I’m so tired.
Not just physically. Not just from the day — though that was draining enough. Emotionally, I feel like I’ve been wrung out. Like I’ve been carrying something heavy for so long that my arms have gone numb, but I’m still holding on out of habit.
I don’t want my life to be dark and morbid. I really don’t.
There is so much love around me. There’s Billie, who’s always there in the quiet, like a little anchor. Joel, who sees the worst of it and stays anyway. Matilda — wild, beautiful, full of joy I don’t want to ruin. My friends, who keep showing up even when I disappear a bit.
There’s light. I know that.
But sometimes, the dark is just… louder. It doesn’t ask permission. It doesn’t wait until I’m ready. It just arrives — heavy, thick, and fast — and suddenly it’s hard to remember who I am under it.
I feel like I’ve been fighting to “be okay” for so long, and on days like this, I wonder what that even means. Am I okay? Am I just surviving? Is this what everyone does and they’re just better at hiding it?
I hate the part of me that still listens to the lies. The part that still thinks maybe I’m too much. That maybe I ruin things just by existing wrong.
But I’m still here. Still breathing. Still writing this. And maybe that’s enough tonight.
Maybe it doesn’t have to be beautiful. Maybe it just has to be honest.