"I didn’t say it out loud because I didn’t want it to sound real."

I kept pretending I was okay, even when my voice got quieter. I laughed at the right times. I nodded when people spoke. I answered, “Just tired,” like it was some universally accepted excuse for breaking apart slowly.

The truth is, I’ve been carrying this feeling — like I’m watching my own life through a window. I can see it moving, everyone walking by, days passing, messages coming in. But I’m behind the glass. Quiet. Still. Forgotten by the world, but more painfully, forgotten by myself.

I don’t know when I started fading — maybe it was the moment I stopped being honest with the people I loved. Or maybe when I decided it was easier to be needed than to need anyone.

There’s a part of me that still hopes someone will notice. That maybe someone will say, “You don’t have to try so hard.” But even that hope feels like a risk. So I stay quiet.

I write this here because nowhere else feels safe enough.

This space doesn’t ask questions.
It doesn’t tell me I’m too much or not enough.
It just lets me be.

And maybe that’s what I needed all along — not fixing, not advice… just a soft place to say the thing I never said out loud.

I’m tired of pretending.
I’m tired of being okay.

And even if no one replies, I needed to let this out.

— from somewhere, someone trying.

I don’t know how to ask for help without feeling like a burden.

So instead, I stay silent and hope someone notices the weight I’m carrying.

Some days, I miss a version of me that never even existed.

Not who I used to be — but who I thought I could be. The version of me that woke up early. That wasn’t scared to speak up. That didn’t overthink every message or moment or memory.

The version that felt soft without feeling weak. That felt wanted — not just useful. I don’t know if she was ever real. But I mourn her like a loss.

I’m not giving up. But I am tired.

Tired of explaining.

Tired of waiting for something to shift.

Tired of pretending I don’t care.

But somewhere in me, there's still a little light —a tiny flicker that says, keep going.

Not because I’m strong. Not because I have a plan.

But because maybe… just maybe, it gets softer from here.

"I don’t need to be understood by everyone — just gently held by a few."

Available soon

Available soon

Available soon

I thought being chosen would make me feel whole.

For so long, I just wanted to be picked — as a friend, a favorite, a person someone couldn't let go of. I thought if someone really saw me, it would fill the empty parts.

But even when they chose me, I still felt hollow. Because I hadn’t chosen myself.

Now I’m learning:
Being wanted is nice.
But being okay when you’re not — that’s peace.

I miss people who are still alive.

They’re right there — posting, laughing, moving on.

And yet, I feel like I lost them. Maybe we stopped talking. Maybe we still talk, but not deeply. Maybe I just changed, or they did.

No fight. No final goodbye. Just a slow fading I didn’t know how to stop. I grieve them quietly, like ghosts who never died.

Available soon

Available soon