Lost Inside Myself

There’s a reason I don’t like talking about myself.

I’m tired of explaining—tired of trying to make people understand my mental health struggles, the learning disability that came with it, and the slow physical development that set me apart. It’s exhausting. It’s isolating. It’s why I don’t have many friends, and the few I’ve made live too far away to always be there when I need someone to talk to.

I have my family, but I hate burdening them with my sadness. And lately, I’ve reached a point where I don’t even want to turn to God. Not because I don’t believe—maybe deep down, I still do—but because I feel unheard. I know there must be people out there who understand what I’m going through, but struggles are personal, and no two are the same.

I feel like I’m losing faith—not just in God, but in everything. How can I believe in anything when I don’t even believe in myself? I look back at my life, and there’s nothing that stands out as an accomplishment that truly makes me like who I am. Sure, I’ve had small successes—I once wrote essays that were praised—but those are long gone, lost with time.

So here I am, lost. Can I find my way back? Maybe. God always seems to make a way. But somehow, I always end up lost again.

My life in a nutshell—up and down, back and forth.

And it feels like it will never end.