There comes a time in life when everything around you seems stifling. Every breath becomes a fight; the air seems weighty and pushes against your chest. Until you feel as though you are drowning, the weight of unmet expectations, unresolved grief, and constant disappointment presses down on your soul. Running away is not really an option; you yearn for escape; mountain tops call with promises of seclusion, vast roads whisper freedom into your ears. You thus withdraw inside, running back to yourself as the last haven remaining.
The never-ending battle to articulate what you are going through wears you out. Exhaustion penetrates into your bones, therefore rendering the act of hoping or trusting an impossible task. Love seems far, as like it belongs in a world you are no longer able to reach. You paste on a brave front at first since that is what others expect. You convince everyone you are good while donning a mask of normalcy. Still, the lies get more difficult to maintain quickly. You start to shun people—not out of indifference but rather because you have nothing left to offer. Plans are called off, messages go unacknowledged, calls are dismissed. Loneliness starts to be your haven since it feels safer than you could want. Alone, you can breathe without thinking about others.
You haven’t ceased yearning connection. Somewhere deep within, a part of you still yearns for closeness—for someone who knows. Still, the suffering has caused you caution. You want the flames of your rage and grief to scorish those you love, but you worry bringing your inner turmoil upon others. You thus build towering, impervious barriers to keep everyone out. Your narrative too weighty to discuss, hence it appears impossible to explain your emotions. You worry about being misinterpreted and about people judging you for the wounds you bear as much as for your behavior. Vulnerability seems like a trap, and in a society where rumors travel like wildfire the risk is too large.
Still, the damage stays, chewing away at you. The weight of past mistakes and losses hangs on your soul like a shadow not going to erase. The toughest is nighttime. The silence sharpens everything—the regrets, the “what-ifs,” the memories of what you had and lost. “If only,” you consider. If only you had chosen another course. Just you would have been sufficient. Your chest hurts constantly, a faint aching never going away. The tears have stopped even though the suffering seems too great to contain. Even alone, crying seems like a luxury you cannot afford right now.
Though certain emotions never alter with time. Despite the years and the heartache, that love you carried for someone still persists, stubborn and immobile. You know, though, you cannot go back to what was. Your heart—fragile, wounded—no longer has the strength to fall another time; the trust you once freely offered feels irreversibly damaged.
Though it is debilitating, pain does not define you. Indeed, it shapes you, but it does not define you totally. Healing is nonlinear, messy, and usually frustrating. Setbacks and times when the weight seems intolerable will abound. Even in those times, though, it’s crucial to forgive yourself—for the times you felt weak or stumbled under pressure. Honor the love you bear, even if it is complex or mixed-fevers. Above all, hang on. Because the weight won’t last permanently regardless of how heavy it feels right now. Deepest scars can heal as well. The darkest darkness lift too, finally.