Author’s Note:
This piece was written during one of the darkest periods of my life. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to share it, but I’ve come to realize that sometimes, honesty is the bridge others need. This isn’t a cry for help—this is a record of surviving. If you’ve ever felt lost, hopeless, or numb, this is for you. You’re not alone in the dark. And even if there’s no light yet, we can keep walking together.
Will This Ever End?
I honestly don’t know.
Sometimes, I wish my life would just end—so that everything I feel could finally disappear. That’s the escape my mind keeps offering me. I no longer see hope. It feels like I’ve already run the race and crossed the finish line. The identity I spent years building has crumbled. The passion I once held has vanished. And the love I used to have for the things that once brought me joy? It’s gone. I can’t even imagine myself doing those things again.
I don’t think I’m meant to fill those roles anymore. I’ve lost the will to relearn, to rebuild. All I want is to sleep—forever.
These days, I get frustrated easily, especially when things don’t go the way I planned. It irritates me when people try to teach me things I already know I’m good at. And it angers me when others offer advice from places they’ve never truly been. That bitterness—it doesn’t just damage me. It slowly destroys the relationships I have with others.
I no longer see value in the things I once loved. Worse, I no longer see myself as someone valuable. My thoughts are consumed by one relentless question:
How do I escape this?
That question—“When will this end?”—echoes in my mind constantly. And the truth is, I don’t know if there’s even an answer. I’ve stopped hoping for a second chance at life. It feels like I only have two choices:
End it, or keep living this way and suffer.
Yes, only two. And sadly, the first is the most dangerous—and yet, the most tempting.
But I didn’t choose that option.
Why? I honestly don’t know. But somewhere deep inside me, there’s still a very small desire to live. A tiny glimmer of hope that maybe—just maybe—I can still find a reason to go on. Not a good life, necessarily—just a life. I’m not even sure if people will understand what I mean, but I’ve stopped caring.
I can’t answer anything with certainty anymore—not even when it comes to myself.
My mind feels chaotic, always drifting into the strangest thoughts. But maybe, that same “crazy” mind is the reason I’m still here. So I’ll let it be crazy—for now. Maybe even until the day I die.
I once said I no longer see light at the end of the tunnel. But still, I choose to keep walking through the darkness, hoping for a crack—somewhere—where a faint beam of light might shine through. That’s the choice my so-called “crazy” mind made.
I was crazy enough to walk into this dark tunnel.
And now I’m crazy enough to keep going.
I’ll keep walking—not because I believe the light is waiting—but because I still have steps left in me. If I die before finding the light, at least I tried. That still feels like a 50/50 chance.
Being this person—this one who chooses uncertain, painful paths—is the hardest kind of life. I don’t know how to describe it. But if you want a glimpse, try this:
Turn off every light in your house at night. Block out all outside light. Then walk from the living room to your bedroom.
Feels crazy, right? Why would you do that when you can just turn on the lights?
It’s a terrible analogy, but maybe you get what I’m trying to say.
I ended up in this place because of choices I made. So I’ll be the one responsible for finding the way out. If I have to walk through all the wrong places before reaching the right one, then so be it. That’s my burden to carry. And I’ll carry it—even if I must carry it alone.
I let my “crazy” mind lead me into a “crazy” life.
But maybe, just maybe, I’m also crazy enough to keep going—until this world finally takes that life away from me.