I Don’t Know How to Feel Okay Anymore

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b7PwFo-dLkc

I don’t know. I’m just getting sadder and more depressed, and I can feel it happening in real time.

Part of it is because I push people away—but in my mind, I do it for a good reason. I tell myself they were going to push me away first anyway. I’ve been rejected enough times to believe that before anything even starts, it’s already over.

There was this one person I felt close to. We had a shared trauma bond, both struggling with our mental health in different ways. I thought we understood each other. I tried to reach out to her again—she answered once, but the next time she didn’t pick up. No call back. No real response. And that silence hurt more than I want to admit.

I thought we were close. I guess we weren’t.

And now I’m stuck wondering if it’s me. If I’m inadequate somehow. If there’s something about me that makes people not take me seriously. I feel like no one actually cares about my well-being. Like people only show up out of obligation, not because they want to.

I want a real friendship. A close one. But I’ve convinced myself that it’s something I can’t have.

Too Busy to Be Human

The crazy part is, I don’t even have time to be this lonely.

I have school. I have the FE exam to study for. I have an album I’m supposed to release on March 27th. I have a book I want to finish one day. I’m trying to open myself up to groups and opportunities.

But I’ve never felt more alone than I do right now.

I’m sitting in the house by myself, supposed to be working on research, but instead I’m just reflecting on my life. I hear noises and think someone is here when no one is. My mind is playing tricks on me.

And I keep thinking about what I did recently.

I sent an email to people I was upset with. I told them I didn’t want to hang out anymore. Didn’t want texts. Didn’t want calls. I told them they weren’t my friends.

At first it felt liberating.

Now it just feels empty.

If I ever see them again, I’ll have to pretend they never existed. And part of me wonders if that’s really strength—or just fear dressed up as independence.

Learning the Hard Way

Maybe no one has to be nice to me. Maybe no one has to treat me like I’m important.

I tell myself I don’t want friends because I’ve seen what friendships have done to me in the past. It took going through mental health hell to realize that the communities I trusted weren’t always good for me.

But still… it hurts.

Little things trigger me—someone not answering a call, not replying to a message, leaving me on read. My anxiety spikes instantly. It makes me question my worth all over again.

And it’s not just emotional. I don’t even feel adequate physically anymore. As I’ve gotten older, I don’t feel like I have much to offer in any way. I feel like I need to prove something just to be allowed to exist.

Maybe if I win—if I succeed in research, if I pass the FE exam, if I accomplish something real—then the world will finally see me as adequate.

But right now, I don’t feel special enough to prove anything.

Comparing in Silence

I’ve been off social media for a month, and you’d think that would help. No scrolling, no comparison, no seeing everyone else’s perfect lives.

But the comparison is still in my head.

I still want to be the best. I still feel behind. I still feel like 2025 set me back in ways I haven’t recovered from.

My only real support system is my parents. My brother is there, but he’s focused on his own life—and I don’t want to be a burden. My professor is there academically, but not emotionally. He’s not someone I can go to when I’m breaking down.

There’s one person in Colorado I wish I could talk to, but I blocked him. Now we don’t speak. I tell myself I had to be selfish for my own good.

But sometimes selfishness feels exactly like loneliness.

I’m Angry and Tired

I’ve been losing sleep. I’ve been in a bad mental space.

I keep thinking people will be there for me, but they’re not. I told my mom once that no one cares about me—that’s why I couldn’t get a job. She said that wasn’t true, that I just didn’t work hard enough or make myself marketable enough.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe she isn’t.

All I know is I did the best I could at the time, and it still wasn’t enough.

And that’s what’s stressing me out the most: What if my best is never enough?

Right now my life feels like a crumb on the floor—dirty, small, unnoticed. I cut people off and they’re doing fine without me. And I’m left wondering:

Why am I not doing fine without them?

I pray sometimes, but even that feels empty. Like my words hit the ceiling and fall back down.

I don’t have tears left to cry.