A Quite Kind Of Lost.

Days flew by so quickly, she didn’t even notice when high school ended.

One moment she was sitting in familiar classrooms, surrounded by the same faces, the same routines…

and the next, she was standing at the beginning of something bigger—

the quiet, uncertain start of a life she was now expected to build.

A future.

A career.

A direction.

Everyone seemed to have answers.

So she chose something that felt… safe.

Or maybe she didn’t really choose it.

Maybe it just happened.

It was a stable career. A respectable one.

Something people approved of. Something that made sense.

And when you don’t know what you want,

something that makes sense becomes easy to hold onto.

It gave her direction.

And at that point, direction felt like enough.

Still, there were moments.

Sitting in class, listening to lectures, watching others take notes with certainty—

like they knew exactly where they were going.

Her mind would drift.

"Do I belong here? "

The question never stayed long.

It passed through her quietly, like a shadow crossing a wall.

She never chased it.

Never spoke it out loud.

Because everything looked fine from the outside.

But sometimes, a different thought would come.

“Is this really my life?”

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just a small, fleeting feeling—

gone before it could be understood.

She kept that to herself too.

And then came the nights.

When everything was quiet.

When there was nothing left to distract her.

That’s when the thoughts returned.

Questions without answers.

Fears without clear reasons.

A heaviness she couldn’t explain.

And sometimes… something even stranger.

An emptiness.

Not sadness exactly.

Not pain.

Just a quiet feeling like she was living her life—

but not fully in it.

Like she was present,

but not connected.

Days kept moving.

Classes continued.

People laughed. Plans were made.

And she moved with it all.

Smiling when needed.

Listening when others spoke.

Finishing the work, assignments, like it was supposed to.

Walking forward because… that’s what you’re supposed to do.

Even if a small part of her still wondered—

Where is this really taking me?

She didn’t like showing her emotions.

Anger felt dangerous—like something that could shatter the fragile calm she worked so hard to maintain.

Crying felt like weakness—like if she started, she might not know how to stop.

Fear made her feel small, exposed.

Jealousy made her feel guilty, like she was a bad person for even feeling it.

Loneliness felt embarrassing—something she shouldn’t admit.

Even happiness, sometimes, felt unfamiliar… like she didn’t fully know how to hold onto it.

So she kept everything inside.

When she was hurt, she stayed quiet.

When she was angry, she controlled it.

When she was scared, she pretended she was fine.

When she felt jealous, she ignored it.

When she felt lonely, she told herself it didn’t matter.

When she was overwhelmed, she distracted herself.

Her phone became her escape.

Scrolling. Watching. Reading.

Anything to keep her mind busy.

Because when it wasn’t…

the silence felt too loud.

Most days, it worked.

She smiled when she needed to.

She laughed at the right moments.

She listened to others.

She kept going, even when she was tired.

From the outside, she seemed calm. Balanced. Fine.

But some days, it didn’t work.

And on those days, everything she had pushed down didn’t come out gently.

It came all at once.

Sharp. Heavy. Confusing.

Sadness without a clear reason.

Frustration that had nowhere to go.

Fear that lingered without a name.

A deep loneliness she couldn’t explain.

Feelings she couldn’t sort.

Thoughts she couldn’t stop.

And in the middle of it, she would sit there, overwhelmed, asking herself—

“Why am I like this?”

The hardest part wasn’t even the emotions.

It was the silence around them.

She had no one to turn to.

Not her family.

Not her friends.

Not because people weren’t there—

but because she didn’t know how to reach them.

Didn’t know how to explain something she didn’t fully understand herself.

How do you explain something that doesn’t have clear words?

How do you ask for help when you don’t even know what you need?

So she didn’t.

She carried it alone.

Every thought.

Every feeling.

Every quiet storm inside her.

She learned how to function with it.

How to move through her days while holding everything in place.

And when the distractions faded,

when the screen went dark,

when there was nothing left to hold onto—

the emptiness returned.

Familiar.

Uncomfortable.

Unavoidable.

And she would sit with it, quietly,

still holding everything in,

as if letting it out would break something—

even if keeping it inside

was already breaking her.

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