Anonymous Confession
It’s not just tired. It’s a kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones, chills your marrow, and wraps around your brain until you can’t think straight. It’s the kind that makes the idea of waking up tomorrow feel like a personal assault, a cruel joke. And lately, when I think about tomorrow, I also think about what it would be like if there simply *wasn’t* a tomorrow for me. If everything just… stopped.
I know how that sounds. And I know what people say. “You have so much to live for.” “Your parents love you.” “Think of what you have.” And I do have things. I have a roof over my head. My parents are good people, in their own way. They’ve provided. They work hard. But it feels like everything they’ve given me comes with a suffocating weight, a silent contract that I’m supposed to fulfill.
Since I was little, my life has been meticulously planned. Top grades, specific extracurriculars, a pre-ordained career path. Every choice, every friendship, every casual comment about my future was met with their intense scrutiny, their “guidance,” which always felt like a leash. They never screamed, never hit. They just *disapproved*. A sigh, a knowing glance, a quiet lecture about how “this isn’t what we expected of you” or “we just want you to be happy, in *our* way.” And their way is perfect, without deviation, without room for error. My achievements were always *their* achievements. My failures, always *my* personal failings.
I remember one time, I got a B+ on a math test. A B+. Not a D, not an F. Just a B+. My mom didn’t yell. She just looked at the paper, then at me, with this profound sadness in her eyes. “Is this really your best, sweetheart? Because we know you can do better. We’re just so disappointed.” The words were soft, but they carved something out of me. It felt worse than any shouting. It made me feel like I was fundamentally broken, unworthy of their quiet, disappointed love.
Now, I’m supposed to be on the cusp of everything. University applications are looming, career choices are solidifying, my future is being mapped out by them, for me. Every morning, I wake up and the first thought isn’t about the day ahead, but about how many hours until I can sleep again. And how many more *years* I have to live like this. The pressure is a constant buzz in my skull, a tightening band around my chest. I see my friends, living their lives, making mistakes, falling in love, figuring things out, and I just wonder what it would be like to have that freedom, even if it meant stumbling. I feel like a perfectly crafted doll, posed just right, but utterly hollow inside.
The suicidal thoughts aren’t dramatic flashes or sudden urges. They’re like a quiet hum, a background noise that’s always there, offering a seductive peace. *Imagine if you didn’t have to do this anymore.* *Imagine if the expectations just… vanished.* *Imagine silence.* It’s not about dying, not really. It’s about escaping. It’s about finding a way to make the incessant pressure stop, to finally feel quiet and unburdened. Sometimes, late at night, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, and the thought of simply ceasing to exist feels like the most comforting lullaby. It feels like the only option where I wouldn’t disappoint anyone, because I wouldn’t be *there* to disappoint.
I put on a brave face, of course. I smile. I nod. I make the right choices, say the right things. Inside, I’m screaming. Inside, I’m disintegrating. I’m so tired of fighting this internal battle, tired of pretending, tired of being the person they want me to be when I don’t even know who *I* am anymore. This secret is eating me alive, and I don’t know where to turn. Every day is just another day of trying to outrun the darkness, and I’m losing steam.
Does anyone else feel this kind of overwhelming, suffocating exhaustion from trying to live up to someone else’s dream? How do you keep breathing when every breath feels heavy with unspoken expectations?
