“A feeling of pensive sadness, typically with no obvious cause.”

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Laughter on Cue

I remember being asked to go hangout with a group of friends. People I know and people who know me. But as I sat there around them I just felt like a fraud. My smile was tight, laughter was automatic, and my signature sarcasm everyone loves easily flowed out.

Inside I felt the way my stomach clenched. I looked at the dark screen of my phone and I remember seeing my reflection just looked weird. My smile felt too tight, stretched thin. The way my brow was pulled taut. As much fun as I was having… I also just wanted to curl up away from everyone.

Nobody seemed to notice, I didn’t know how to tell my friends I was checked out mentally. Then I wondered, Would they even care? Am I playing my part correctly? Just as soon as that thought filtered it, it was shook out just as fast. My friends dragging me into the fold like a lamb in a flock.

At that point it had become my persona. The sarcastic and grumpy friend. If you just forced the fun around me I’d eventually have fun. In part that was true, I did enjoy myself. Still my feelings of dissonance rang loud and true, yet silent to those around me.

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Silent Dissonance

The thing is, I’m not really sure when it started. The lows striking out of nowhere. For as long as I can remember I’ve thought of myself as an easygoing person. A person who’s pretty good at rolling with the punches. Then one too many punches later I’m still laying there.

Things that uses to bring me immense joy, didn’t feel the same. Things that once painted my world with beautiful colors, slowly became mute. It was like an invisible wall had sprung up and separated me and the world.

The tables shook with laughter, glasses clinking, and inside jokes missing me. I forced smiles, at the right time but everything was muffled like I was trapped behind a pane of glass. A small nudge, “You’re too quiet tonight,” and a sarcastic comment later and the script is still alive.

“I wear the mask of normalcy, but the reflection never feels like mine.”

Pushing through was easy. Keeping up appearances was a familiar concept. And though it was my face, my words, somehow I couldn’t recognize myself.

It was as if I was in the middle of a storm. The world around me swirled and howled, but I was rooted in place, like a stranger in a familiar clothing.

There are times when the disconnection is suffocating. I’ve felt it more times than I care to count. It’s not really about being alone that bothers me, it’s more of feeling alone even with my friends and coworkers. Almost like I’m just being tolerated.

The silent wall of dissonance is deafening that much it true. I can’t help to wonder, can no one hear it? Sometimes I think was I the one who went deaf first?

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The Quiet Ache

“The hollow sits between who I am and who I might become.”

– Quill

My life isn’t bad— far from it. I have a home, a good job, and a family that cares. Still, something is missing. I try to fill the void with books, conversations and hobbies. But still, the speed at which I lose interest is astonishing.

It felt as though I was looking for a word I’ve heard about but couldn’t quite remember. Everything was a stopgap, barely passed as a distraction. What I’m searching for is still unknown.

So I perform: bright smiles, quick jokes, the gestures people recognize. It’s convincing—enough to keep people comfortable, not enough to keep me awake. I don’t know if it fits the label of depression; therapists are not my plot twist after all.

I’m not sad or even angry. I’m just emptied of the desire of things. There’s a constant ache, a hollow feeling that is nestled between what I was and what I might be.

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Mask Unseen

It’s funny though. My mom has told me I don’t have good friends. They only check in or want to see me when they are going through something. I never wanted to see it, but now that’s all I see. I can’t remember the last time any of my friends actually checked in and asked how I’m doing.

There’s this assumption about me it seems. I’m the strong friend, the one who everyone comes to when they can’t stand on their own. The person who isn’t affected by anything. And like the character I was made to play, I became the best.

The comments on how strong I am. My uncanny ability to take things as they come and turn it into something grand was admired and envied. The praise washed over me and for a while even I believed it. Then my thoughts came creeping back in, the what ifs blossomed.

What if I showed them the crack? Would they still place me on that pedestal? Would they once again think I was joking around or being sarcastic? How many times I’ve tested the waters. Yet was brushed off once again by the character I was forced to play.

I know my feelings are valid and real. I’m self aware enough to understand that it’s not healthy keeping everything in. I want to lash out and scream at the people around me. “I want to say I’m here! I’m a person and I’m crumbling.”

I don’t want to be the strong friend all the time… I want to breathe again.

I want to know who I am again.

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Salt and Silence

One morning as I sat on the couch, the TV dark and a cup of coffee was warming my hands. The house was silent until the softest meow broke free. In that silence, it carried, resonating deep in my bones. It was something I’d been wanting, waiting to hear.

For the first time in so long, I let myself feel it. The emptiness, the brokenness, the ache. Everything I’d force down, and locked in a tiny box of sarcasm and smiles. I didn’t shove it down, didn’t disguise it, didn’t diminish how it felt. I sat with my cat and realized maybe that was enough.

Then as easy as blinking I felt it. A single tear sliding down my face. My coffee turned salty, my eyes burned and yet the release felt holy. I turned to my cat, and he simply watched, steady, unbothered, like I was a priority. It was then that I realized I was never truly alone.

Somehow his gazed was enough to loosen the weight pressing against my chest. Not gone, but lighter. Bearable.

A hairline crack ran through that armor I spent years crafting, instead of fear, it gave relief. I wasn’t broken beyond repair. I’m human. I could be the strong friend, yes, but I’m also allowed to be the friend who needed to be held. I can let myself be carried sometimes… That doesn’t make me weak, it makes me whole.

That particular morning wasn’t some grand revelation. It was a small, hush of a whisper in the silence. Maybe that’s what made it matter. With nothing but my cat and a salty cup of coffee, I finally gave myself permission to stop performing. Even if the moments get messy and uncertain.

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”

— Rumi

Where the Light Enters

I’ve come to realize healing isn’t about erasing the ache or glossing over the silence. It’s about learning to live inside the cracks, to let the light filter through even when the darkness lingers. The masks, the dissonance, the tight smiles — they’re all part of me. But so is the courage to keep showing up.

-Quill