It’s been a rough week, and I can feel myself slipping. Slowly, piece by piece, I’ve started losing interest in parts of my life that once mattered, and with that comes this unsettling feeling—like I’m losing control of everything. There’s this constant weight, like I’m standing at a crossroads I never chose, faced with decisions I don’t want to make, and somehow, I keep hurting the one person I love the most. Unintentionally, but still, I’m causing pain, and it’s eating away at me.
Right now, I’m sitting here making yet another promise to myself: that next week will be different. That next week, I’ll finally get my life together, clean up the mess, and fix what’s broken. But deep down, there’s this strange, nagging feeling. It’s familiar because I’ve been here before, telling myself the same thing over and over. And the truth is, for so long, I thought I already had my shit together. Even when I was battling my depression, even when my mind was a storm of confusion and noise, I could still drag myself out of bed. I could still function, go to work, and keep up appearances.
But now, it feels different. Now, I can’t seem to push through. It’s like my energy is completely drained, and I’m left staring at this version of myself I don’t recognize. Maybe I know where the problem lies, maybe I don’t. Either way, something inside me has shifted, and I know I have to face it. The hardest part is figuring out where to start, because for the first time, I feel like I’m truly lost. It’s a problem I can’t keep running from anymore—something’s got to give, and I’m the only one who can fix it.
She Was Sea 