There are so many problems in my life, and I’m tired of pretending like they don’t exist. I no longer want to live as if I’m strong, act like I’m cheerful, or smile like everything’s okay… because nothing is. I need a touch of magic now. Maybe it’s not real… but some part of me still wants to believe in miracles.

I’ve been through so much pain. So much that I’ve forgotten how to feel… but not the pain itself. It’s still there, just as sharp as it was on the first day. And I’m not the only one responsible for where I am today. This was never just my battle—but no one stood by me. No one ever really witnessed the storms I faced in my youth. No one even asked if I was okay.

People don’t believe me, but I’ve needed serious help for a long time. I’ve experienced depersonalization—felt like I was floating outside of my own body. I’ve experienced derealization—as if the world wasn’t even real. I’ve fought through anxiety, drowned in depression, and collapsed into breakdowns. I couldn’t protect myself from any of it. And no one reached out to save me.

Needing people… carrying that weight… it eats you alive. I always had to seem strong. Because in this world, asking for help is seen as weakness. And there’s no place for the weak. But all I ever wanted was a shoulder to lean on. Just someone to say “I understand.”
But that never happened.

If I feel this helpless today, it’s not just because of the pain. It’s because I was left alone with it. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve already lost my mind and just haven’t noticed. Maybe the version of me that once screamed for help has long gone quiet. Because no one was ever ready to listen.

And the worst part is… I still blame myself. But I was just a child. I only wanted to be loved. I only wanted to be understood.

And still… after everything… there’s a small flicker of hope inside me. Maybe someone will come. Maybe someone will truly hear me. Maybe someone will finally see me.
And maybe… that’s when the magic will become real.