The rain outside mirrors the storm inside. Each drop a tiny echo of the relentless ache in my chest. Another day begins, or rather, bleeds into the last, indistinguishable in their shades of gray. I pull the covers tighter, a futile attempt to ward off not the cold, but the emptiness that seeps into my bones.


What's the point? The question hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. A question I've asked myself countless times, and the answer remains stubbornly elusive. Each breath feels like a monumental effort, each step a journey through thick mud. The world moves on, vibrant and full of life, but I'm trapped behind a pane of glass, watching it all unfold from a distance, unable to connect, unable to participate.


They say things get better. They offer platitudes like lifelines, but they're just empty words. The sun might shine, the birds might sing, but the darkness within remains untouched, a constant companion. I see the smiles on other faces, hear the laughter in their voices, and it feels like a foreign language, something I once understood but have now forgotten.


Memories, once a source of comfort, now feel like daggers. Reminders of a time when things were different, when hope wasn't a distant memory, when joy wasn't a faded photograph. Now, they just serve to highlight the chasm between then and now, between who I was and who I've become.


I long for silence, for the noise in my head to finally cease. The constant barrage of negativity, the endless cycle of self-doubt and self-loathing. I'm tired. So incredibly tired. Tired of fighting, tired of pretending, tired of existing in this perpetual state of despair.


What future is there for someone who feels like a ghost, haunting their own life? What purpose is there in continuing to breathe when each breath is a burden? The answers, if they exist, are beyond my grasp. And so, I remain here, suspended in the void, waiting for something to change, knowing deep down that it probably never will. Just another day lost to the gray.