[Log-5: Apathy?]
I don't know if the words just aren't hitting anymore—or if I just don't care. People keep saying the same things: You're not alone.You're still here.You're strong. I hear them, I really do. But the words bounce off. They don't land. They don't mean anything anymore. Not when the silence inside me grows louder than any voice outside of it.
My fight is silent. Invisible. It's not a battle anyone can see. No one notices. No one understands. And counselors? They don't change that. Their advice feels rehearsed—like lines from a tired script. Empathy filtered through checklists and clinical distance. Their voices echo in my ears like elevator music: dull, forgettable, meaningless.
What I really want is to connect. Really connect. To look someone in the eye and feel something familiar—recognition, understanding, anything. I want to feel like I'm not the only one built this way. That I'm not just some glitch in the code. But deep down, I know I'll never meet that person. Not while I'm stuck in this place. Not while I'm buried in this body, in this life.
It's like trying to swim with cinderblocks tied to your ankles. The water is endless. Cold. Dark. And I'm kicking. Struggling. Fighting to stay afloat. But it never ends. The pressure never lessens. Sometimes I stop kicking just to see what happens. My limbs go slack. My thoughts drift.
What if I stopped?
What if I let go?
What if I sank all the way down and didn't fight to come back up?
I'm exhausted. Not just physically. Not just emotionally. Existentially. On a soul level. There's no adrenaline left. No fire. No rush. Just burnout. Just this ever-present fog weighing down on everything.
I want to rest. Not sleep—sleep is just more noise, more dreams I can't control. I mean real rest. Peace. Silence. A stillness I've never felt before. I want to close my eyes and drift, slowly, gently, into the abyss without fear. Without pain. Without anything.
Why am I like this?
Did every single choice and moment in my life lead to this unraveling? This silent breakdown stretched out over years? Was I always on this path? Or did something shove me off the right one?
I'm only sixteen. Just sixteen. I should be laughing at dumb videos and daydreaming about the future. I should be living. But I'm not. I'm decaying. Spiraling. Breaking in slow motion while everyone else pretends not to notice. Or worse—doesn't care.
And yet, I smile. I grin. I laugh like a lunatic because it's the only armor I have left.
But it's fake.
It's hollow.
It doesn't make the pain leave.
HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA—
It's not funny. It never was. The laugh dies in my throat, and the silence rushes back in, heavier than before. It crushes everything.
I still feel it.
In my mind. In my heart. In the pit of my stomach.
It hasn't gone anywhere.
And I don't know if it ever will.
[End of Log-5: Apathy?]