Chasing Peace in a World that Feels Too Loud

Everyone seems to expect me to live up to some invisible standard—the kind that’s etched into the fabric of society without my consent. It’s like there’s this checklist I’m supposed to follow, with boxes labeled “successful,” “put together,” “happy,” and “unbothered.” But I never agreed to this. I never signed up for it. And honestly, it feels impossible to reach.

Right now, all I want is simplicity. No noise. No expectations. Just Abba, me, a rescue dog, and the quiet of nature. That’s it. That’s the dream. Yet somehow, it feels like too much to ask. Like I’m selfish for wanting less when the world keeps shouting that I should want more.

Today was one of those days where just getting out of bed felt like an achievement. I managed to go to therapy, but I couldn’t bring myself to make it to school. Even taking a shower felt like climbing a mountain, but I did it—though it took more out of me than I’d like to admit.

My anxiety is through the roof most days, and the places that are supposed to feel safe—like school—don’t. I hate the unspoken rule that says I have to “suck it up” and pretend everything is fine when it’s not. Why is it so hard for people to understand that sometimes, it’s not about being strong? Sometimes, it’s about just surviving the day.

But even in this darkness I'm feeling, there’s a small light. We’ll call her Connie. She’s the only person who truly understands me—the one soul who makes me feel less alone in all of this. She doesn’t expect me to be “fixed” or “better.” She just sits with me in the mess, and somehow, that’s enough. I don’t know where I’d be without her.

Despite everything, I’m not worried about what’s next—not in the way people expect me to be. There’s a strange kind of peace in that. It would be easy to just give up, to fall asleep and never wake up to face this world again. And believe me, that thought has crossed my mind more times than I’d like to admit.

But deep down, I believe there’s a reason I’m still here. My Abba saved my life during those horrific 49 hours, and I know it wasn’t without purpose. I don’t have all the answers. I’m not even sure I’m asking the right questions. But I’m still here. I’m breathing. I’m searching.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for now.