People often say I have a good life — the kind others would wish for. And maybe, on paper, it looks like I do.
But most days, I feel like I’m barely holding myself together with invisible thread. And when that thread breaks, I break in silence.
No one really sees that I cry alone — in the car on the way to work, at the office, in the shower at night, on walks where I pretend to be deep in thought. They just see me smiling. Functioning. Being “fine.”
I don’t talk about how I really feel, because every time I’ve tried, it’s backfired. People think I’m complaining, or being dramatic. So now I just say, “I’m okay,” and ask them how they’re doing. Because that feels safer. Cleaner. Less of a burden.
But I carry everything. I carry the exhaustion, the hopelessness, the shame. I carry the weight of therapy that’s supposed to help. I’ve been in therapy for over five years. I know why I feel like this. I understand the origins of my pain. But knowing hasn’t set me free.
I still repeat the same choices, still end up in the same place — watching my life from the inside like I’m stuck in a loop. Wanting to do better, to be better. And constantly failing.
It’s hard to explain how deep the loneliness runs. I don’t really have people I can talk to — not fully. I don’t have friends I trust not to leave, and part of me believes it’s because of who I am.
I often think I’m just a bad person pretending to be a good one. Someone who tries to help others, but can’t help herself.
Sometimes, when things were really dark, I used to think about suicide with planning — choosing the “right” day that wouldn’t fall near birthdays or holidays. Trying to protect the people I’d leave behind.
But now?
Now I don’t care about those things anymore. And that’s the part that scares me.
I don’t want attention. I don’t want pity. I just want this pain to stop. I want to stop pretending. I want to stop being trapped in this in-between space — where I’m not okay, but not gone. Where I exist, but don’t live. Where I breathe, but don’t feel like I’m here.
This isn’t a cry for help. It’s just the truth. And I’ve spent too long keeping it to myself.
#Depression #MentalHealth #SuicidalThoughts