april

Three days into April, and I already feel like I’m coming undone. I don't know if it's exhaustion, the creeping weight of reality, or the unsettling realization that yet another coping mechanism has failed me. Maybe it’s all of the above.  

I used to walk home under the scorching sun, letting the heat wrap around me like an old, familiar embrace. It was almost comforting—the way it burned against my skin, the way it made my head feel light, like I was dissolving into something else. There was a strange kind of solace in it, knowing that if I just kept walking, if I let the heat consume me, maybe I could disappear for a little while. But now, I avoid it. I still like the feeling of breathlessness when I walk, but lately, it feels less like a release and more like a noose tightening around my lungs. The air is thicker, heavier, suffocating. And I can’t tell if it’s the weather or just me.  

Maybe it's the DOST exam. Maybe it's the UPCAT results, lurking just around the corner, whispering reminders of how uncertain everything still is. Everyone around me talks about the future as if I should already have it mapped out, as if I need to make the right decision now or risk ruining everything. It’s suffocating—this expectation that I should know exactly what I want, who I want to be, where I want to go. But the truth is, I don’t. And that terrifies me.  

I’m tired. Tired of the college talk. Tired of pretending I have a plan. Tired of the responsibilities that are waiting for me just beyond the horizon, creeping closer whether I’m ready or not. Even my own existence exhausts me. Some days, it feels like I’m stuck in an endless cycle, dragging myself from one obligation to the next, filling my time with anything that keeps me from thinking too much. But the distractions don’t last forever.  

I wish I had someone to talk to, someone who could pull me out of this spiral, but deep down, I know that even if they tried, it wouldn’t change much. No matter what anyone says, I think I’ll always see myself this way—never quite enough, never quite whole. And that realization stings more than I’d like to admit.  

Maybe this is how I’ve truly felt all along, and the sudden outings with friends were nothing more than temporary escapes. Maybe I was just running from emotions I knew would catch up to me the moment I let myself be still. And now that they have, I don’t know how to outrun them anymore.  

I don’t know when I’ll truly be okay—or if there’s even a way for me to get better. I keep hoping that something will shift, that one day I’ll wake up and the weight will be gone, that I’ll finally feel light again. But what if that day never comes? What if this is just how I am? The thought lingers, heavy and unshakable, and I don’t know how to answer it.