I just don't want to

I don't want to do anything. I don't want to wake up from my bed. I just want to look at the ceiling while that one drop of tear comes slowly, without me even realising it. I don't want to talk to anyone — me, who was once the most talkative in the room.

I just want to sit with myself. Hold myself. Console myself.

There are so many things in my mind right now
and I don't know where to put them. I have tried — god, I have tried. I tried showing up. I tried being okay. I tried being the person everyone needed me to be. But right now, I just don't want to. Not because I've given up. But because I'm tired in a way that sleep doesn't fix.

Once, I just wanted to do everything. I wanted to be the most spoiled version of me. I wanted to be pampered, to dream big, to hold everyone close. I wanted to be the girl who had it all and gave it all. I had so much want in me.

Now I just don't feel like it.

I have always loved deeply. Fully. The kind of love I gave to people — I rarely got it back in the same measure. And I'm not saying that to make anyone feel guilty. I'm just saying it because it's true, and I'm done pretending it didn't cost me anything.

I want to give that love to myself now. The same softness. The same patience. The same "it's okay, I'm here."

I know everyone has a struggle. Everyone has a story. But I never claimed to be the strongest. I never asked for the thorns. And yet they came — and I held them anyway, because my heart didn't know how to do anything else.

Even today, my heart is full of love.

But right now, it's heavy.

Only I know how that feels — carrying something so full of warmth and yet so exhausted by it. Like a candle that's been burning for everyone else, now flickering quietly in an empty room.

I want to turn every curse into a rose. Every scar into something I can look at without flinching. I'm not there yet. And that's okay. I don't have to be there yet.

For now I just want to feel this. Sit with this. Not fix it, not explain it, not perform recovery for anyone watching.

Just me, and this heavy, love-filled heart, figuring it out one ceiling-stare at a time.

— N.N

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