we carry things with us that we can’t see. i mean, i look in the mirror, and i’m not doubled over, i’m not dragging chains across the floor. but you’d swear, by the way my shoulders feel, that i’m carrying something colossal. the kind of weight that lives under your skin, tucked between your ribs, where no one thinks to look. a weight that doesn’t budge even when you laugh.
people ask, “are you okay?” and what do you say? “sure, i’m fine.” because how do you explain something like this? how do you put into words that you feel the constant pull of things you can’t name? it’s not sadness, not really. it’s more like this heavy, tired thing that shows up in the pause between thoughts, in the quiet after the door closes and you’re left with just you and your breath.
it’s in the things i didn’t say, in the calls i didn’t make, in the moments i let slip away because i was too busy holding onto this... whatever this is. this dead weight. and don’t even get me started on how it tricks you into thinking it’s just a phase, like you can walk it off or sleep it away. i’ve tried. god, have i tried.
we all carry it, some version of it. and we tell ourselves it’s manageable, it’s temporary. until one day you look around, and there it is, sitting next to you on the train, tucked into your morning coffee, settled in beside you when the world goes quiet. you realize you’ve learned to live with it, this unseen, unspeakable load. and somehow, in the most surprising way, that realization feels almost like freedom.
I love how your ability to describe complex things in a simple way makes me love reading your pieces again and again. This was way too relatable.
in awe of your writing really