Bad mood can be a cry for help.

It's getting really hard for me. There are days when I don't even recognize myself. And I don't like this version of me. I was born happy, but the world is wearing me down. My body keeps moving, but my soul feels lost. I get impatient, irritated with everything and everyone, craving silence, but also longing for comfort. And I don’t have that option. Because I’ve always been the on who gave comfort.metimes I feel so ashamed… It’s like I’m always the last one to understand what’s happening in my own life. But deep down, I know exactly what happened. And that’s what hurts the most.

For a long time, I thought it was just a bad mood, sometimes PMS, other times something that would pass. But then I started to realize that, in truth, it was the reflection of something long accumulated — exhaustion, emotions hidden behind smiles I didn’t want to give, silent cries for help I never dared to shape into words, the inability to express what I feel, to admit out loud that I’m strong, but I hurt just like anyone else. It’s about everything I’ve been sweeping under the rug, about what I feel but don’t share. And I know I’m partly to blame for letting people get used to that.

And when things pile up, when we don’t know how to ask for help — for whatever reason — our body speaks for us. It shows up as exhaustion, irritability, silence, and illness. And then comes the label they put on us: grumpy and moody. But behind that label might lie the true root of our discomfort. What you're feeling today might just be the buildup of everything you ignored yesterday. That sudden impatience might be nothing more than a cry for a breath you’ve been postponing. The constant headache, the heavy body, the drowsiness at odd times… All of it is a warning that you’ve reached your limit.

We’ve learned to keep going, even when our heart is stumbling, our body is falling apart, and our days are turning greyer and greyer.

I deal with sleepless nights, tired eyes that don’t shine like they used to, swollen legs, heavy feet, silent screams, tears that dry before they even fall, forced smiles, unintentional distance, bursts of anger that even I find too much. The body feels what the mind tries to hide, after all.

Over time, I came to understand that, more often than not, anger was just sadness in disguise. A pain dressed in armor, trying to protect me from what hurt too much to be named. It was a grief I never got to express, a frustration buried deep, an undigested loss — not only for what ended, but for everything that could have been and never came to be.

For the things I was forced to abandon because of repeated behaviors. Some people explode on the outside because they’re falling apart on the inside. They yell because, deep down, they just want to be heard. That bitterness that seems so harsh, so loud, is often nothing more than the armor of a tired heart — a heart that’s fighting every day not to give in.And people’s judgment only makes it worse. Few truly want to help. Many just want to witness your downfall — even the ones you least expect.Irritation is the silent scream of someone who no longer knows how to ask for help. It’s the shield that rises when the soul can no longer find shelter. And behind it, almost always, there is a deep, quiet sadness trying to stay standing without being seen. We learn to harden before we learn how to feel. Pretending to be strong feels safer than admitting we're fragile. It’s easier to be impatient than to allow ourselves to be vulnerable.

Anger keeps others away — and in a moment of pain, that might feel like the safer option. Sadness, on the other hand, asks for closeness. And sometimes, we’re just not ready to let anyone get that close. We’re living in times where true humanness is slowly becoming extinct.

Hiding the pain doesn't make it go away. It just puts on a disguise. Changes clothes, shifts form, but stays there, silently waiting for a chance to surface. And even when it seems under control, it seeps into the days, weighs on the body, drains the mind, and affects our relationships. Nothing remains untouched when something inside us is crying out for help.

Closing myself off was never about pushing people away. It was about trying to stay whole. Or at least gather what was left of me. It was an attempt to collect the scattered pieces left behind by haste, disappointments, and unspoken pain. I didn’t want to disappear, I just needed to breathe — without constantly having to explain myself. Sometimes, the exhaustion didn’t come only from what was happening to me, but from the constant effort of giving, of trying to be understood, of explaining what even I didn’t fully grasp. And so, silence became my shelter. Small, tight, but necessary. A space where I could, little by little, try to pull myself together without the weight of others' eyes or expectations.

Many look from the outside and think it’s indifference. They mistake it for coldness, rudeness, or a lack of empathy. But inside, there’s someone trying not to fall apart. Someone screaming in silence, trying to mend cracks with trembling hands, someone who just wants to be understood — not given advice or solutions, just a look that doesn’t judge and a shoulder to rest their soul on.

There are pains we can only feel alone. And there are days when isolation isn’t about running away — it’s about survival. Because sometimes, the outside world demands too much from someone who can barely hold it together on the inside. In those moments, silence becomes resistance. And solitude, a refuge.

Maybe growing up is just that: not learning to control your emotions, but allowing yourself to feel them more honestly. Letting your soul breathe, without having to fake strength all the time. Giving yourself permission to feel—even when everything seems to fall apart, even when vulnerability feels too dangerous.

And if no one notices that there's a silent collapse happening inside me… then at the very least, I hope I don’t close my eyes to it. Because ignoring your own pain is one of the cruelest forms of self-abandonment. And if the world won’t listen, may I learn to listen to myself. To offer comfort when no one else knows how.

I didn’t write these words to offer quick fixes. Or to romanticize hard days. The goal was never to sugarcoat what hurts. There are times when we don’t even understand what we’re feeling—and still, we deserve care. We deserve a safe place where we can just exist, without needing to explain ourselves.

If this text, even for a brief moment, helped you breathe a little deeper, find shelter between the lines, or see yourself in these words… then it’s already served its purpose. You don’t have to carry everything alone. And you don’t need to hide the weight you feel.

If this touched your heart, subscribe for more. Let’s keep meeting here—where words hold, comfort, and give voice to everything we so often keep quiet.