The Weight of Everything

Date: April 4, 2025

Mood Rating: 2/10

Today feels like a crash after holding everything together for too long. The morning felt okay, manageable. But after the doctor’s appointment, the weight of everything settled in. A slow, creeping exhaustion that’s not just physical but something deeper—like my body and mind finally acknowledging how much they’ve been carrying.

There’s numbness, but also the sense that something heavy is lurking beneath it. I can feel it, but I can’t reach it. It’s like my emotions are locked behind a door, and I don’t have the key. I want to let it out—I want to cry, scream, something—but it won’t come. And that makes everything feel even more tiring.

Speaking feels like a chore. Moving feels like dragging myself through quicksand. It’s not sadness, not exactly. It’s just… too much. A deep, bone-deep tiredness that makes everything feel distant. My jaw feels sore, tense, like it’s been holding onto something for too long. Chewing is an effort. My body is reacting in ways I didn’t expect—muscle tension, low energy, an overwhelming craving for something sweet that never really satisfies. I took Alprazolam, hoping for sleep, hoping to quiet everything racing inside my head. I just want to rest.