THE LOOP

     





 You need to help yourself.People throw it at me like it’s a solution, like I’m some broken thing that just needs to be fixed. But I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t even know what’s wrong anymore. I just know that I cry. Over and over and over again. Until my throat burns, my chest aches, and my eyes feel like they’ll never dry.

But it doesn’t stop. Even when the tears do, it doesn’t stop. The pain just sits there, quietly gnawing at me, like it’s part of me. Like it’s all I am. My head feels like it’s going to split open. It pounds and screams, louder than my thoughts, louder than anything I could ever say. But no one hears it. No one sees it.

I’m so tired. So unbelievably tired. I sleep just to escape it all, to drown myself in nothingness for a few hours. But even that’s not enough. I wake up, and it’s all still here. This crushing, suffocating weight that reminds me I’m alive when all I want is not to be. Sometimes, I think about not waking up at all. I wonder what it would feel like to just stop. To stop crying. To stop hurting. To stop being.

And this loop—this godforsaken loop—I don’t even know how I got stuck here. It’s like a prison with no walls, no doors, no way out. Just me, pacing circles in my mind, breaking a little more with every step. What’s the point? What’s the point of trying when every day feels like a rerun of the same hell?

I’m angry. Angry at myself for being this weak, this broken. Angry at the world for pretending like I’m fine. They look at me and see someone who’s functioning, someone who’s smiling and polite. But inside, I’m screaming. I’m raging. I want to rip this mask off and shove my pain in their faces. I want to grab them and yell, “LOOK AT ME! I’m dying, and you don’t even care!

But I don’t. I can’t. Because the truth is, I don’t know how to say the words. I don’t know how to tell someone that I’m not okay. That I’m trapped in this darkness, and it’s swallowing me whole. I want to reach out, but my hands won’t move. My voice won’t come. It’s like I’m buried alive, clawing at the surface, but no one knows I’m here.

And maybe that’s the worst part—knowing that even if someone reached for me, I wouldn’t know how to take their hand. What do you say to someone when you don’t even know what you need? How do you ask for help when you’ve already given up on yourself?

I hate this. I hate me. I hate the crying, the silence, the endless, goddamn nothingness. I want to scream until my lungs give out. I want to punch walls until my hands bleed. I want to burn this feeling out of me, even if it takes me with it.

But instead, I just sit here. I cry. And cry. And cry. Until there’s nothing left. Until I’m too numb, too empty, too broken to even feel the pain anymore. And then I sleep, knowing that when I wake up, it’ll start again. This loop, this nightmare that I can’t escape.

And the scariest part? I’m not sure I even want to escape anymore.

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