I can’t find any language to describe it, I guess it’s better to just keep it this time

The deepest wounds often lie beyond the reach of words.

You never really understand the weight of pain until you can’t find the words to describe it. It’s like chasing a ghost with no form, something that clutches at your soul but refuses to be named.

The silence of it is haunting, like screaming into a void that swallows your voice without a trace. Within that silence, the absence of words becomes its own kind of suffering.

At times, it seems like there are no words left for the weight I carry, as if I’ve exhausted every syllable in trying to articulate what hurts, only to be met with silence. It’s as though the pain has consumed every ounce of my voice, leaving me mute in its presence. There’s a cruel irony in desiring to express myself yet feeling that words have abandoned me.

I am deeply thankful for the people who entered my life and taught me how to speak, who showed me it’s okay to let the words I try to hide be heard. Slowly, I learned how to be vulnerable in the most trusted eyes. But now, I feel invisible again not because those eyes have gone blind, not because I can’t find my voice, but because I can’t find any language to describe the pain.

It’s as if the pain has evolved, becoming something too vast for words to hold.

It just naturally grew inside me, like a rose filled with thorns, slowly tearing the unseen parts of me. I feel like I’m losing all the blood without ever having the chance to cure the wounds.

I wonder if some wounds are meant to stay open, endlessly bleeding in ways no one else can see.

I’m tired of it all. I’m tired of everything life throws my way. I’m tired of surviving every storm. I’m tired of pretending that I’m not damaged at all. I’m tired of living… and looking for a language to describe what’s happening inside.

I feel like a ghost walking through the ruins of a life I no longer recognize. How do you express pain when even you can’t understand it? It’s like being lost in a familiar place, surrounded by shadows that used to be your own. The exhaustion of constantly trying to survive leaves no room for healing.

The words that once fell naturally from my mouth can’t seem to come out anymore. I need help, but I don’t want to ask for it. I am lost, but I don’t want to be found.

There’s a certain comfort in remaining unseen, in hiding within the shadows where no one can touch your pain. I don’t want to be weak anymore. But I am. And I hate that I am.

Sometimes, it feels like the hardest part of this journey is accepting that I’m broken, that no amount of strength can hide it forever.

I am tired. I am more than tired of trying to lessen the pain by sharing it, only for the pain to remain.

There’s a bitterness in realizing that even vulnerability doesn’t grant relief, that even the deepest confessions can’t erase the ache. I know how comforting it is to hear others say they understand, to feel the connection of shared pain. But I am tired. I don’t want to search for a language to describe my pain anymore, not when it offers no solace. There’s a weight in carrying this silence, but sometimes it feels lighter than the burden of words that don’t heal.

The silence we keep often speaks louder than the words we cannot find. Maybe, in the end, it’s the silence that understands us best.

Dear lovely souls,

There will be days when no words come, when the weight feels too heavy to carry, and when even vulnerability feels like it leaves you bear with nothing in return. It’s okay to not have the language to describe your pain. It’s okay to exist in the in-between spaces, where words fail but your experience is still valid.

I wrote this not to offer answers, but to acknowledge that sometimes, there are none.

Take care of yourself in whatever way you can, even when the exhaustion overshadows everything. You are not alone, even when it feels like you are walking through life’s ruins. You are not less for your pain.

Thank you for reading. I hope, in some way, this shared silence brings us closer to peace.

With all my heart,
Vina