I want to hide it,
bury it somewhere deep inside me
where nobody can touch it,
where even I can’t find it anymore.
But it disappeared on its own.
And somehow,
feeling nothing
is a little too overwhelming.
It’s strange how emptiness
can still feel heavy enough
to crush your chest.
One moment I was hurting,
crying until my bones ached,
and the next…
everything shut off.
Like someone reached inside my mind
and pulled the plug.
No warning.
No goodbye.
Just silence.
Now I sit here wondering
if it’ll come back harder one day.
If all those emotions I locked away
are waiting behind some invisible door,
ready to break through me
like a flood that was never meant to stay contained.
Would it drown me?
Would I survive it?
Because sometimes
I can still feel it underneath.
Not fully gone—
just sleeping.
And that terrifies me.
I hate that this is the only way
my body knows how to survive.
To disconnect.
To detach.
To shut off pieces of my soul
like they were never alive to begin with.
The scary part is…
I didn’t even try to do it.
It happened automatically.
Like my body got tired
of carrying grief
and built its own emergency exit.
A healing mechanism, maybe.
Or maybe
just another way of dying slowly.
Because now I walk through life
not feeling anything fully.
Smiles feel borrowed.
Laughter sounds distant.
Love touches me
but never reaches deep enough anymore.
I don’t ache the same way I used to,
but I don’t breathe the same either.
And sometimes I miss the pain
because at least pain reminded me
I was still alive.
Now I just exist.
Quietly.
Numbly.
Like I’m gasping for air underwater
but nobody can see me drowning.
I don’t miss those feelings.
At least I tell myself that.
But maybe the truth is
I wish I could feel something again,
even if it destroyed me.
May 11
May 11, 2026 at 10:05 AM UTC
I want to hide it,
bury it somewhere deep inside me
where nobody can touch it,
where even I can’t find it anymore.
But it disappeared on its own.
And somehow,
feeling nothing
is a little too overwhelming.
It’s strange how emptiness
can still feel heavy enough
to crush your chest.
One moment I was hurting,
crying until my bones ached,
and the next…
everything shut off.
Like someone reached inside my mind
and pulled the plug.
No warning.
No goodbye.
Just silence.
Now I sit here wondering
if it’ll come back harder one day.
If all those emotions I locked away
are waiting behind some invisible door,
ready to break through me
like a flood that was never meant to stay contained.
Would it drown me?
Would I survive it?
Because sometimes
I can still feel it underneath.
Not fully gone—
just sleeping.
And that terrifies me.
I hate that this is the only way
my body knows how to survive.
To disconnect.
To detach.
To shut off pieces of my soul
like they were never alive to begin with.
The scary part is…
I didn’t even try to do it.
It happened automatically.
Like my body got tired
of carrying grief
and built its own emergency exit.
A healing mechanism, maybe.
Or maybe
just another way of dying slowly.
Because now I walk through life
not feeling anything fully.
Smiles feel borrowed.
Laughter sounds distant.
Love touches me
but never reaches deep enough anymore.
I don’t ache the same way I used to,
but I don’t breathe the same either.
And sometimes I miss the pain
because at least pain reminded me
I was still alive.
Now I just exist.
Quietly.
Numbly.
Like I’m gasping for air underwater
but nobody can see me drowning.
I don’t miss those feelings.
At least I tell myself that.
But maybe the truth is
I wish I could feel something again,
even if it destroyed me.
Pain, sometimes make the body goes into automatic survival mood