Premium I don’t know how much longer I can do this

I’m so tired.
Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes… the kind that sits on your chest and makes every breath feel borrowed.
I smile in photos, I answer “I’m fine” when people ask, I still show up to work, to dinner, to life. But inside it’s just static. Everything feels heavy. Meaningless. Like I’m watching my own life through dirty glass.
I’ve fought so hard for so long. Therapy, meds, routines, “self-care,” forcing myself to eat, to move, to pretend there’s a point. But the darkness keeps winning. It’s patient. It waits until 3 a.m. when the world is quiet and whispers that everyone would be better off if I just… disappeared.
I don’t want to die.
I just don’t know how to keep living like this.
If you’ve ever felt even a fraction of this, please know you’re not dramatic, you’re not weak, you’re not a burden. You’re carrying something that would crush most people and you’re still here. That matters. You matter.