That panging feeling hits me. It stirs into existence thoughts that I’ve purged countless times. A feeling I wish to voice, but I’m unable to. The weight on my shoulders grows heavier every day and yet nothing changes.




The silence is suffocating. It always has been. And yet, it is my comfort. It’s the only thing that I know. And anything other than that brings anxiety. It’s easier to hold onto those feelings. Releasing them brings about an outcome that I’m all too familiar with. An outcome I’ve grown weary of.

My past plagues me. I am no different than anyone else. The future is a game. With the past being the rules for the game. And the present often times feels more uncertain than the future.


People take my silence as strength. And it’s an insult, a stabbing pain that gets stronger every day.