Letters to the moon🌙

  How Do You Explain a Pain That Isn’t Physical? Some pain doesn’t leave bruises. It doesn’t break bones or tear skin. There’s no visible scar, no blood, no swelling. And yet, it’s there — sharp, unrelenting, relentless. It lives inside you, in places no one can see. In your chest, in your throat, in the hollow spaces behind your eyes. It lingers in thoughts, in memories, in silences. And the most frustrating part? Explaining it feels impossible. The Burden of the Invisible When people see someone hurt physically, they understand instinctively. They see the bandage, the cast, the limp, and they know: something happened. They respond with sympathy, concern, care. But emotional pain? Mental pain? That’s different. Because it doesn’t show. And when it doesn’t show, it doesn’t seem real to others. I have sat in rooms full of people, smiling, talking, participating — and yet, inside, I am screaming. The ache is real. The exhaustion is real. The emptiness is real. And no one knows it unl...

                "If My Soul Could Speak" If my soul could speak, it wouldn’t whisper sweet nothings. It wouldn’t paint pretty pictures or hide behind hopeful clichés. It would scream — loud, ragged, relentless — like a storm tearing through the darkest parts of me where light barely reaches. It would shout the names of all the things I bury every single day: The fear that drags me from sleep at 3 a.m., The loneliness that sticks to my skin no matter the crowd, The shame I wear like a second skin — thin, suffocating, and always there. If my soul could speak, it wouldn’t beg for forgiveness. It wouldn’t sugarcoat the truth just to make it easier for you to hold. It would spill out everything I keep locked inside — all the broken pieces I hide behind a smile, all the cracks spiderwebbing beneath the surface I try so hard to keep intact. If my soul could speak, it would confess how exhausting it is to wear masks — the ones I show the wo...

  I’m Not Sad, I’m Just Tired of Everything There’s a tired that grief fits into — heavy, loud, full of salt. And then there’s another tired, quieter and wider, the kind that sits beneath everything and makes even small things feel enormous. It’s not sadness exactly. It’s a slow erosion: of patience, of interest, of the energy required to be a person the world recognizes. People ask if I’m okay, and I find myself answering with the easiest lie: “I’m fine.” Because it’s shameful to say, I don’t have the strength to feel much of anything right now. It sounds weak. It sounds melodramatic. So I tuck the truth away and move through the day like someone wearing a coat too heavy for summer: awkward, sweating, trying not to think about the weight. The Difference Between Sad and Exhausted Sadness sits like a storm cloud — defined, visible, and full of thunder. You can name it. You can point to a loss or a moment and say, that is why. Exhaustion is less dramatic. It’s a fog that makes the mi...

The Art of Pretending You’re Okay There’s a strange kind of applause in this world, one that isn’t loud or visible. It comes in nods, in relieved smiles, in casual “glad you’re doing good” comments. You receive it every time you manage to look fine when you’re anything but. And after a while, you start realizing: life is less about living and more about performing. Pretending you’re okay is not a lie you tell once. It’s a role you play every single day, and you get so good at it that people forget it’s even an act. Sometimes you forget. Sometimes the act is so convincing that even your own reflection believes it for a second. But the curtain never stays up forever. The Daily Performance It starts in the morning. You wake up and already know today isn’t the day you’ll suddenly feel lighter. But you don’t have the luxury of collapsing, so you put on your costume: a smile, a few phrases you know people expect to hear — “I’m fine.” “Yeah, just a bit tired.” “Everything’s good, really.” Sim...

Living in Survival Mode Every Day There’s a kind of existence people don’t talk about much. Not because it’s rare, but because it’s uncomfortable. Because it doesn’t fit into motivational quotes or morning-routine videos. Because it’s not living — it’s surviving. Survival mode is waking up and already feeling like the day has beaten you. It’s dragging yourself through hours not because you want to, but because you have to. It’s wearing your own body like armor that’s too heavy, but you can’t take it off because it’s all you’ve got. And the worst part? Survival mode isn’t temporary for some of us. It’s not a phase or a bad week. It becomes every day. It becomes normal. The Haunting Routine Every morning starts the same: eyes open, chest heavy. There’s no excitement, no anticipation of what the day could bring. Just the dull realization that you have to get through another twenty-four hours. Brush your teeth. Force something down your throat that resembles breakfast. Put on the clothes t...

 A Life That Never Feels Like Min e Some mornings I wake up and feel like I’ve borrowed someone else’s skin. The bed, the walls, the routine waiting for me outside — it all belongs to a stranger. I put my feet on the floor anyway. I walk into the day anyway. Because what choice do I have? I live this life every day, but it never feels like mine. The Mirror I don’t always recognize the reflection staring back at me. The face moves when I move. The lips curl into a smile when required. But behind the eyes, there’s a vacancy — like someone packed up long ago and left only an outline. I tilt my head, touch my cheek, try to find some proof that I belong to myself. But the mirror is stubborn. It shows me a stranger. And that’s when it hits hardest: I am performing in a play I never auditioned for. The Script The lines are simple. I know them by heart: “I’m fine.” “It’s all good.” “Yeah, just busy.” It’s remarkable how much those three phrases can cover. Sadness. Emptiness. Exhaustion. De...

This Is Not the Life I Ordered I don’t remember signing up for this version of existence. This weight. This hollow routine. This constant ache in places no one can see. If life were a menu, this is not what I would have chosen. And yet, here I am — served a plate I never asked for, expected to swallow it quietly, expected to smile while choking. The Illusion of Choice They say you choose your path. Work hard, dream big, stay strong — the clichés are endless. But what they don’t tell you is how often life chooses for you. You plan one thing, and the universe delivers something unrecognizable. You imagine a future, and it burns before it ever reaches you. And then you’re left standing in the ashes, holding nothing but the bitter taste of this wasn’t supposed to be me. The Stranger I Became Somewhere along the way, I lost track of who I was supposed to be. Or maybe life took that version of me and buried it so deep that I’ll never find it again. The person who wakes up every day now — the...