As I stand here, surrounded by the bleakness of my existence, I'm met with the harsh realization that another year has come to a close. The calendar has flipped, and the numbers have changed, but the emptiness within me remains. Maybe I wasn't anticipating the end of this turbulent year, maybe I was too consumed by my own despair to notice. But as I look back, I'm reminded of the pain, the suffering, and the loneliness that has been my constant companion.

I'm glad it's over, this year that has drained me of every last shred of hope. I'm glad it's over, not because I'm expecting something better, but because I've been given a chance to start anew. A chance to pick up the pieces of my shattered life and try to make sense of the chaos that surrounds me. But as I look around, I'm reminded that I'm not alone in this feeling. Everyone around me seems to be pretending, putting on a mask to hide their true selves. They smile, they laugh, they pretend to care, but behind my back, they whisper, they judge, and they condemn.

I've learned to live with the whispers, to live with the pretence. I've learned to face my problems alone, because that's what I've always done. I've learned to lock myself in my own box, to hide from the world, and to suffer in silence. Because that's what I've been taught, that's what I've been conditioned to believe. That I'm not worthy of love, of care, of compassion. That I'm just a burden, a weight that needs to be carried.

I wake up every morning, feeling like I'm drowning in a sea of despair. I wake up every morning, wanting to give in to the darkness that haunts my dreams. I wake up every...