secrets from a girl who feels it all

i hate when i cant write. not because theres nothing inside of me but because there is too much. too many words, too many wounds, too many truths that sting like open air on skin not yet ready to heal. two days ago i was in a mental hospital. it was my first time, it was awful. not just the place itself, but what it confirmed, what it meant to be there like something in me was wrong. that i needed help, that i wasnt okay. and i never want to go back, not just to the hospital, but to the girl who ended up there. the cruelest truth is that i am her, i always have been and now its my job to figure out what that means and to be frank im exhausted. tomorrow ill meet with my psychiatrist and therapist, ill hear their soft voices trying to unravel a story i cant rewrite, because the truth is this never ends. i will live and die as the girl who has always been afraid. afraid of the dark, of the light, of what the light brings, of what else is hiding in the dark just beyond the bend. afraid that this pain, this reaching, is all there is. i feel stuck in time. stuck in me. like everything froze the day i was born with this feeling engraved into my bones that there is something more. something i have been chasing since the womb and i havent found it and its wearing me down. i feel ungrateful, unworthy, ashamed. like i should be thankful for what i have, but all i feel is hollow with the ache of not enough and the hunger for something more.

everyone feels deeply, this i know, but it seems i am the only one stuck here in this loop. this stillness that wont let me go. i write and i bleed and yet i feel like im screaming into a room where everyone nods to me and says “yes i feel this too,” but no one stays long enough to tell me how to move forward, how to unfreeze, how to move on. maybe i never will. so i write this now for the girl i was, the girl i am, and the girl i will always be. the one who feels everything.