A series of losses.
The death was the final one.
The one that made all the others permanent.
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@themysticaldreamers
A series of losses.
The death was the final one.
The one that made all the others permanent.
Everyone says to appreciate the time you still have, but nobody talks about how terrifying it is to live with the constant awareness that the clock is running out.
I don’t know how to hold this much sadness at once.
I feel empty in a quiet way, like everything inside me has just gone still. There’s no real joy, but I’m not falling apart either. I’m just stuck, frozen in place while everything else keeps moving. I don’t know where I’m supposed to go, so I just exist here in this in-between.
The days blur together, slipping by without meaning. It feels like I’m just waiting for the bomb to drop, for the moment everything shatters and my life becomes something unrecognizable, hollow, and quiet.
I’m so lost I can’t even remember what it feels like to be found. I just want to disappear, to escape this life and start over somewhere far away.
I don’t want to feel like this anymore, I just want it all to end.
That feeling — like you’re frozen in this unbearable place, like time has stopped and you’re just waiting for the worst to happen — is so real.
I’m scared and feel utterly alone. I’m struggling to even stay afloat, most times it’s as if I’m drowning. Constantly being pulled back under. There are moments when everything is alright, and then it happens, and I’m brought back to reality.
Life can be so cruel to good people, they say everything happens for a reason, but what’s the reason for losing someone you love. It feels like I’m watching her slip away each day, each week, each month. It’s almost been a year of this, the not knowing. Not knowing if she’s going to be gone. I’m scared and I don’t know what to do.
I just feel empty inside. I honestly couldn’t care less about anything. I know I should, deep down I know, but I don’t. I’m not living, just going through the motions.
I’m worried that I’ll be stuck like this forever, never truly being happy. At this point I’m not even sure what will. Maybe happiness is only an illusion… a falsity.
I think I’m starting to crack, the weight of everything is becoming too much. I try to block it out, try to not feel, but it’s beginning to be impossible.
The power of books are unreal, I can get lost in them for hours on end. Wishing I could just run away into the fantasy and leave the mundane world behind.
I’m happy but numb at the same time. Full of life one minute, then I fade away into the darkness the next. Letting it consume me.
At what point do you let go of the fantasy?
I always thought that if I was prettier then I would be more happy… everyone loves pretty. I have this unhealthy cycle that when people leave me I constantly pick myself apart. Thinking, “Maybe people wouldn’t keep walking away if I looked like this… did this… dressed like this…” because there must be something wrong with me if people never want to stick around.
It’s been almost a year since I last saw my best friend… if she’s even that anymore. Seems like she has a new one. And it’s been half a year since I last saw the friends that I have seen almost every week for the past 6 years…