Anxiety.

It kicks in every day or the other. I’m tired. Exhausted in ways that sleep can’t fix. I want to rest, but how? I forgot how to.

I can’t sit alone. Every time I try, I end up crying -quietly, helplessly. I tell myself I should be stronger.

I try my best to distract myself, to surround myself with people, to talk, to laugh. And for a while, it works. But the moment I step into my room, the silence pulls me back under. I feel alone, unfinished, incomplete.

I write here, pouring pieces of myself into words, hoping to make sense of it all. But sometimes, it’s not even me writing. Sometimes, it’s the storm inside me, screaming through my fingers.

I don’t know what I’m searching for in these words. Maybe closure. Maybe peace. Maybe a way to breathe again without feeling like I’m drowning.

But the truth is, I don’t know if I’ll ever find it.