I Don't Even Know What I Feel Anymore

I think I need to write everything down. All of it.

The last year. The things I haven't said.

The things I've said too many times inside my own head.

The things that still hurt.  The things that don't hurt anymore but somehow still confuse me.

Because if I don't…  I swear my brain is going to explode. 

It feels like I've been carrying an entire year inside my head.

Every conversation. Every silence. Every disappointment.

Every stupid little memory. Every question that never got answered.

Every what if. Every why. Every maybe. Everything. And I don't know where to put any of it.

My brain feels like a browser with fifty tabs open. 

Actually, fifty is being optimistic. Probably closer to a hundred. 

And they're all playing different things.

One tab is about him. One is about my marriage.

One is about what happened.  One is about what I should have done differently.

One is about what I should do now. One is about my future.

One is screaming about money. One is asking why I haven't started my job hunt properly.

One is reminding me about the things I wanted to create.

One is trying to find the damn AI video drafts I apparently saved somewhere.

One is wondering whether I'll ever love again. One is wondering whether I even want to.

One is asking whether I'll ever feel at home again.

One is asking whether I ruined everything. 

One is telling me it's all my fault. Another is telling me it's not.

And somewhere underneath all of them is a tiny voice whispering: “I'm tired.”

That's probably the loudest one.  

I'm tired. I'm tired of thinking. I'm tired of trying to understand.

I'm tired of replaying conversations. 

I'm tired of wondering what I could have done differently.

I'm tired of imagining different endings. I'm tired of trying to figure out what he feels.

I'm tired of trying to figure out what I feel. 

Because honestly? I don't know anymore

. 

Some days I'm angry. Some days I'm sad. Some days I'm completely numb.

Some days I remember something and laugh. 

Some days I remember something else and wonder how I survived it.

Sometimes I think I'm over everything. Then one random memory shows up and ruins my afternoon.

Apparently, emotional healing comes with surprise attacks. Very professional. 😂

And sometimes I don't even know whether I'm grieving the person or the life I thought I was going to have.

Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe I'm grieving an entire version of myself.

The woman who thought she knew where her life was going.

The woman who believed certain things would last. 

The woman who trusted. The woman who had plans. 

The woman who thought she had found home. I miss her. I don't know where she went.

Maybe she's still somewhere inside me.  

Maybe she's just exhausted from waiting for me to come get her. 

And maybe that's why I need to write.

Because I don't think I can keep carrying all of this silently. I need somewhere to put it.

The anger. The shame. The heartbreak. The loneliness. The confusion. The hope. 

Even the ridiculous thoughts. Especially the ridiculous thoughts.

Because sometimes I wonder if I'm ever going to get my life back.

Will I work again? Will I become financially stable again?

Will I have a home that feels like home?  Will I have friends around me again?

Will I laugh like I used to? Will I trust someone again? 

Will I ever fall in love without being terrified? Will I choose better next time?

Will I ever feel safe enough to let someone close? Will I ever be happy again?

And then another part of me asks: What if the answer is yes? What if? There it is again.

That damn phrase. The emotional cockroach that refuses to die. 😂

Maybe I don't need answers yet. Maybe I just need somewhere to put the questions.

So I'm going to write.  I'm going to write about the things that happened.

I'm going to write about him. I'm going to write about me. 

I'm going to write about the marriage. I'm going to write about the loneliness.

I'm going to write about the mistakes. 

I'm going to write about the things I'm embarrassed about.

I'm going to write about the things I'm proud of. I'm going to write about the woman I was.

The woman I became.  And hopefully the woman I'm becoming.

Not because writing will magically fix everything.  

It won't. Unfortunately, life has not installed that feature yet.

But maybe writing will make the noise quieter.

Maybe putting the thoughts somewhere outside my head will give me enough room to breathe.

Maybe each post is one tab closed. One thought released. 

One memory processed. One little piece of weight put down.

And maybe eventually, I'll have enough space inside my head to hear something other than chaos.

Maybe I'll hear myself again. Maybe I'll remember what I want.

Maybe I'll remember who I am.  Maybe I'll figure out where I'm going. For now, though?

I don't know. I don't have a neat conclusion. I don't have a beautiful life lesson. 

I don't have a five-step healing plan.  I barely have a five-step morning routine.😂

I just know that I've been carrying too much for too long. 

And I'm tired of pretending I can keep doing it.

So this is me finally opening the damn box. Let's see what's inside.

Maybe it's ugly. Maybe it's painful. Maybe it's embarrassing. Maybe it's beautiful. 

Maybe it's all of those things at once. I don't know. But I'm going to write it anyway.

Because maybe I don't need to understand everything before I start healing.

Maybe I just need to stop keeping everything trapped inside my head.

One thought at a time. One memory at a time. One tab at a time.

Until maybe, eventually… the browser stops screaming.

And I can finally breathe.