Journal hours
It’s like I’m trapped inside my own head, suffocating under the weight of emotions I’m not allowed to express. I take everything, every comment, every mood swing, every careless word from everyone around me without ever letting a single sound slip out, because the moment I react, I become the problem.
I carry this heaviness in my chest, feeling like absolute trash about a thousand things, but somehow my voice never makes it past my throat. my love has to be unconditional, endlessly patient, endlessly forgiving, yet when it comes to me, there’s always a condition, a rule, a line I’m not allowed to cross.
In my relationship, in my friendships, in my family, it’s the same pattern. I’m expected to understand, to bend, to adjust, to shrink myself so they can feel comfortable. their boundaries are sacred, mine might as well not exist.
And the moment I want something for myself? the moment I choose my own peace? I’m suddenly “wrong,” “bad,” or “ruining their image.” As if my entire identity exists only to keep theirs intact. I’m tired of feeling unheard, unseen, and restrained, like I’m living a life that’s mine in name but not in freedom.
