Overstimulated and Hollow

I don’t feel connected to anyone anymore. Every voice feels like static. Every look feels like pressure. When someone speaks to me, all I want to do is scream leave me alone, crawl out of my own skin, disappear into quiet. Not because I don’t love them—but because love still asks something of me, and I have nothing left.

I’m overwhelmed by everything. By people. By noise. By expectations. Even the ones who mean well feel like weight on my chest. Especially the ones I love. That’s the part that hurts the most—realizing even they are too much right now.

My mind is going to places I don’t recognize. Dark, sharp places. Survival mode places. Financial stress sits in my gut like a stone after what my ex dumped on me, and it poisons every thought. There’s no rest. No relief. Just a constant hum of panic and resentment and exhaustion.

I’m not angry. I’m depleted. I’m running on fumes and guilt and the instinct to shut down before I shatter. Kindness feels loud. Conversation feels invasive. Existing feels like too much.

I don’t want to be alone forever. I just want the world to stop touching me for a minute. I want silence without consequences. Space without explanations. I hate who I am becoming under this pressure, but I don’t know how to be anything else when everything feels like it’s caving in at once.

This isn’t me giving up.
This is me trying not to break.