I’ll carry it. The pain that doesn’t pass. The bruises left by family’s injustice— not fists, but words, silences, choices.
I’ll carry the slow erosion of a body fighting battles no one bothers to notice. Chronic, quiet, ignored. They see motion and call it strength. They don’t see the toll.
I’ll carry the sleep I never seem to reach. The kind that heals. The kind I crave. Instead, I rise each day on empty, still smiling. Still playing the part.
Because that’s what resilience looks like, right? Holding everything while pretending it’s nothing.
You ask if I’m okay, and I say yes— because you asked while passing. Because you didn’t wait for the truth.
Inside, I am tired. Not weak. Just worn. Just wanting, once, to be seen before I shatter.
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Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts7 days ago in Longevity
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