Silence Feels Safer With this one

 I’m so tired.


Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes.
The kind that sits in your chest and makes everything feel heavy… even the smallest things.


I feel like I’m constantly walking on eggshells.
Like every word I say has to be measured, replayed, softened, rewritten before it even leaves my mouth.


And even then… it still feels wrong.


I’ve started second-guessing everything.
The way I ask questions.
The tone in my voice.
Whether I should say anything at all.


Because somehow it always turns into me being the problem.


So I’ve been getting quieter.


Not because I don’t have anything to say…
but because silence feels safer than being misunderstood.


Safer than being told to reread what I said like I’m the one not making sense.
Safer than trying to explain how I feel just to have it turned into something else.


It’s exhausting trying to stay emotionally steady when everything around me feels like it shifts depending on how it’s interpreted.


One moment I think I’m communicating clearly…
the next I’m questioning if I even know how to speak anymore.


I hate that.


I hate that I’ve gotten to a point where I pause before speaking—not to think, but to protect myself.
To avoid conflict.
To avoid being made to feel like I’m too much… or not enough… all at the same time.


And the worst part is… I don’t even recognize myself in this version.


I’m drained.
Worn down in a way that doesn’t show on the outside, but it’s there in everything I do.


In the way I overthink texts.
In the way I rehearse conversations in my head.
In the way I brace myself for reactions instead of just existing.


I shouldn’t feel like I have to survive conversations.


I shouldn’t feel like love is something I have to carefully navigate so I don’t set something off.


But right now… that’s exactly what it feels like.


And I don’t know how much quieter I can become before I disappear completely.


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