love

Yeah, it’s all fucking shit, all of it. And I still smile anyway, like nothing ever happened. Fuck the demons inside this stupid little brain of mine, the ones crawling up the walls at night, whispering the same damn things again and again: You’re worthless. You’re too much. You’re nothing. Just a waste of oxygen. And I listen to them like they’re telling me the truth and I’m just the mistake between two breaths. I take the pills, the little promises, the fast-acting emergency exits that are supposed to say: We’ll get you through this. But my brain stays the same. It keeps thinking. It keeps eating me alive. It keeps screaming. And nobody believes me. At least the side effects always show up on time. Nausea. Dizziness. A heaviness in my body, like even breathing has become too much weight to carry. Everything works. Except me. And then I see your message. I hear your voice and suddenly something inside me almost falls apart, because someone actually asked: “How are you?” And God... I never even wanted anyone to worry about me. Because when someone really looks, I might have to admit that I’m not okay. So I pull it back up again, that fucking mask. Tighter. Even tighter. Until it cuts into my skin and no one can tell anymore where the mask ends and I begin. I’m sorry. You’re the only one who asks, and I hate myself for feeling like I’m putting this weight into your hands. Because I’m so damn alone inside while somehow, on the outside, I still keep functioning. Maybe that’s my greatest talent: breaking apart without making a sound. And when someone asks tomorrow, I’ll say it again: “I’m fine.” Put my smile back on. Press the mask down tight. And breathe. Not because I know what I’m breathing for. But because somewhere underneath all this noise, there’s still a tiny part of me that hasn’t stopped looking for a reason.

1 Nauk