Dear The Girl Who Keeps Waking Up Anyway,

I don't really know how to explain this without sounding ungrateful for my own life.

There's this sadness that sits under everything. Even when I'm laughing. Even when something good happens. Even when I'm supposed to feel happy. It's like there's a second layer underneath the moment - a quiet heaviness that never leaves. I can be smiling and still feel it pressing against my ribs.

Most days - maybe every day - I don't really want to be here. Not in a loud way. Not in a dramatic way. Just in a tired way. Like existing feels like a chore I didn't sign up for but still have to complete.

And then there's the confusing part.

Because I also want to see what happens next.

I want to know who I become. I want to know if things ever feel lighter. I want to see what the future holds, even though the present feels so heavy. It's like I'm stuck between not wanting to exist and not wanting to miss out. I don't want to disappear - I just don't want to feel like this anymore.

My thoughts can get dark. Mean. Relentless. They tell me I'm not enough. That I disappoint people. That I'm too much and not enough at the same time. And I hate that my own mind can turn on me like that.

People say medication helps. Maybe it does. But I don't want to need it. I don't want to feel like I have to take something just to survive my own brain. I don't want to depend on a pill to quiet thoughts that shouldn't be this loud in the first place.

And the truth is - the pill only lasts for so long.

When it wears off, I can feel it. If I miss it. If I take it too late. I spiral. It's not subtle. It's like the floor drops out from under me. I get angry and sad at the same time - sharp and heavy all at once. The thoughts get louder. Meaner. They start to feel stronger than my will to live. Stronger than the small pieces of happiness I do have.

And that scares me.

Because I don't want to be this dependent on something that can't even stay steady inside me. I don't want my stability to have a timer on it. I don't want my mind to feel like it's waiting for the exact moment the protection fades so it can attack.

I just want peace.

I want one day where I wake up and the weight isn't already there. One day where happiness doesn't feel fragile. One day where my mind isn't fighting me.

I don't know what that looks like yet. I just know I'm still here. And even when I don't want to be - some part of me is still curious enough about tomorrow to stay.

I guess that has to count for something.