Sometimes, I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs.
I want to say that I feel stuck—like I’m trapped in a life that doesn’t feel like mine.
I want to say that I hate my life.
That I feel constantly alone.
Constantly.
And maybe, deep down, I know that isn’t entirely true—that some people might care.
But I can’t seem to escape this overwhelming feeling that no one really does.
No one checks in. No one truly sees me.
I feel like I’m always falling short, like I’m constantly lacking something essential.
And I know I shouldn’t compare my life to others—but it’s hard not to.
It feels like I’m watching the world pass by, like I’m on the sidelines while everyone else lives fully, effortlessly.
And I’m just… stuck, observing.
I hate that I’m not confident. That I’m not outgoing.
That I don’t seem interesting enough for people to want to stick around.
Sometimes I wonder if I add anything meaningful to anyone’s life at all.
If I disappeared, would it even matter?
Some days, I hate how I look.
I hate my body.
And more than anything, I hate me.
I hate the complexity of emotions—how you can feel so much at once and still not fully understand any of it.
I hate how heavy it all feels.
I hate this version of life I’m living.
Right now… I just hate it all.