Another second, another minute, another hour passes, all I can think about is the comfort of my room—my bed, where everything feels like it makes a little more sense. Today has been one of those days. A bad day. The kind that drags on endlessly and leaves you wishing you could just disappear for a while.
It’s hard enough trying to get through the day without being asked to explain how I feel. How do you explain something you don’t even fully understand? People around me don’t get it, they just ask questions, expecting answers I don’t have. “Are you okay?” or “What’s wrong?” feels like too much pressure when all I want is silence, some moment of peace and quiet.
All day, I’ve felt this ache to go home, to escape the noise and the forced interactions. My room is the one place where I can breathe, where I don’t have to pretend. I can crawl under my blankets, close my eyes, and let the world outside fade away. It’s not that I don’t care; I just don’t have the energy to care right now.
