Disclaimer: This post discusses grief and loss and may evoke strong emotions. Please read with care and prioritize your well-being.

It’s 2:46 AM, and I’ve woken up to this feeling I can’t shake—empty, yet heavy, like something is pressing down on my chest. The air in the room feels thick, and I’m lying here staring at the ceiling, wondering why I feel like this. Must be grief. But who knows? Nothing specific happened today or maybe something did, and I’ve buried it so deep that I can’t name it. But right now, it’s here, clawing at me in the silence of the night.

It’s strange how these moments creep in when the world is silent, like my mind waits for the quiet to unleash everything I’ve been suppressing. Heavy emotions usually have a face, a name, a memory tied to them. But this? This feels like a void, like something’s missing, yet I can’t figure out what. It could be grief. But I want grief to rest for a while from all the blaming it gets. I don’t want it to be the all-reason for this emptiness I feel inside. It’s frustrating. I wish I could name this feeling—give it a shape, a color, something tangible I can face. I wish I can just call it, sadness or misery or maybe anxiety. But this one is slippery, like trying to hold water in my hands. Maybe that’s what makes it so unsettling, so frustrating. Sigh. 😔

The quiet around me feels too loud, amplifying thoughts I don’t want to think. I used to find peace in silence, in quiet moments, and in the comfort of solitude. Those were the times I could reflect, recharge, and feel at ease with myself. But tonight, this silence feels different. It’s as if the stillness intensifies the weight of my thoughts, making everything feel heavier and harder to bear. The solitude that once brought me comfort now feels like a void, leaving me to confront emotions I don’t know how to handle.

Maybe it’s the way life has been lately. Days pass, full of routine, full of things that should feel fulfilling, but they don’t. I’ve been running on autopilot, going through the motions, smiling when I need to, and yet, in the moments when it’s just me and my thoughts, it’s like I don’t even know who I am anymore, what I want in life and what I could possibly want to become.

I keep wondering if this is a sign that something inside me needs attention, something I’ve ignored for too long. Maybe it’s the rage I’ve pushed aside, thinking it would fade with time. I don’t know if it’s fear, sadness, or just exhaustion from pretending everything is fine when it’s not. The weight of it all has been building, and I can feel it now, in the silence. It’s like I’ve been holding onto pieces of myself that I haven’t allowed myself to be angry or be sad or to mourn, and now those emotions are demanding to be seen and acknowledged.

I find myself thinking about the kind of person I want to be. Have I lost sight of that? Somewhere between the chaos of life and the need to keep moving forward, did I stop asking myself what I really want? It’s scary to realize I might not have an answer.

Sometimes, I wish I could just hit pause. Step outside of myself for a while and see things from a distance. Would I recognize the person I’ve become? Would I feel proud, or would I see all the ways I’ve been slowly drifting from who I thought I’d be?

I’ve been trying to remind myself that it’s okay to not have it all figured out. That it’s human to feel lost, to question everything, to have nights like this where it all feels too much and not enough at the same time. But knowing that doesn’t make it easier.

I don’t want this heaviness to define me. I don’t want it to linger so long that it becomes a part of me. But maybe the only way out of it is through it—by letting myself feel it, even when it hurts, even when it feels pointless.

I keep thinking about how tomorrow is a new day, but I don’t want to just wait for the sun to rise. I want to believe that even in this darkness, there’s something worth finding. Maybe it’s resilience. Maybe it’s self-compassion. Maybe it’s just the courage to sit with the discomfort a little while longer.

I think about how I should be grateful. I have things, people, places, moments that bring me joy. And yet, even with all of that, there’s this strange loneliness that sneaks up on me in the stillness. It makes me feel guilty for feeling like this, like I’m not allowed to have bad days when my life could be so much worse.

For now, I’m letting myself sit with it, as much as I hate it. Maybe this is the kind of discomfort that forces you to grow. Or maybe it’s just a bad night, and when the sun rises, I’ll feel normal again. I hope so. I really do.

Goodnight, I suppose. I’m exhausted from the endless emptiness in my mind, where thoughts swirl around without direction or meaning. It’s like I’m trapped in a fog of confusion, constantly thinking but never truly feeling or resolving anything.

Each moment stretches on, and I can’t seem to escape the weight of being stuck in this endless cycle of nothingness. It’s draining—this quiet battle within myself, where I’m caught between searching for answers and simply trying to quiet the noise.

I’ll try to sleep now and hoping for dreams that bring clarity or at the very least, peace.

Love,

Ana 💋