Dear me,

I don’t really know when it all started. Maybe it was always like this. As if in every room I stood, I was also in another. Always elsewhere in my mind; a place without fear, without the constant whisper of doubt in my ears.
Even in the most beautiful moments, there was something between me and the reality of this world. A kind of cage where nothing from the outside could hurt me except the thoughts within. It was invisible to others, but to me, it all felt so real; even though I couldn't see anything, I heard it, I felt the tension, and to be honest, it was suffocating.

From behind the bars of my imaginary cage, I tried to pretend I was okay. I tried to act normal. As if I was really there in the moment. But deep down I felt like an actor, performing a grand play, and the people around me were just the audience.

I often think people don’t really see me. Or that they only see the surface version the one that’s normal, nothing weird or strange to notice, just normal. Would they think I’m weird if they knew I overanalyze every movement my body makes? Or if they knew I’ve replayed a simple conversation from last week at least fifty times in my head not because it was so interesting, but because I’m scared they might think I’m weird. Or too much. Or not enough.

Sometimes I want to turn off my thoughts. Sometimes I just want to be normal. Sometimes I want peace, but I don’t find it when I actually try to rest. It’s as if my mind goes into overdrive when it's not occupied. It has to be constantly busy, or I end up burdening myself. If I have no thoughts, I feel empty, gloomy.
How surreal—some people relax when they can just stop thinking, but I feel like I’ll go insane if I can't think. Sometimes I want to be normal, but then I realize being normal might also mean being okay with silence. Could I live with that silence?

I think that silence would devour me even more than the fear of not being normal and overthinking everything. Then the cage isn't one with bars anymore, but a room where the sound refuses to escape my reality and that thought scares me deeply.

That irrational longing for a different me, a different mind, a different life.
Maybe it’s just a part of me.
Maybe it’s not something I need to push away, but something I need to learn to embrace. Not as an escape, but as part of who I am. As an inner refuge I go to when the world gets too loud.
And hey, maybe that’s okay.

I’m not where I want to be yet.
But I’m also not where I used to be.
And maybe that’s already enough.

With love,