Dear beloved,

I hope this letter finds you well. I have survived yet another day, but the horrors persist. A plague has made my home its haven.
No matter what I do or say, I can’t seem to outrun its grip.

I have felt an invasive presence. A presence that has created a home within. One that has utterly destroyed me. One that has taken over my life and left me unseen and unheard. One that has left me at the mercy of my own transgressions. One that has shut me down, rendering me useless.

The first day I felt this presence, I was alone in my house. It was a long night. I was tossing and turning all night. My thoughts were scattered, neither here nor there. It persisted all through. I could not escape, numb it, or even understand it…

The presence has followed me through. I grew accustomed to it, became familiar with it, and eventually became it. I have accepted it. Sometimes, I’m puzzled by a little bit of joy in my life.

My life is a museum of big mistakes; most, if not all, mistakes have taught me nothing. Sometimes mistakes don’t teach you anything—they just hurt.

If all the mistakes I made had led me to understand this ‘presence,’ then maybe it would have been something, anything.

In truth, I have not celebrated anything in a long time. Not my birthday, not my graduation, not when I got my first job. I can’t bring myself to celebrate. I was handed this checklist, and everything I do means I’m ticking a box. It is a relief, not something worth acknowledging or congratulating. Nothing I do is worth celebrating. I am broken, completely broken…

Yesterday I did something good and went, “Well, at least I don’t have to worry about this… or that.” I’m deeply disgusted by my life’s choices. Dopamine is slowly fading away from my life, and in its place, there is a crippling residue of relief.

Relief is not living; it’s surviving. It’s just not enough. Nothing is ever enough.

Love is not enough.

This presence is slowly consuming every aspect of my life now. It has taken over my energy, thoughts, and desires. This presence has left my life blunt. Not sweet, bitter, hot, or cold, just blunt. Food is not something I look forward to cooking and making delicious. Sometimes, I put too much salt in it; sometimes, I forget it completely. Still, no difference. I’m full, yet starving.

Life now is mediocre, bad, and never good enough. WHEN I WAS YOUNGER, I WAS RICHER

I am disgusted by my masculinity and humiliated by my femininity, as though neither side of me belongs anywhere.

This ‘presence’ has made me question my sanity.

I’m not used to this ‘presence.’ It took over me. It has stripped away gratitude, leaving only dissatisfaction…

At last, I’ve learned its name: apathy. It is a cage. It makes you indifferent to pain, blind to love, and deaf to beauty. It leaves you alive, but not living.

I believe you have met it at least once in your life. The thing called apathy. It slowly but surely tucks you away in a cage. It leaves you unaware of the hurt or love around you. It leaves a visceral feeling after it’s done.

I’m broken. I’m all broken. They have broken me.

I don’t understand why I am like this or how I ended up like this. I have been fighting a long battle within myself, yet I lose every time. This presence has left me unable to live for another, and in its place, a repetitive caution. Like a broken record to remind me of its danger. Of its pain.

of Loss.

I know you don’t know me like this. But lately, I have not been myself. You see, life is full of surprises. This ‘presence’ is developing a twist. In this period, I have detested the thought of putting another first. And in turn, I’ve become someone I fail to recognize.

The horrors of this truth have reminded me of all the reasons I’m not deserving. They have reminded me of all the people who need saving and fixing. They have reminded me of all the nostalgia left behind me. Of all the pleasing I need to do, all the compromises and bending backward. As a result, I have suffered a burden of choice.

The choice to live an independent life, with all its surprises, good and bad. Two sides of the token. And although I have suffered because of this choice, I have noticed a significant change in my life. I have discovered the joy of finding a new song. A new restaurant, a new hobby, a new life.

I was not created to live a perfect life. I am not more special than the next person. And I am certainly not immortal. I believe death is a duty one must fulfill. I am making peace with it. I have accepted it. And in a world that capitalizes on my insecurities, being my best self is an act of rebellion. I hope you find this middle ground, too. I’m in this wave, same as you. I have this deep craving for more than the ordinary, for something authentic.

My dearest friend, life is not all about numbers. One day, you will realize this, too. But before this day comes, I have a special gift for you: a song. The essence of this song is to reminisce.

And if you are an anonymous reader, I hope this letter feels like a song to you.

In a world built on my insecurities, being myself is an act of rebellion. That rebellion is my survival. And if you are reading this, my dear friend or stranger, know this: you are not alone.