I don’t even know how to feel about my feelings. I’ve been through so much, both now and in the past, that I can’t even understand how I feel anymore. I can’t express my feelings to anyone because when I try to express them to my mother, she sounds like she doesn’t care. So what do I do when I can’t even talk to my mom?

I keep everything inside, and when it becomes too much, I cry it out where no one will know, where no one will hear, where no one will see.

Pathetic, isn’t it? Well, that’s how I feel most of the time—pathetic.

I sit and wonder why I feel this way, why I have these feelings. A feeling where I feel empty, lost, and confused.

I don’t want to feel this way, but when I think about it, I prefer feeling numb because it protects me from disappointment. My whole life, I’ve felt like a disappointment—especially to someone I thought I could tell everything to. But now my heart aches because I can’t even talk to that person about what’s on my mind. My heart aches that whenever something is bothering me, I can’t express it because that one person I trusted thinks I’m just looking for attention.

“Attention.” You know, I never once thought about doing all of this just for attention. Well, what can I say?

Most of the time, I feel like I’m suffocating myself, as if I’m underwater and can’t breathe or get up. I can’t ask for help. Just like when my friend asks me what’s wrong, I can’t even form a word or sentence. It’s like I’m saying “what’s wrong,” but my lips aren’t moving.

You know what’s sad? Everyone I talk to about my problems says, “Talk to me” or “I’m always here.” But then they say they can relate to my trauma, even though I’ve been experiencing it for years.

If I told my mother everything I’ve been going through, she wouldn’t think twice before shouting at me, saying I’m looking for attention and pity. She is the reason I keep everything to myself, why I’m sad—no, not sad—numb. Numb is how she makes me feel most of the time, every second, every minute, every hour.

She makes me feel like I’m a burden to her. What I don’t understand is: if I’m such a burden, then why keep me? Why make me feel this way all the time?

Every time I think about all the pain she has caused me, I don’t even feel like crying. I just feel numb. I can’t even express my feelings to anybody anymore. I can’t even shed tears because I’m so numb.

“I used to float, but now I just fall down. I used to know, but now I’m not sure now...”

I don’t like this feeling I’ve been experiencing lately. I feel distant from my family and friends. Sometimes I feel like I don’t even exist in this world. I feel isolated from everyone.

Just a simple “Are you okay?” or “How are you?” can break the wall I’ve built to protect myself from crying, from looking weak, from showing that I’m in pain and suffering. So I build my wall again, brick by brick, over and over again. And there is no “until”—I will always have to build the wall.

What do I do now? How do I move on when the memories of my trauma still exist in my head, in my brain? It’s locked in a cage, like monsters waiting to come out and attack me, to make me fall back down, to make me give up.

This is why I keep everything to myself. Because once those monsters are free, and I talk about them, who will be there in the night when I’m alone with them? Who will support me? My friends say I should talk to them, but there’s only so much I can do.

Who will comfort me if I have another anxiety attack? That’s how I feel.

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