The Last Text I Sent Before My Mental Breakdown

The Last Text I Sent Before My Mental Breakdown

I still remember the exact words.

> “No worries at all :) I’ve got it covered.”



It was a text I sent to my boss at 11:42 PM on a Tuesday night — just five minutes before I collapsed onto my bathroom floor and sobbed so violently I thought I might throw up.

A smiley face.
To soften the exhaustion.
To hide the screaming in my head.
To pretend I was okay when I was so far from okay, I didn’t even recognize myself anymore.

That was the last “normal” thing I said before I broke.



On Paper, I Was Fine

I had a good job. The kind people say you’re lucky to have — fast-paced, well-paying, impressive-sounding. I had friends, a decent apartment, a gym membership I never used, and an Instagram full of fake smiles and curated weekend brunches.

I was also sleeping 3–4 hours a night.
Running on caffeine, deadlines, and self-loathing.
Smiling through panic attacks.
Saying “I’m just tired” so often, it became my personality.

I didn’t even know I was close to a breakdown. That’s the scary part. I thought this was just what being an adult felt like.

You power through.
You show up.
You don’t complain.

You handle it.

Until you don’t.



The Build-Up I Ignored

Looking back, the signs were everywhere.

I cried brushing my teeth. I’d forget entire conversations. I had zero appetite but lived off sugar. I’d sit in the shower for 40 minutes just to avoid my phone. I was having full-blown panic attacks in the office bathroom and then walking out like nothing happened.

And still — I said yes to everything.

More projects. More responsibility. More people-pleasing.

Saying “no” felt like failing. Saying “I can’t” felt like weakness. And asking for help? That was out of the question.

I didn’t want to be a burden. I didn’t want to seem dramatic. I didn’t want anyone to think I was broken.

So I smiled. I sent polite texts. I met deadlines. I showed up. I kept it together.

Until I didn’t.



The Breakdown

That night, I got an email marked URGENT about a project that wasn’t even mine. My boss forwarded it with a quick:

> “Any chance you can jump in? Need it done tonight.”



And without thinking — like muscle memory — I typed:

> “No worries at all :) I’ve got it covered.”



I hit send.

And then I stared at the screen.
And something just… snapped.

It was like the words turned into a mirror I couldn’t look away from.

No worries at all.
That was a lie.
I was drowning in worries.
I was unraveling.

I’ve got it covered.
Another lie.
I had nothing covered.
Not my work. Not my mind. Not my life.

I put my phone down.
Walked into the bathroom.
Sat on the floor.
And shattered.

It wasn’t a dramatic movie scene. No screaming, no breaking things. Just a quiet, primal kind of pain — the kind that lives in your bones and makes you feel like you’re disappearing.

I sobbed for what felt like hours.
Not because of the email.
Not even because of work.

But because I had betrayed myself so many times, I didn’t know who I was anymore.



The Aftermath

The next morning, I called in sick. For the first time in years.

I said I had the flu. Another lie.

What I really had was burnout, depression, anxiety, emotional exhaustion — the full mental health cocktail I had been pretending didn’t exist.

I took two days off.
Then two weeks.
Then I started therapy.

For the first few sessions, all I did was cry.

I told my therapist I didn’t even know why I was there — that other people had it worse, that I didn’t want to waste her time, that I was just tired.

She looked at me and said, “You don’t have to earn rest. You don’t have to hit rock bottom to deserve support.”

That was the first time I cried from relief instead of pain.



What I Know Now

People think breakdowns look like someone screaming, quitting their job, running away.

Sometimes they do.

But sometimes, they look like sending a cheerful text with a smiley face.

Sometimes they look like “I’ve got it covered” when you’re barely hanging on.

Mental health doesn’t always wave a red flag. Sometimes it whispers — in missed meals, in fake laughs, in late-night scrolls and forgotten birthdays and the voice that says “you just have to get through this week” for the 17th week in a row.

My breakdown didn’t ruin me. It revealed me.

It showed me how disconnected I had become from myself.

It forced me to stop pretending.
To ask for help.
To be honest.

And that honesty saved my life.



If You’re There Now…

If you’re reading this and you feel the unraveling… I want you to know you’re not weak.

You’re not broken.
You’re not lazy.
You’re not a burden.

You’re tired.
You’re trying.
You’re human.

And maybe it’s time to stop saying “I’ve got it covered” when you don’t.

Because you deserve more than survival.

You deserve peace.
You deserve rest.
You deserve to say, “I’m not okay” — and be held, not judged.



Final Thought

I never responded to the follow-up email.

For once, I didn’t apologize. I didn’t explain. I didn’t clean up the mess.

Instead, I let it go.
I let myself fall apart.
And that’s when healing finally began.