Screaming Into the Void...

 

Dear Readers,

The weight of it all is unbearable. It presses down on me, a relentless force tightening around my chest, making every breath a struggle. People talk about pain like it’s a passing thing, something you move through, something time will wash away. But what if the pain is permanent? What if it’s carved into the very essence of who I am, a parasite feasting on whatever is left of me?

I wake up, and the world is gray. The sun still shines, people still laugh, and life moves on, but I am stuck in a moment that never ends. The thoughts creep in, slow at first, whispering like an old friend reminding me of every mistake, every failure, every reason I have been discarded. Then they grow louder, relentless, filling every corner of my mind until there is no room for anything else.

I have tried to fight it. God knows I have tried. I have distracted myself with work, with fleeting conversations, with cigarettes that burn my throat but offer no real comfort. I have filled my nights with empty screens and my days with forced smiles. But the silence always finds me. And in the silence, the truth emerges I am alone in this war.

They say to reach out, to talk, to seek help. But I have. And I have been met with platitudes, with awkward silences, with people who do not know what to say. They do not understand that this isn’t sadness. This isn’t a bad day. This is a storm that never ends, a wound that will not close, an ache that lives in my bones. My spirit is broken, shattered into pieces too small to put back together. And people, instead of offering kindness, often resort to cruelty. They mock those who speak of suicide as if pain is a choice. A hotel manager, someone considered to be educated, once yelled at me as I was leaving, telling me I would kill myself in two days. As if his words could push me over the edge. As if people like him don’t already make it worse.

And the truth is, nobody fucking cares. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. People pretend to care until they’re forced to deal with the reality of another person’s pain. Then they disappear, judge, or look the other way. It’s easier that way for them. But not for the ones drowning.

Today, I spoke to a friend. He said, "Buddy, you are a strong guy. We used to look up to you. But you have to be strong."

But what can you do when your spirit is broken? How do you fight when there is nothing left inside you?

There are moments dark, terrible moments where I wonder if it would be easier to let go. If the weight would finally lift, if the pain would finally stop. I have imagined it so many times, traced the possibilities like a map leading to an escape. But then… something holds me back. Maybe it’s cowardice. Maybe it’s hope, though that feels foreign now. Maybe it’s the memory of the ones who would be left behind, wondering why they didn’t see, why they didn’t understand.

I do not have answers. I do not know how this story ends. But I know that tonight, like every night, I will battle the voices, the memories, the weight. And I will fight, even when I don’t want to, even when I don’t know why. Because maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be different.

Maybe tomorrow the sun will feel warm again. Maybe tomorrow I will remember how to breathe without it hurting. Maybe tomorrow, I will find a reason to stay. Maybe I might just leave & disappear into the darkness…

Jacob M