Sometimes I feel like a part of me died a long time ago. Not the kind of death with funerals and flowers, but a quiet one.
It comes slowly, until one day, your laugh feels weak, your plans seem empty, and the things that used to matter don’t feel important anymore.
I once heard someone say, “Some people die at 25, but aren’t buried until 75.” That line hit me hard. It’s true.
Sometimes death doesn’t come to the people who want it. It comes to the ones who never asked for it.
I’m scared of dying. But sometimes I also wish I could just stop, just disappear. The strange thing is, fear and that wish live together.
Why? Because a tiny hope never fully leaves. It’s small, quiet, like a single candle in a dark room.
When that candle gets put out again and again; by disappointments, by mistakes, by people who leave or don’t understand, the room gets darker.
And at some point you stop trying to light another candle. You stop caring.
You don’t scream; you don’t fall apart in front of everyone. You just become quieter. You cancel plans. You stop answering messages. You tell yourself it’s fine, but inside is a heavy silence.
It’s a quiet kind of tragedy. On the outside, you look fine. But deep down, you already feel gone. And nobody even notices.
I don’t have all the answers to this. But writing about it makes me feel a little lighter. Maybe someone reading this feels the same too. Maybe they’re carrying this heavy feeling inside, just like me.
Another line I read once says: “My cry for help was so quiet that I couldn’t hear it myself.” This one really gets me.
How often do we quietly suffer, so quietly that even we don’t notice it? It’s sad, but it’s also real.
Sometimes I wonder if this is what it means to look alive while feeling dead inside.
Some days, this is how I feel: stuck between fear and the wish to disappear, holding on to a hope too small to lift me, carrying the quiet weight of a life that keeps going without me.
So, if you’re reading this and feel the same, you’re not alone. We may be quiet and tired, but we are still here. Still breathing. Still able to find light again.
Until next time, take care of yourself. Remember that even in quiet moments, you matter.
❤️🌻💫
