The Fragile State of the Mind

There are moments in life when your mind feels like it's unraveling — fragile, frayed, and too full to carry even one more thought.

I remember sitting there, eyes fixed on the clock, silently willing time to move faster. I wasn’t just tired, I was emotionally spent. The room around me blurred as a quiet rage began to rise. Everything felt wrong, heavy, and out of place.

Sammy, my roommate, had been pushing my limits for days. He had a habit of nagging — constant, relentless reminders and critiques. He knew it irritated me, yet somehow, it never seemed to bother him. Sometimes I wondered if he found satisfaction in the chaos he stirred.

It wasn’t just him. The people around me all seemed too busy to care.

“I don’t have time.”

“Maybe later.”

“Can we talk tomorrow?”

“Why don’t you handle it?”

Everyone wanted something, but no one offered space, support, or understanding. The weight of comparison and rejection began to take a toll. I felt invisible — not seen, not heard, not held. The noise of the world became too loud, and I reached my breaking point.

In that moment, I made a choice to retreat.

I didn’t want to explain myself anymore.

I didn’t want to keep giving.

I needed peace.

I needed stillness.

I needed a safe space where I could simply exist — even if just for a moment.

“You can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine,” Sammy said, his voice firm but familiar.

“We’ve been here before. Just because something doesn’t work out doesn’t mean you get to shut down. People take you for granted, yes — but you let them. You need to grow up. Life is full of problems, but not all of them are yours to fix.”

He wasn’t wrong, but I couldn’t hear it just then. My mind was too cluttered to make room for logic. My heart wanted space, not solutions.

So I turned away, letting silence be the only answer I could manage.

Somewhere in the quiet, a gentler voice rose within me.

You don’t have to do everything. You don’t have to be everything.

Taking a break doesn’t mean you’re giving up, it means you’re choosing yourself.

It was a moment of clarity. I allowed myself to step back — from ambition, from responsibility, from people-pleasing.

And with that grace, my anger softened. My breath steadied. I drifted into sleep, finally feeling a sliver of peace.

But rest didn’t come easily.

Suddenly, I was back at the office — moving through the motions, surrounded by barking orders.

“Leah, get the ledger!”

“Coffee, please!”

“Print these documents!”

Everyone needed something. Again.

Even in my dreams, I was working. Serving. Running on empty.

In a brief moment of stillness, I remembered last week — an unexpected encounter with a guy at an event. He was kind, tech-savvy, and didn’t ask anything of me. He smiled. He saw me. It was the first time in a while I didn’t feel like a resource, but a person.

That memory was comforting. But it didn’t last.

Cold water hit my skin, yanking me out of sleep.

“What was that for?!” I shouted, drenched and disoriented.

Sammy stood there, holding the now-empty glass. “You wouldn’t wake up. I got scared. I thought I lost you.”

I was livid.

“Why do we even live together? All you do is nag and make a mess. I’m tired, Sammy. I clean up after you, emotionally and physically. I just wanted one minute to rest — and even that wasn’t allowed.”

His face dropped, the weight of my words sinking in.

“I thought we were friends,” he said quietly. “Before we were roommates. I didn’t realize I was hurting you.”

I sighed, tears welling up in my eyes.

“I’ve been hurting for a long time, Sammy. From the day we met, I’ve been giving — and you’ve been taking. I’ve been overlooked, dismissed, and used up. All I ever wanted was to sit here and just be — to be lazy, to be still, to be me without judgment or demand. But even in sleep, you wouldn’t let me be.”

He stepped closer, voice trembling.

“I didn’t know you felt that way. I just thought you loved giving. You do it so well, it seemed natural. But I see now, you were doing it out of pressure, not peace. And I’m so sorry. I truly care about you. Your happiness is my happiness. I promise to do better.”

He hugged me, gently wiping my tears. And for the first time in a long while, I let someone in.