It's been quite some time since I felt like writing. Life was full of... life. Oh, so many joyful moments, followed by bits of sadness that just kept accumulating. I tried to push it down, push it away, hoping it would stay away.

When you bottle up sadness, it stays that way. Until it doesn't. When the bottle finally shatters, it feels overwhelming. All sorts of alarms start ringing. You don't feel hungry. You don't want to meet people. You feel sleepy all day, yet fail to fall asleep. Things change, yet it doesn't feel like they have. "It's still the same, isn't it?"

You're back to who you were before, the same habits, the same way of thinking, the same mannerisms. "When did this last happen again?" You think to yourself.

Thinking back, my life had lots of sadness, but that's fine; humans tend to remember the sad moments more. But why are those all I remember?

You try to continue going forward so no one else feels bothered by your change. You keep acting like you always do. But that's all it is, an act. Who gets to know what's beneath it? Maybe not even me.

Every day feels more like a drag. I'm drowning, but not dying. I'm on fire, and it hurts, but I'm still alive. What's the point? Going on for so long, and what for? To end up old and wrinkly, with chronic pain. It's nothing but a painful life with hopes of a fulfilled end.

I don't want it.

"You can do it if you put your heart to it," they said. "You have so much potential," they said.

What is it to have potential? What does it mean to put your heart into something? Does it mean to try your hardest? And what if you fail despite that? Is your potential gone? Are you still not trying hard enough?

Why do I have to try harder than the rest? Why am I not like the rest? Why can't I understand them? Why can't they understand me?

Why am I being called out? What is so different about me? Why am I special? Why am I me?