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English 43 Online
unknownnnnnn:

Bored Enough to Stop Wanting..... I’m not sad in a dramatic way. No storms, no shattered rooms. Just bored the kind of bored that leaks into your bones and makes everything feel unnecessary. Bored of waking up to the same ceiling with the same thoughts lined up like chores. Bored of days that ask for effort and give nothing back. I don’t want a life the way people describe it goals, plans, futures with bullet points. I don’t want to build something I already feel tired of maintaining. It’s boring having to care all the time. Boring to pretend that small talk is connection, that productivity is purpose, that surviving another week is something to celebrate. I’m bored of explaining myself. Bored of “you’re young, you have time.” Time to do what? Repeat this feeling with better clothes and a different schedule? Life feels like a hallway that never ends, just doors that lead to slightly rearranged rooms. Same walls. Same air. Same quiet disappointment. I don’t want tragedy. I don’t want rescue. I just want the pressure to stop the pressure to want things, to dream, to care about outcomes that feel hollow the moment I touch them. People think boredom is harmless. But they don’t talk about how it eats motivation, how it drains color, how it makes existing feel like a task with no off switch. I’m bored enough to stop wanting a life, not because I hate it, but because I don’t feel inside it anymore. Like I’m watching days pass through thick glass, unimpressed, untouched. And maybe that’s the worst part not pain, not chaos, just the quiet realization that boredom can make you question why you’re here at all.

Nina001:

this is so real

heymon3y:

ok

heymon3y:

real ngl

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unknownnnnnn: Static at 2 A.M. My mind doesnu2019t knock. It rearranges the furniture at 2 a.m., asks me to notice every creak. I lie still like that might help, like silence is a language my thoughts forgot. They line up with receipts, proof of moments I replayed too many times to pretend they were accidents. Iu2019m fluent in overthinking itu2019s the only subject I never skipped. I can turn one sentence into a courtroom drama, cross-examine my tone, convict myself without witnesses. People call me u201cstrongu201d because I donu2019t spill. They donu2019t see the cup shaking in my hands, how much effort it takes to keep the surface calm. Confidence comes in phases. Some days it fits like skin. Some days itu2019s a costume I forget Iu2019m wearing until it starts to pinch. I laugh on cue. I answer u201cfineu201d with convincing timing. Iu2019ve learned where to pause, how long eye contact should last, how not to sound like a question when Iu2019m one. The past isnu2019t loud. It doesnu2019t need to be. It just clears its throat at the wrong moments, reminds me what I already survived and what might try again. But hereu2019s the part I donu2019t downplay I stay. Even when my thoughts argue in circles, even when doubt files appeals. I choose presence over perfection. Breath over escape. I donu2019t win every round, but I donu2019t forfeit myself either. I am not the static. I am the one listening, deciding what deserves a response and what can fade without taking my name with it.
13 hours ago 2 Replies 0 Medals
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