You are not alone.

 

This isn’t a goodbye.

 This isn’t a cry for help.
 This isn’t meant to be found taped to a mirror or folded in a glovebox or posted in the comments section of some well meaning mental health thread.

This is just what it sounds like when the soul finally leaks.

I’m tired.
 Not sleepy.
 Not bored.

Tired in the bones.
 Tired in the teeth.
 Tired in the fucking sunlight.

They keep saying:
 “Call someone.”
 “Speak up.”
 “Don’t be ashamed.”

But have you ever tried to explain this kind of emptiness without sounding like you’re just being dramatic? You can’t.
 So you don’t.

You say you’re fine.
 You make a joke.
 You distract. You wait for the moment to pass like a train you don’t want to ride but kind of wish would just hit you anyway.

This isn’t about death.
 Not really.

It’s about the weight. The shame.
The constant goddamn noise in my head telling me I’m too much, not enough, broken, invisible, fake, unlovable, exhausting.

And the silence outside me saying nothing back.I don’t want to die. I just want it to stop.

I want to go one whole day without imagining what the world would look like without me in it.

I want someone to look at me and see it
 the ache behind the smile,
 the storm behind the eyes,
 the war that never gets medals.

But I don’t expect that anymore.

So I write it here,
 into nothing,
 just to know I’m still here.

Still breathing.
Still burning.
Still fucking here.

That’s all.