Finally, I've reconnected with my peace

 My Dear blog – My Silent Therapist 

There are days when my heart bleeds with anxiety, when even silence feels heavy. My under-eyes have turned darker, almost as if they carry the weight of sleepless nights and unspoken thoughts. My brain feels like a rock  burdened, still, and unmovable  while somewhere deep within, my heart keeps softly chanting the name of peace.

Sometimes, I feel as though the world itself is an impostor. Not because people are cruel, but because my own situation blinds me to its beauty. My emotions swing between extremes  one moment I find comfort in Karl Marx’s ideas, and the next, I’m lost in the maze of existential questions. It’s as if the world is wrapped in despair, and I’m walking through it without a map.

There are moments when I see myself in Sylvia Plath  her silence, her struggle, her search for meaning. Certain thoughts make my mind infertile, while others drain me completely. At times, I genuinely feel like I’m not meant for anything at all  like I’m just existing, not living.

But something shifts when I begin to write. The chaos inside starts to soften, and my mind slowly untangles itself. Words become my healing space. They listen when no one else does. They don’t interrupt, they don’t judge  they just understand.

After pouring my heart onto paper, I finally feel calm and composed. It’s in that stillness I realise something profound I have found my therapist. Not in people, not in noise, but in something far simpler and purer.

It’s you, my dear blog