My world

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

A faint yellow light from the table lamp spread across the walls, touching the corners that had witnessed too much… and said nothing. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at nothing in particular, yet feeling everything all at once.

It had been ages since I talked about my world.

Or maybe… my world had been empty for so long that there was nothing left to talk about.

A soft sigh escaped my lips as I leaned back against the cold wall.

“I’m okay,” I whispered to myself, the same lie I had told everyone else for years.

Funny how easily those words came out now.

“I’m okay.”

As if repeating them enough times would somehow make them true.

I wasn’t always like this.

There was a time when laughter came naturally to me. When my world was simple, bright… safe. I was just a child back then—unaware of how fragile happiness could be.

But everything changed in 2019.

At first, it was small things.

Quiet arguments behind closed doors.

Long silences at the dinner table.

The way my parents stopped looking at each other.

I noticed everything.

Even the things they thought I didn’t.

“Go to your room.”

That sentence became a routine.

And I obeyed every time, sitting alone, hugging my knees, pretending I couldn’t hear the sharp words echoing through the walls.

But walls don’t block pain.

They carry it.

Somewhere along the way, I made a decision.

If I tried hard enough…

if I stayed strong enough…

maybe I could fix everything.

So I became the bridge between two broken ends.

I smiled more.

Spoke less.

Ignored my own pain.

I held on to something that was already falling apart.

And now… I wonder—

Was that my mistake?

The day everything truly broke, no one noticed me.

Not when my voice started shaking.

Not when my eyes stayed swollen from crying.

Not when I slowly stopped being myself.

But they noticed when I stopped trying to live.

I still remember the first time.

My hands were trembling. My heart was loud—too loud. As if it was begging me to stop… or maybe just begging to be heard.

But I was tired.

So tired.

I didn’t want to feel anymore.

And yet… I survived.

Not because I wanted to.

But because even pain wasn’t ready to let me go.

“Where is the old you?”

Their voices echoed in my head.

“The one who used to be happy.”

I wanted to laugh.

Or maybe scream.

Because I kept asking myself the same question—

Where were you… when I needed you?

When I was breaking in silence?

When I was begging—without words—for someone to notice?

Days turned into months.

Months turned into years.

Six years of pretending.

Six years of smiling through cracks that only grew deeper.

I became good at it.

Too good.

No one could tell the difference anymore.

Not even me.

At night, when the world finally went quiet, my thoughts grew louder.

What if they’re right?

What if I really am a burden?

Maybe things would have been better if I was never born.

Maybe their lives would have been peaceful… lighter.

Without me.

I pulled my knees closer to my chest, resting my forehead against them.

“Why always me?” I whispered.

The question hung in the air, unanswered—just like every other question I had ever asked.

All I ever wanted… was love.

Not perfect love.

Not grand gestures.

Just something real.

Something that didn’t disappear when I needed it the most.

Was that too much to ask?

Tears blurred my vision as I looked up at the ceiling.

“Please…” my voice broke, barely audible now.

“Just send someone… someone who can see me.”

Not the smile.

Not the mask.

Me.

The broken parts.

The silent pain.

The tears I never let fall in front of anyone.

And for a moment…

Just a small, fragile moment—

I imagined it.

Someone sitting beside me, not asking questions, not trying to fix me… just understanding.

Just staying.

Maybe that day will come.

Or maybe it won’t.

But until then… I’m still here.

Still breathing.

Still holding on to something I can’t even name anymore.

If anyone ever reads my story…

I hope you know this—

You are not alone.

Even if it feels like the world has forgotten you,

even if your voice feels unheard…

It still matters.

You still matter.

And maybe…

Just maybe…

One day, we’ll both find the peace we’ve been searching for.