I Don’t Even Know Why I’m Writing This | by Ashwini | Aug, 2025

I don’t even know why I’m writing this. Maybe because I can’t keep it inside anymore. Maybe because talking feels too hard, and this is the only way I know how to breathe right now.

The truth is, I’m tired. Not the normal kind of tired that sleep fixes. It’s the kind that sits in your chest, heavy and constant. The kind that makes every day feel like the same endless loop. I wake up, go through the motions, smile when I have to, and then come back to my thoughts — the ones that don’t stop, the ones that whisper, “When will this end?”

I want to move on from this heaviness. I want to feel light again. I want to laugh without faking it. I want to look at life and think, “This is worth it.” But I don’t know how.

I’ve tried everything I can think of. Distractions. Pretending I’m okay. Talking to people. And for a little while, it feels like maybe it’s working. But the emptiness always comes back, like a shadow that never leaves me alone.

Everyone says, “Time heals.” But what if it doesn’t? What if time just passes, and I’m still here — stuck in the same pain, the same thoughts? That’s what scares me the most. That maybe this is permanent. That maybe this is who I am now.

I wish I could tell you I’m healing. That I’m making progress. That I’m finding myself again. But the truth? I’m not. I’m stuck.

Every day feels the same. I wake up, and I’m already tired — not because I didn’t sleep enough, but because it feels like I’m carrying something so heavy inside me. And I don’t even know how to put it down. People talk about healing like it’s a straight road. Like you just keep moving forward. But for me, it feels like being trapped in a maze. Every time I think I’ve found a way out, I hit another wall. And honestly? I’m tired of trying.

I’ve shared my feelings before. With someone who matters to me. They’ve listened. They’ve tried to understand. They’ve said all the right things. But after a point, I feel like even they’re tired. And then I start feeling like a burden. Because if I’m exhausted being me, how can anyone else not be?

I don’t really have friends I can call when it gets too much. And family… I can’t put this on them. So most of the time, it’s just me and my thoughts. And that’s when it feels the worst. That’s when I start believing maybe I’m the problem. Too much. Too complicated. Too broken.

Sometimes I read blogs or posts about people who feel this way. Not to make myself sad, but because when I find a sentence that sounds like me, it feels like someone finally understands, it makes me feel less alone. Like maybe I’m not the only one drowning quietly while life goes on for everyone else.

And then there are the nights. God, the nights are the hardest. When everything is quiet and my brain is screaming. Every mistake, every failure, every thought I don’t want to think, every “what if” screaming in my head— they all come rushing in. I tell myself to sleep, but my mind doesn’t listen.

I’m not writing this for advice or solutions. I’m writing because saying it out loud (or typing it out) feels like the only way to breathe. Because I can’t hold it in anymore.

I don’t know when this will change. I don’t even know if it will. But for now, this is where I am stuck, exhausted, but still here. And maybe, for today, that’s enough.