Journal Entry — May 29, 2025
It's been a week since I took the pills.
It felt like I was becoming a burden to my parents. I see the worry in their eyes, the exhaustion in their voice—and it breaks me. I hate that I can't study or work like others my age. I hate that my body and mind won't cooperate. It's like I'm trapped in a life that keeps asking more from me that I have to give.
My sickness isn't just in my body—It's in my thoughts, my emotions, my soul. Some days I feel I'm made of glass, and the world is throwing stones. Everything hurts. And I keep asking, Lord... why?
Why are You letting this happen?
Why can't I just live a normal life—wake up without dread, smile without faking it, breathe without the weight on my chest?
I try to pray, but the words feels empty.
I try to hope, but it feels foolish.
And yet... there's still this small ache in me that doesn't want to give up completely. Maybe It's You. Maybe it's the part of me that still believes there's something worth living for, even if I can't see ut right now.
I'm tired, Lord. So tired.
But still I'm here.
Please—help me see a reason for that.
— shewritesaboutit
