I feel numb.
Not the peaceful kind,
Not the kind that softens the jagged edges of life.
This numbness is heavy,
Thick, like fog,
Suffocating in its emptiness.
I feel like I’m done.
Not with him, not with us—
God, no.
I love him,
I love what we’ve built,
The life we’ve woven together from shared dreams and crazy nights.
I don’t want to lose it.
I can’t.
But what if he’s already given up?
What if the warmth has faded from his touch,
The light dimmed in his eyes?
How do I convince him to stay
When I can barely convince myself
That I’m worth staying for?
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe no one should stay.
Maybe the hollow, silent voice that echoes in my head
Is telling the truth:
I am nothing.
I’ve done nothing.
I stopped growing the moment we met,
Stagnant in his shadow,
Content to drift while he stood tall.
And now, almost eight years later,
What do I have to show for it?
Nothing.
Just a worthless piece of shit,
Clinging to a life I don’t deserve.
It’s heartbreaking.
Shattering.
To look at myself and see only fragments
All sharp edges and broken glass.
I can’t fucking stand it anymore.
I can’t bear the weight of myself,
The endless screaming inside my own mind.
I don’t feel at home here,
In this head, in this heart,
In this hollow shell that carries my name.
I want out.
Not from love, not from him,
But from me.
From this unbearable existence,
This endless loop of shame and regret.
I want to be someone else,
Someone who feels worthy of love,
Worthy of a life.
But I’m trapped here,
In a body that feels foreign,
In a mind that won’t let me go.