June 28, 2025

When You Don’t Have the Words

Some days, it just hits.

Not like a storm, not like a crash.

But like a quiet undoing.

You’re lying there.

Not really crying. Not really sleeping.

Just… drained.

Done.

There’s this weight in your chest, but you’re too tired to name it.

You try to trace what exactly is wrong, but your brain can’t even hold the questions.

You don’t want to be comforted.

You don’t want to be told it’s going to be okay.

You don’t want anything.

Not really.

Even your face feels heavy.

Even blinking takes effort.

And everything—everything—feels too loud, too far, or too much.

You’re not trying to be dramatic. You’re not looking for attention.

You just feel… folded. Curled up in your own mind.

Not angry. Not fine. Just there.

And maybe you’re not asking for help out loud,

But somewhere in the middle of the fog, there’s still that whisper:

“God, I need help.”

No fancy words. No energy for holy things. Just that.

A breath. A plea. A letting go.

So if you’re here—where everything hurts and nothing makes sense—

You’re not alone.

This isn’t the end of your story.

You don’t have to move. You don’t have to fix it.

You can just be.

And somehow, even now, you’re still held.

Even now, you’re still breathing.

And that’s enough for today.