This Is Not How I Wanted Things To Go

This is not how I wanted things to go.

I never wanted to live.

I never asked to be born.

I never wanted to be an excellent student. It was never my goal to wear the mask of achievement, to bear the weight of others' expectations.

I never wanted to be here.

I never wanted to find myself in this same situation, a cycle that seems impossible to break.

It's the same darkness that gripped me when I was twelve—the same suffocating despair I tried so hard to escape. Yet, no matter how desperately I clawed at the edges of this abyss, I remain chained to it, unable to pull myself out.

I often wonder, when will this end? When will the suffering cease? When will these voices, relentless and cruel, finally fall silent? Will there ever be a time when I'm okay, when I'm truly happy again?

These questions have haunted me for as long as I can remember. They linger in the back of my mind, buried deep, only to resurface when something triggers them—when I see a reminder of what I've lost, what I've never had.

They resurface when I catch a glimpse of others' lives—people who seem to navigate the world with ease, who smile without effort, who wake up each day without the burden of these endless questions. I see them, and I can't help but feel a pang of envy mixed with bitterness.

How is it that they seem so unscathed by life, while I bear the weight of every moment, every misstep, every silent cry for help that was never heard?

I think about the times I've tried to reach out, to let someone in, only to be met with indifference or confusion. It's as if my pain is invisible, as if the world can't see the battles I've fought just to make it through the day. And so, I've learned to keep it all inside, to wear the mask that everyone expects—to be the "excellent student," the "strong one," the "reliable friend," all the while feeling like I'm crumbling beneath the surface.

But that mask, it's become a prison. It's suffocating me, trapping me in a version of myself that I never wanted to be. I never wanted to be the one who had to pretend, to hide, to suppress every emotion just to make others comfortable. I never wanted to be the one who carries the weight of the world on my shoulders, all while feeling like I'm sinking into the ground.

I wonder if there's a way out of this, if there's a path I haven't yet discovered, one that leads to peace instead of pain. But every time I try to find it, I end up right back where I started—staring into the same abyss, feeling the same despair, questioning why I have to keep going when all I want is for it to stop.

It's exhausting, this endless cycle of hope and despair, of wanting something better and being crushed by the realization that it might never come. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up, how much more I can take before I finally break for good. I've come close before, so close that I could almost taste the relief, the finality of it all.

But something always holds me back.

Maybe it's fear, maybe it's some small, stubborn part of me that still clings to the possibility that things might get better. Or maybe it's just that I'm too tired to make any more decisions, even the one that would end it all. I don't know anymore.

All I know is that this is not how I wanted things to go. I never wanted to be the person I am now, the one who's so consumed by pain that it's all I can think about. I never wanted to live this life, to be trapped in this body, in this mind, with these thoughts that refuse to leave me alone.

But here I am, still breathing, still fighting, still hoping against hope that somehow, someday, I'll find a way out. That the darkness will lift, the voices will quiet, and I'll finally be free.

Until then, I keep going because I don't know what else to do. I keep going because maybe, just maybe, there's a reason I'm still here, even if I can't see it yet. I keep going because I don't know how to stop.