I felt misunderstood. sleep doesn’t come easily anymore. and when it does, it’s restless — i wake up more tired than before, dragging myself through another day that feels just like the last.

friendships have started to fade too. i don’t blame anyone; i know i’ve pulled back. it’s hard to show up for people when you barely have the energy to show up for yourself. messages pile up on my phone, and i stare at them, knowing i should reply, but feeling too drained to type even a few words. how i also want to be away from family is a new feeling that seem inappropriate but a necessity at the moment. Slowly, the silence grows, and with it, the guilt.

responsibilities don’t pause just because i’m struggling. bills still need to be paid, i still have to study, deadlines still loom, people still expect me to function. and I do — i keep moving, i keep showing up, but it feels like i’m carrying a weight that no one else can see. on the outside, i look fine. on the inside, i’m crumbling.

people love to say “time heals all wounds.” but what they don’t tell you is that sometimes time just stretches the pain. it doesn’t heal, it just reminds you how long you’ve been carrying it. And when you’ve been carrying something for so long, it starts to feel like part of you — like maybe this heaviness is permanent.

i think about the person i used to be. the one who laughed easily, who had energy to dream, who believed that things would work out. i miss that version of myself. i wonder if she’s gone for good, or if she’s just buried under all of this. or maybe she was never real.

i don’t know how to feel

can’t seem to remember where it all went wrong. when this heaviness creeped into my soul. if i ruined things myself or if i was drugged and transfused with this burden. just leave me alone? i forgot how to be happy, be optimistic, to be hopeful. happiness… happiness is something i wait for earnestly with an unknown ETA.

my mind is a jungle of confused thoughts

but here i am writing

i write. i write because words are the only place i can put this weight down. i write because maybe someone else out there feels the same — the quiet despair, the endless waiting, the ache of wanting better days. writing is my way of saying: i’m still here, even if i’m not okay.

i don’t have a neat conclusion or a silver lining to tie this all together. what i have is honesty: life has been hard, and it hasn’t gotten better yet. but i’m still here. and maybe that’s worth something.

2025 should never repeat itself, boy bye!