via Louwie Mantilla, Pressroom PH
I used to be the person people ran to.
I was the one they called when things fell apart, when their hands were shaking and their voice cracked from crying. I never asked why. I just came. I sat with them through their worst. I let them fall apart in front of me without ever making them feel like a burden. I held their stories. I wiped their tears. I reminded them they were still worthy, even at their lowest.
And I meant every word I gave.
But now? I feel like I have nothing left. Not even for myself.
I am exhausted. Not just tired — exhausted in a way that sleep cannot fix. I wake up already drained. There is this heavy, invisible weight on me, and I carry it all day, every day. It sits on my chest when I try to breathe. It follows me into rooms full of people. It screams at me in silence.
I am fighting a war in my head, and I am fighting it alone.
That is what hurts the most. The silence. The absence. The realization that no one is showing up for me the way I showed up for them.
I reached out. I asked for company — not for answers, not for solutions. Just someone to sit with me, to let me fall apart without looking away. I asked if they could spare even just a little time. They said they were tired. They said, “Maybe next time.” But there was no next time. There never is.
And still, I try to convince myself that it is okay. That I should understand. That I should be patient. But God, it hurts. It hurts to be forgotten. It hurts to realize that I mattered only when they needed something from me.
I have carried other people’s pain for so long that I do not even know what my own feels like anymore. I absorbed it all — their anger, their sadness, their brokenness, because I thought that was what love looked like. But somewhere along the way, I lost myself. I lost the version of me who used to smile easily. Who used to feel safe.
Now I jump at small sounds. My chest tightens when I hear footsteps. I stay awake at night replaying every conversation, every moment I might have said too much or been too much. I feel anxious every second. I feel exposed. Raw. Fragile. And no one sees it.
They are fine now. Better, even. Smiling more, laughing louder. Healing.
And I am still here. Stuck in the wreckage of everything they left behind.
Sometimes I look in the mirror and I do not even recognize myself. I used to be full of light. I used to be the one who held everyone together. Now, I feel like I am falling apart in silence, and no one notices.
People say the world is unfair. But that word feels too soft. The world is brutal. It will take every good thing you offer and still leave you empty. You can give your whole heart, your time, your care, and still be cast aside like you were never enough.
You can be there for people in their darkest nights, and when it is your turn to break — they vanish. That is the reality no one tells you when you are the “strong one.” You are not allowed to fall apart. You are not allowed to ask for help.
I think about last year, on my birthday, only one person remembered. Just one. I tried to hold onto that like it was enough. But the truth is, it broke me a little. Because I remembered everyone’s birthday. I wrote messages. I made time. But when it was my turn, there was nothing.
And just this month, I felt so low I could barely function. I asked if someone could be there for me. Not forever. Just for a while. They said they would, but they never followed through. They forgot. Or maybe they just stopped caring.
But let me make this clear, I do not want to cut anyone off. I do not want to abandon the people I love, even when I feel abandoned myself. I just want to be held like I held them. I want to feel that my pain matters, too. That my quiet suffering is seen. That my existence is not invisible.
I do not want much. I do not want to be worshipped. I do not want anyone to fix me. I just want someone to sit beside me and say, “I see you. I know it hurts. I am here.”
But they are not here. They never are.
And I am so, so tired.
Tired of being the strong one. Tired of pretending I am fine. Tired of being the one who loves harder, gives more, and ends up with less. Tired of being the person everyone turns to, only to be left alone when I need someone most.
Sometimes, I wonder — what would happen if I stopped caring? If I stopped picking up the phone? If I stopped remembering birthdays? If I stopped giving the kind of love I never seem to receive?
What scares me is that I am getting close to that point.
Because the longer this silence stays, the more comfortable it becomes. The more I get used to being alone, the easier it is to expect nothing. To ask for nothing. To need no one.
One day, I might stop trying. Not out of anger. Not even out of pain.
But because I will have learned that needing people only leaves me emptier.
And maybe then, I will not feel heartbroken anymore.
Maybe I will not feel anything at all.
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