Everyone has bad days, here and there.

Everyone feels lazy and put down, once in awhile.

Everyone feels suffocated, occasionally.

Everyone have more happy days than bad days, usually.


My bad days don’t seem to stop.

I dread the second I open my eyes in the morning.

Sometimes I have to use the tiny bit of energy left in me to drag myself out of bed.

Because I am an adult; I have to behave like one.


Most of the days, I wish to bury myself underneath the sheet

and imagine life slipping away.

These are the days when I don’t give a fuck, simply because I cannot afford to.

And these days, happen a lot.


Being happy and positive feels very exhausting.

Being present, for the people I love and the people who love me, feels almost impossible.

It takes every ounce of whatsoever in me to function like a normal person –

to laugh, to smile, to talk, to think, to work, to not be agitated, to be zen.

And still ace it.


Sometimes I wonder if I can just slip through the cracks.

And sometimes I wonder if I’ll find myself.

But most of the time I just wish for complete silence.

Complete, lasting silence.