I never really felt at home in any place.
I felt constrained.
Just random people telling me how to behave.
I never really got that place to rest and to recharge,
Not needing anything but quiet and myself.
I never saw myself lying in bed without anxiety, that people expect me to do things, without telling me to do them. Just expecting it from me.
I felt guilty for being tired. For resting.
I am tired of people. Of noise. Of expectations. I am tired of not staying with myself long enough to understand her pain, her heart, her desires, her dreams, her trauma.
I feel like the connections are no longer connected. I don’t feel joy in seeing people I once felt joy spending time with.
Something just clicked, and I never got to be myself again.
I lost the joy in my eyes little by little. I feel like emptiness took its place inside my chest.
And there is no one to blame for it. It’s just nothingness.
Am I awake? Am I dreaming? Is this a nightmare? Is this reality?
It’s not a call for help. It’s just the realization that suddenly I lost joy in little things like getting ice cream, reading a good book, a phone call with someone I love, cooking, and creating.
I miss myself, and I miss feeling at home somewhere.
