“when I stopped living and didn’t even notice“
I don’t think I’m falling apart.
I’m showering. Twice a day, actually.
The water—hot against my skin—is a sensation I register more than feel.
I’m brushing my teeth. Replying to emails.
Making very ambitious to-do lists that I mostly ignore but still feel oddly proud of.
So I must be fine. Right?
And yet—somewhere between typing “haha sounds good” and scrolling through other people’s highlight reels
(and saving thousands of them with full intentions of going back, but never actually doing it),
I think I ghosted myself.
Not in a big, dramatic, throw-the-phone-into-the-ocean kind of way.
Just… quietly faded out.
This feels like functioning.
Survival mode wearing a clean outfit and a really good serum.
The lights are on, but honestly, no one’s home.
My journal entries are getting weird:
“Didn’t feel much today.”
“Everything’s ok, I think?”
They read like someone trying to convince themselves they still exist.
It’s not burnout exactly.
More like emotional off-roading.
No Google Maps. No Spotify playlist.
Just me, gripping the wheel and hoping the road leads somewhere I actually want to be.
I’m eating meals I don’t remember cooking.
And this is coming from someone who used to grind lemongrass to make her own curry paste.
Now I’m double-tapping vacation pics like it’s a sport—
part envy, part cheerleader.
Go on, IG algorithm. Make my friends’ posts go viral.
Meanwhile, I’m ignoring messages from people who love me.
Not because I don’t care—
just because being a person feels like… a lot.
Even when I’m doing the “healing” things—
Journaling. Meditating. Smiling at strangers—
it still feels like I’m watching my life through frosted glass.
I’m not crying.
I’m not spiraling.
I’m just… here.
Kind of.
There’s a dull ache where I think my joy used to be.
Maybe it’s dissociation.
Or fatigue with a really good PR team.
Or maybe this is what happens when your body keeps moving
but your soul’s curled up somewhere, trying to rest.
Whatever it is, it’s quiet.
And heavy.
And sticky in that way I can’t quite name.
But I’m still showing up.
Some days, that just means breathing in a body that feels like fog.
And maybe—for now—that’s enough.