To be honest, nothing positive has really happened in my life, not just in the past year, but for the past six years now. It’s like time has turned into a relentless wave, pulling me under more and more with each passing day, each passing month, each passing year. I keep hoping for something, anything, to change, but life keeps throwing me deeper into this endless battle with depression. It’s hard to put into words how it feels, like carrying the weight of the world on shoulders that have long since grown tired.
I won’t lie; I feel like I’m nearing the end of my strength. Some days, it’s hard to imagine making it through another one, let alone more weeks, months, or years of this pain. It feels like I’m fighting a battle I can’t win, and that thought terrifies me. But even with all that, there’s a small part of me that doesn’t want to let go completely. I’m trying, really, I am, because maybe, just maybe, life will surprise me.
I keep holding on to this fragile hope that 2025 might bring a miracle, something to finally break this cycle and show me that it’s worth staying for. It’s hard to believe in, but I’m clinging to it because that’s all I have left. Until then, I’m surviving, not living, just surviving, day by day, hoping that this heavy darkness will one day lift. It’s not easy, but I’m doing the best I can with what little strength I have left.
The Thought Box 
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