Weight of wings

I've recently joined this community during a particularly challenging time in my life. I'm someone who finds solace in routine, optimization, and structure. It feels as though my mind is a whirlwind of chaos, and the only way to quiet the storm is to impose order wherever possible.

I set goals for myself that are often beyond reach, and I'm harsh on myself when I fall short. Despite being surrounded by love and support, my pride and fear hold me back from reaching out for help. It's as if I'm constantly on the brink, struggling to keep myself composed.

Now, I find myself slipping—my sleep is restless, my diet neglected, exercise forgotten, and social interactions avoided. Deep down, I'm still that frightened child, unsure of how to grow up. The pressure is immense, and I can feel its weight bearing down on me.

My ambitions are lofty, so much so that I hesitate to even voice them anonymously. Is it the fear of failure that silences me? Perhaps. But the desire to achieve these dreams is unyielding; I can't fathom a life where they remain unfulfilled. Indeed, it is the fear of failure that paralyzes me. I'm reluctant to ask for help because I can't bear the thought of others sharing the burden of my potential failure.

But the truth is, no one has told me I'll fail—except for me. I am my own worst critic, relentlessly belittling myself without mercy.

As I stand at this crossroads, my presence here is a testament to the turmoil within. I am not on the mend; rather, I find myself descending further into a chasm of despair. The structure and order I once clung to are slipping through my fingers like grains of sand, and with each passing day, my resolve weakens.

The goals that once ignited a fire within me now seem like distant stars, their light dimming in the vastness of space. My sleep is a stranger, my appetite a ghost, and my will to engage with the world around me is fading. I am retreating into myself, a fortress of solitude that offers no respite.

This is not a tale of recovery or a journey towards healing. This is a raw and unfiltered glimpse into the depths of my struggle. It is a cry for help, a plea from a place of vulnerability. I am not seeking applause for resilience I do not feel; I am reaching out from the precipice, hoping to be seen and heard before I am lost to the shadows.

To those who may recognize themselves in these words, know that you are not alone. And to those who witness this, understand that this is the reality of my existence at this moment—a soul laid bare, grappling with the gravity of its own existence.