Sometimes I Just Don’t Want To Be Here

I don’t know if this is the kind of thing people post, but I’m writing it anyway — because today, I cried.

Not those small, quiet tears.

The kind where your chest feels like it’s going to collapse.

Maybe I had a panic attack. Maybe I’m still in it.

There are days when I have these episodes.

My mind spirals. I get overwhelmed by everything I’m feeling and nothing I can say.

My chest tightens and my heart begins to race.

And it’s not that I want to die. I just don’t want to be here.

Not in this place, not in this body, not in this life — not like this.

You know how people say, “Home is my safe space”?

I don’t have that. I don’t think I ever have.

I don’t know what my safe space is or what “safe” means.

I don’t hate my parents. In fact, I love them deeply.

I love them so much, it hurts.

Because being around them feels like I’m constantly auditioning — for affection, for validation, for a peace I can’t reach.

Like I’m performing. Like I’m shrinking parts of myself so they’ll love what’s left.

I’ve spent my whole life trying to be “the good child,” the glass child, the bright one, the achiever.

Not because I was born that way, but because somewhere deep down, I believed I had to earn love.

Earn rest.

Earn being seen.

I study hard. I overthink. I chase success with this quiet desperation — to the extent it’s the only thing I’m good at, the only thing that feels like an old friend.

Because maybe, just maybe, if I shine bright enough, someone — anyone — will look at me and say:

“You’re doing just fine.”

“You’re enough.”

The truth is: I’m not okay.

And I’m saying that, not to scare anyone — but because maybe someone out there feels this too.

To the world, I’m Miss Emma — happy, radiant, full of light.

But behind closed doors, I feel like I’m quietly breaking.

Like the glass shards are everywhere, but I’m the only one that sees them.

I hope I heal someday.

I hope I find a place, or a person, or maybe just one quiet moment,

where I can breathe again.

Where I can feel safe.

Where I don’t have to try so hard to be loved.

But until then, this is me being honest.

This is me, choosing to stay.

This is me, being here — even when it’s hard.

With all my heart,

~Emma 🦋