Have you ever had those days when you don’t know where the sadness comes from so you stare at your walls and ceilings trying to pinpoint what’s causing your dread? Or those days that people are inviting you over for gatherings, but you chose to stay alone at home?

How about those days that you don’t feel anything at all, but there is this intense pain that’s eating you alive?

Yes, those days.

I would like to believe that this is still an extension and a manifestation of my grief, but I’ve mastered the art of sleeping when I get sad. I get silent when it hurts a little too much.

I deactivate my social media accounts; I don’t respond to messages unless work-related; I become indifferent towards other people; and I don’t go out at all.

I can find all the excuses in the world to just not go out and deal with other people– but then I become way too hard on myself for not doing anything for me to feel alive.

I don’t even entertain romantic relationships anymore, because I feel like any guy doesn’t deserve a mentally unstable, emotionally wrecked little girl, because it is not his job to make me whole. The slightest sign of affection makes me anxious. No, don’t do that.

But I get sad if they stop; and I get sad a lot.

So I get silent when it hurts too much.

Not that anybody cares.