As far back as I can remember, sadness seemed to be woven into the fabric of my existence. It was there in the faded photographs of my childhood, in the echoes of my laughter that never quite reached my eyes. My earliest memories are tinged with the melancholy that seemed to follow me like a shadow.

I grew up in a small town, where the days stretched long and the nights even longer. My parents were distant figures, lost in their own battles with life's hardships. Their voices often hushed, their smiles strained, as if happiness were a foreign concept they could never quite grasp. I learned to navigate the world quietly, tiptoeing around their silent struggles.

Loneliness became my constant companion. I watched other children playing in the streets, their laughter like music that I could never quite join in on. I longed for connection, for someone to understand the weight I carried on my young shoulders. But the walls I built around myself seemed impenetrable, keeping me isolated even in a crowd.

As I grew older, the sadness morphed and evolved, twisting into new shapes but never truly leaving me. Teenage years were supposed to be filled with excitement and discovery, but for me, they were a haze of apathy and self-doubt. I watched my peers chase their dreams while I stumbled through each day, feeling like an outsider in my own life.

As I entered adulthood, the weight of sadness settled around me like a heavy cloak. I tried to drown it in alcohol and distractions, but it clung to me stubbornly, refusing to be ignored. The days blurred together, a monotonous cycle of work and sleep and empty promises to myself that tomorrow would be different. Now, at twenty-five, I find myself standing at the precipice of a future I can't quite envision.

WicadiaTheGoat LEAVE ME ALONE.