I carry this weight,
Not on my back, but in my chest.
It’s heavy, constant, and it doesn’t rest.
I’ve tried to be strong,
But honestly, how long can I fake being okay
When everything feels so wrong?
Relationships?
I got into them, hoping for love,
Dreaming of something real, something solid.
Instead, I built castles in the air,
Only to watch them crumble,
Leaving behind pieces I can’t seem to repair.
I gave too much,
Held on tighter than I should have,
And rushed to make things happen.
I thought if I poured my heart out,
It would all work out.
But it didn’t.
Now, I see their faces,
Those I thought I’d build with.
Their smiles shine on posts with someone else.
It’s like salt in a wound,
And every time, I wonder,
“What did I do wrong?
Was I too much? Or maybe not enough?”
At night, it’s the worst.
When the world is silent,
My thoughts scream the loudest.
Tears fall like they’re on a schedule,
And my pillow absorbs it all.
I wonder, will this weight ever go?
Healing felt real at some point.
I truly believed I was okay.
But then, a memory sneaks in,
Or their words echo in my mind,
And suddenly, the wounds reopen,
As if no time has passed at all.
Now, trusting anyone feels impossible.
Even the ones with good intentions,
Even the ones who show they care.
I push them away, not out of malice,
But out of fear.
Because losing someone again?
I don’t think I can survive that.
The guilt doesn’t help either.
It whispers,
“You rushed. You pushed too hard.
You did this to yourself.”
And maybe it’s true.
Or maybe it’s not.
I don’t even know anymore.
What I do know is this:
I’m exhausted.
Pretending to be fine feels heavier than the weight itself.
Hoping for love but fearing it has left me stuck.
But still, there’s a small voice
One that reminds me I deserve better.
Peace feels so far away, but I know it’s there.
Love, real love, isn’t something I have to beg for.
It’s something I deserve
Without fear. Without conditions.
Without being an option.
Healing, I’ve learned, isn’t about forgetting.
It’s about finding a way to live with the scars.
To take the pain and grow,
To move forward even when it feels impossible.
Tonight, maybe I’ll cry again.
But this time, the tears will mean something different.
They’ll mean I’m ready to let go.
To release the guilt. To shed the weight.
Someday, I’ll wake up lighter.
Someday, I’ll see someone whole in the mirror
Not broken, not lost,
But strong. Rebuilt. Unshaken.
And when that day comes,
I’ll finally understand:
The weight didn’t break me.
It taught me how to carry myself.
End.
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