It’s 2 AM.
The most depressive songs echo in my ears through my headphones, and I’m holding an energy drink.
But I’m not tired—
I’m far beyond tired.
I’m emptied out.

For days now, there’s been this unbearable pain in my lower back.
I can’t bend properly.
I can’t sit comfortably.
Even meeting my most basic needs has become a struggle.
This body no longer feels like mine. Every movement is a punishment, every moment pulls me further away from myself.

I’ve already been unhappy for so long.
But now, I’ve gone past unhappiness—into hopelessness.
I have no dreams left. No purpose.
I can’t imagine a future, because I don’t see a single ray of light waiting for me there.

I’m not writing this because I’m hoping for something.
I’m writing because sometimes you don’t need hope—
You just need to speak.
Sometimes, words won’t save you,
But they might help you survive.

I’m full of anger.
Full of hatred for everyone who made me live this life.
My desire to live died years ago.
I’m only alive today because I lacked the courage to do something back then.

Thoughts keep crashing around inside my head.
Should I delete my profile picture?
One part of me says, “Be visible. Show yourself.”
The other part whispers, “Hide. It’s not safe.”

But how can someone exist without being seen?
I don’t know the answer.
All I know is—I don’t have the strength anymore.

No one truly understands this sadness.
Even those who try only touch the surface.
Because this isn’t something you can explain—
It has to be lived to be felt.

And no one wants to walk with you through a tunnel this dark.
So you learn to stop speaking.

Maybe this post isn’t a scream.
Maybe it’s just the quiet cry of someone still breathing.

But this is me.
Broken, exhausted, in pain—
Yet still writing.


—

“To be continued in The Dark Diaries“