I’ve been feeling tired in a way that rest doesn’t fix.
Not just in my body — something deeper. A kind of quiet fatigue that’s hard to name.
Each day feels like a copy of the last. I wake up, I go through the motions, and I wait for the day to end.
I don’t know what I’m waiting for anymore.
Nothing is wrong, really. And maybe that’s the strangest part.
No tragedy. No big reason. Just this slow, steady fading.
Like I’m slowly disappearing from the inside out, and no one can see it happening — not even me, until now.
I’ve stopped feeling connected to things I used to love.
Everything feels a little distant. A little muted.
I see people talking, laughing, planning, and I feel like I’m standing behind glass, watching it all happen without being part of it.
There are moments where I forget who I’m supposed to be.
Like I’ve been performing some version of myself for so long that I don’t remember what’s real anymore.
It’s not painful, not exactly. Just... empty.
Softly empty. Like a room no one goes into anymore.
I don’t want to make this dramatic.
There’s no message here, no secret meaning.
I’m just writing this because I needed somewhere to put the feeling.
Because sometimes, saying nothing gets heavy.
-Inaam
13th July 2025 (Jeddah)
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