The weight I feel isn’t just the morning fog on my window; it’s a deep, heavy feeling inside me. It sits in my chest and slows me down, making simple tasks like putting on a shirt or getting coffee feel like a struggle.
This heaviness isn’t new. It’s always with me, making my days seem dull and draining.
It takes away the happiness from laughter, makes colors less bright, and makes even a walk in the park feel like I’m walking through mud. Sleep doesn’t offer much relief either, as I toss and turn with worries swirling in my dreams.
I’m not sure exactly where this weight comes from. Maybe it’s from things not turning out how I hoped, or constant worries in my mind. It might even be something chemical, a physical sign of emotional turmoil. Whatever the cause, it’s like I’m stuck, unable to break free.
Sometimes, though, the weight eases up for a moment. A kind word from a friend, sunlight breaking through clouds, or sharing a laugh can lift it briefly. But it always comes back, reminding me of the struggle.
Is this how life is supposed to feel? Always fighting against this heavy feeling? I remember when waking up used to mean looking forward to the day, not dreading the effort it takes just to get through it.
But even in this heaviness, there’s a glimmer of hope. I realize I haven’t been crushed by it. There’s still a spark inside me, a small light that refuses to go out. I might not be able to overcome this weight alone, but maybe by acknowledging it and seeking support, I can start to move forward, even if it’s just one step at a time. The heaviness might not go away completely, but perhaps I can learn to carry it a bit easier.
