Loneliness

Hi, my name is Zecha. I'm here because i feel lonely specially during my depression and suicidal ideation.

#MightyTogether #Depression #Anxiety #PTSD

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Hey, I’m Alyssa.

I’m 21, and I’ve been through some straight-up hell.

A couple years ago, I was trapped in a nightmare—captivity and a robbery that tore my world apart. It’s the kind of trauma that sticks to your bones and messes with your head every damn day. It happened to me and my mother so that only adds to the trauma.

Right now, I’m stuck in the middle of a court case that’s dredging all that up again. It’s brutal. Some days, I’m angry as hell. Other days, I’m so exhausted I can barely get out of bed. And sometimes, I spiral into places I don’t want to go.

I’ve also had to be the rock for people around me, even when I’m breaking inside. It’s fucked up and unfair, but here I am.

I’m putting this out there because I need to find others who get how dark and lonely this fight can feel. I want to know how you survive the moments when the past grabs hold tight and won’t let go. How do you keep going when the legal stuff and all the memories hit you like a punch in the gut?

If you’re here, if you’ve been through hell too, I want to hear from you. Because right now, just knowing I’m not alone feels like the only thing keeping me from completely losing it truly😔

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Hey, I’m Alyssa.

I’m 21, and I’ve been through some straight-up hell.

A couple years ago, I was trapped in a nightmare—captivity and a robbery that tore my world apart. It’s the kind of trauma that sticks to your bones and messes with your head every damn day.

Right now, I’m stuck in the middle of a court case that’s dredging all that up again. It’s brutal. Some days, I’m angry as hell. Other days, I’m so exhausted I can barely get out of bed. And sometimes, I spiral into places I don’t want to go.

I’ve also had to be the rock for people around me, even when I’m breaking inside. It’s fucked up and unfair, but here I am.

I’m putting this out there because I need to find others who get how dark and lonely this fight can feel. I want to know how you survive the moments when the past grabs hold tight and won’t let go. How do you keep going when the legal stuff and all the memories hit you like a punch in the gut?

If you’re here, if you’ve been through hell too, I want to hear from you. Because right now, just knowing I’m not alone feels like the only thing keeping me from completely losing it. #Newfriends

In the shadowed recesses of existence, where the faintest light barely penetrates, there resides a realm of unending torment. Each breath resonates as a whisper of agony, each heartbeat an inexorable reminder of the relentless affliction that courses through the veins. The body, once a vessel of life and vitality, now endures as a prison of suffering, where every movement is a harrowing struggle, and every moment a protracted battle.

In this desolate landscape, the soul longs for release, for the sweet embrace of oblivion. The promise of an end to the ceaseless torment, a final escape from the chains that bind, looms tantalizingly near. It is a seductive allure, a siren's song that beckons with the promise of peace and rest.

Among strangers, there is an echo of empathy, a fleeting sense of being heard. Yet, within the familiar, there is only silence, and the deafening absence of understanding. It is in this stark contrast that the loneliness festers, a deep-seated sense of worthlessness that gnaws at the spirit.

In the absence of solace, there is only the unyielding reality of existence. The human spirit, trapped within the confines of torment, fights against the tide of despair. Even in the depths of suffering, there exists a quiet resilience, a testament to the indomitable nature of the soul.

And so, with a resigned sigh, the journey continues, through the valleys of pain, ever onward, ever striving. For in the end, it is not the suffering that defines us, but the courage to face it, the strength to endure, and the hope that, one day, there will be peace.

I wrote this poem during a moment of emotional exhaustion—when I felt invisible in my pain. I was hurting, but the people around me just watched. Sharing this is part of my healing, and maybe it will help someone else feel less alone too.

And You Watch

by Maria Davis

I carry despair and pain,

Wasted energy—

And you watch.

I walk in anger and loneliness,

And you watch.

I move through the day,

Waiting to be rescued—

And still, you watch.

I search the waters,

Hoping they’ve gone down,

But find only the lies of life—

And you watch.

Always watching,

Waiting for my next move.

Even when I slip

Into a place beyond repair—

You watch.

#mental health #Healing #Depression #emotional pain

#Anxiety #invisibl illness #Loneliness #truama

The world used to be in color. Vibrant, rich hues painted every day — the cerulean sky, the emerald leaves, the fiery sunsets I’d chase with a camera in hand. Now, it’s mostly gray, washed out by a relentless, invisible fire. They call it CRPS, Complex Regional Pain Syndrome, but I call it the thief. It stole my life, my independence, and a piece of my soul I may never get back.

It started after a minor surgery. I brushed it off, chalked it up to normal post-op pain. Then the pain sharpened, twisting into something unrecognizable. It wasn’t just a hurt; it was a screaming inferno that refused to be extinguished. My skin became a live wire — every touch, every breeze, a jolt of agony. My hand, the one that used to deftly wield tools and sketch dreams, swelled and changed color — a monstrous parody of what it once was.

The doctors tried, but the glazed-over eyes, the hushed tones of “rare” and “complex” — they spoke volumes. It felt like I was speaking a foreign language, trying to describe a sunrise to someone who had only ever known perpetual night. How do you explain that your own body has turned against you — that the very nerves designed to protect you are now your torturers?

The hardest part, harder even than the torment itself, is the isolation. Friends, once so close, drifted away. Their initial sympathy gave way to awkward silences, then eventually, nothing at all. “You don’t look sick,” they’d say — a phrase that felt like a punch to the gut. How could I make them see the lightning bolts shooting through my veins, the icy grip that sometimes seizes my limbs, the constant tremor that makes holding a cup a Herculean task? I stopped trying to explain. It was easier to just retreat, to curl up in my own private hell where at least I didn’t have to witness their discomfort or their pity.

I used to be proud. Independent. Self-sufficient. The one everyone came to for help. Now, I’m the one who needs help to open a jar, to button a shirt, sometimes even to just stand. The humiliation is a constant companion, a burning shame that rivals the pain. Asking for help feels like tearing off a piece of my dignity, exposing a raw wound. Begging — even subtly — for understanding or patience is a soul-crushing exercise. I see the flicker of impatience in their eyes, the subtle shift in their posture, and I know they don’t get it. They can’t.

Sleep is a fleeting whisper, a brief reprieve before the flames rekindle. The nights are long and lonely, filled with the echo of my own cries and the terrifying realization that this might be my forever. There are moments — dark moments — when the sheer weight of it all threatens to crush me entirely. The relentless pain, the crushing loneliness, the constant battle to simply exist.

And sometimes, more than anything, I just want to close my eyes and dissolve into the quiet abyss.

Hi, my name is AnxiousKitty. I'm here because Im struggling with lack of family and friends. I'm struggling to overcome years of emotional abuse. And struggling with loneliness while navigating a divorce trauma attachment issues in a state far far away from family.#Anxiety #Depression #AutismSpectrumDisorder #PTSD #ADHD #OCD #Grief #EatingDisorder