A Journal for No One

The Spiral

Why am I still alive, Why am I still alive, Why am I still alive? How can it be I am allowed to yet live? Why couldn’t they live? Why couldn’t it have been me instead? Denied the right to leave this mortal coil thrice, yet forced to watch others do it more than twice.

I had no choice in the matter. I watched as friends I knew faded, disappeared, collapsed inward. I don’t wish to lose anyone else.

I must cease and yet I can’t. I truly am but a broken tool to be used.

Alone in a Crowd

Am I unfit for society? Do I actually serve any purpose? Do the people I call friends feel the same? Or have I always been alone?

I see others moving forward. I admire them. I really do. And yet I can’t do the same. I don’t know if I’ll ever understand who I am, or what I was meant to be.

Faceless

I’ve screwed up again. I just wanted to play a game. They laughed. Bullied. Ignored my words. I was never part of the group. Just the one too serious, too much. I don’t know why I try so hard to be part of anything.

I just want to belong somewhere.

Echoes in Glass

I feel like a bottle cracking from the inside, a rainbow of emotion sloshing under pressure. I’m expected to smile while my seams come apart. No one sees the glass until it shatters.

Every dream ends in pain or silence. Death in a hospital. A heart attack I felt. A flatline I heard. And strangers who seemed too familiar.

The Plastic Bag

Have you ever felt like a plastic bag, burning underwater? Spinning in a whirlwind, unable to land, destined to suffocate with no air left to scream?

I have.

False Starts

My girlfriend ghosted me for months. I don’t know what I did wrong. Maybe it was me. Maybe I’m just not enough.

I’ve tried to change. I’ve tried to grow. But I always return to this — a man who hurts himself to keep others safe.

A man overflowing with bottled pain.

Masking

I was always calm and collected to others. But inside? A mess. Constantly spiraling, unstable. I never cared much about what I could do — only what I couldn’t.

I’d hurt myself if it meant helping someone else.

The Counselor

I don’t even know who I am. I give people advice I can’t follow myself. I try to be someone others can rely on, just so no one else has to feel what I’ve felt.

The Tunnel

Is this life? Or is this just the endless abyss? Everyone talks about the light at the end. But all I see is more tunnel.

I’ve walked this path for 5-6 years now.

Observer

I don’t feel connection in real life. I stand on the sidelines, even with friends. I can’t feel love in real life. Even from family.

But I still try. I still help.

Unspoken

There is no shortform excerpt for this one

Fractured

There is no shortform excerpt for this one

The Lighthouse

Fragmented self, forgotten light. A husk remains where warmth once lived. Still it flickers, distant and faint— A signal no one was meant to receive.