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I Wanted to Ask for Help, But My Mouth Stayed Shut
Sometimes silence isn’t strength. It’s fear wrapped in exhaustion.
It was one of those days.
Not a bad day. Not a good day. Just heavy.
Everything felt tight in my chest, like I had forgotten how to breathe properly. Like someone had stacked invisible bricks on my shoulders and told me to walk around like nothing’s wrong.
I remember sitting on my bed, hugging my knees, staring blankly at the wall, and feeling… nothing. Or maybe too much. I couldn’t tell. It’s a blur now, just this mess of tangled thoughts and a body that didn’t feel like mine.
I wanted to cry. But the tears didn’t come.
I wanted to call someone, anyone, and say, “Hey, I don’t think I’m okay.” But my phone just stayed on the table, screen black, untouched. And me? I stayed quiet because the words got stuck somewhere between my throat and my pride.
It’s not that I didn’t want help. I just didn’t know how to ask.
How do you explain to someone that the world feels too loud, that even brushing your teeth takes energy you don’t have? That your chest is heavy and your thoughts are foggy, and everything feels like you’re underwater?