Every day, I catch myself wondering what the future holds. Will it ever feel lighter? Will I ever stop feeling so alone—even when I’m surrounded by people? On paper, it looks like I’m doing okay. I landed a good job. I’m starting to see small successes. But deep down, there’s this heavy emptiness I can’t shake. I have no one to share my day with. No one to call when my thoughts turn into a battlefield. People think I’m just introverted or lacking social skills. But the truth is, I hate being alone. I hate not being able to show my real self because I’m scared—scared of rejection, of being misunderstood, of getting hurt again. There was a time I numbed all of this with hash and alcohol. I didn’t want to feel anything. But I’ve been sober for almost a year now. That’s a win, right? It should feel like a win. And yet, there’s still this ache—a longing to have someone, anyone, to celebrate even the smallest victories with. But every time I look around, the reality hits: no one’s here. And on top of it all, there’s the weight of depression and anxiety—diagnoses that feel like invisible chains some days. Sometimes, I catch myself questioning the meaning of life, of being alive at all. Especially after losing the person I loved the most. The irony? They never really saw the real me either. So here I am—still breathing, still moving forward, still hoping that maybe one day I won’t have to carry all of this alone.

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