October 25, 2025
I woke up this morning.
Not because I wanted to but because my body did it anyway. Like a machine that forgot it was broken, it just kept running. No fanfare. No reason. Just eyes opening to gray light and the same four walls that have watched me unravel for months.
Did I want to wake up?
No.
But why did I?
I don't know. Maybe gravity pulled me back. Maybe my lungs refused to stop. Maybe the universe isn't done with me yet even if I'm done with myself.
Whatever.
It was a normal day at least on the surface. I went out. Walked around. Bought coffee I didn't taste. Came home. Sat in silence. The kind of silence that hums with everything you're not saying. At 3 p.m., I lay down for lunch and fell asleep. Not because I was tired though I always am but because sleep is the only place where time doesn't demand anything from me.
I don't care what time I eat anymore. Or sleep. Or breathe. The rhythms of life feel like suggestions now, not rules. My body moves through the motions like a ghost haunting its own skin.
Later, I woke again not to an alarm, not to sunlight, but to crying. Soft, hiccuping sobs from the next room. My sister's baby. My niece.
I got up and went to her. She was standing in her crib, tiny fists gripping the bars, tears streaking her cheeks. When she saw me, she didn't smile. Didn't reach out. Didn't coo that sweet, gurgling sound she used to make when I'd pick her up.
She didn't recognize me.
And for the first time in a long time, something cracked inside me not loudly, but deeply. Like ice thinning under too much weight.
Do I look that disgusting now?
Maybe I do. Maybe I've let myself go so far that even a baby who sees the world without judgment can't find the uncle she once knew in this hollowed-out version of me.
It's alright, I told myself. It's fine.
But it wasn't.
Because the real pain wasn't in her not knowing me. It was in knowing I won't be here to watch her grow.
I won't see her first steps. Her first day of school. Her first heartbreak. I won't be the weird uncle who teaches her how to draw stars or tells her dumb jokes just to hear her laugh. I won't be there when she asks, "Where's Uncle?" and someone has to say, "He's gone."
That's what hurts. Not the silence. Not the emptiness. But the future I'm choosing to leave behind.
I leaned into the crib and gently kissed the top of her head. She quieted for a moment, as if sensing something grief, maybe, or love disguised as goodbye.
"Bye, lil baby," I whispered. "A lil kiss from your uncle."
I'm only twenty. Too young to feel this old. Too alive to feel this dead inside. But here I am standing in a nursery, holding a love I don't feel worthy of, mourning a life I haven't left yet.
Still… I'm doing it.
"Let's do this until the day I die," I say to no one but the air.
Not because I believe in tomorrow but because today hasn't ended. And as long as the clock ticks, I owe it to the people who still see me even if I can't see myself to keep going. One more hour. One more breath.
This is the way of life now: not joy, not purpose, but endurance. Not hope, but the stubborn refusal to vanish quietly.
I used to think hope meant feeling better. Now I think it means showing up even when you're shattered. Even when you're invisible to a baby who once lit up at your voice.
Maybe tomorrow she'll recognize me again.
Maybe I'll recognize myself.
Or maybe not.
But,
Today, I wrote this.
Today, I stayed.
And for now, that has to be enough.
October 25, 2025 another day survived.
Not celebrated. Not conquered.
Just… lived.
And in the quiet ache of this ordinary morning, that feels like its own kind of courage.
So I'll keep doing this.
Until the day I die.
Not because I want to but because someone, somewhere, might need the version of me that stays.
Even if it's just a baby who doesn't know my name yet.
Especially then.
Content Warning: This piece contains themes of depression, emotional numbness, suicidal ideation, and feelings of worthlessness. It reflects a deeply personal and vulnerable state of mind. If you or someone you know is struggling with thoughts of self-harm or hopelessness, please reach out to a mental health professional or contact a crisis support line. You are not alone, and your life has value even when it doesn't feel like it.