There is a void within me. A great, gaping chasm that swallows everything—every feeling, every thought, every fleeting trace of warmth. It is not the kind of emptiness that can be filled. No, this void is a living thing, deepening with every passing second, wrapping itself around my mind like a vice. I am sinking, always sinking, and there is no bottom in sight. Mornings are the worst. I wake up, but I don’t return to life. The world around me remains the same—walls painted in muted stillness, the ceiling above stretching out like an endless sky of nothingness. The fan hums in a mechanical rhythm, a sound so familiar it feels foreign. The light outside my window is pale, weak, artificial—like the world has been stripped of all its warmth, leaving behind only a hollow replica of reality. Something is missing. Something important. I feel it in my chest—an ache, a hollowness, a quiet grief that has no name. Maybe it’s me. ...
The Silent Mad Man World | Mental health & Personal growth
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