Not a day goes by without the weight inside me growing heavier. A sadness I can’t fully name settles on my chest… Sometimes I’m not even doing anything—just walking down the street or catching my reflection in a shop window… and my eyes begin to fill with tears. Something deep within me can’t take it anymore, and in the middle of everything, I cry quietly.

I can’t control myself. I can’t hold it in. My mind keeps dragging me down. I’m so tired of being the person who always thinks the worst. The question “Why always me?” echoes through the walls of my mind.

There’s such a powerful sense of helplessness inside me… Sometimes, I don’t even have the strength to take a single step. I know my mental health is unraveling. But I’m afraid to ask for help. I’m not afraid of a diagnosis or a hospital…
I’m afraid of the life that might be taken from me after that diagnosis. A life where a simple signature no longer matters, where I can’t even use my bank card. What happens when someone says, “You are no longer a person”?

Is there anyone who could accept that system?
Didn’t think so.

But it’s getting harder and harder to cope. I cry. I cry all the time. It feels like everyone has a right to speak over me. Like I don’t exist. My feelings, my choices, my existence… all silenced. Everything that’s piled up inside me wants to scream, but no sound comes out.

I feel disgusting. Tainted. Worthless. Alone… Like if they pushed just one step further, I would fall. Like if they put one more burden on my shoulders, I’d break into pieces.

And yet—I’m still here. As long as I can write these words, I’m still here.
Maybe through these words, I’ll feel a little less alone.
Maybe, one day, even the darkness inside me will grow tired.