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Beatriz Franca

who am i?

what can you do when even the people closest to you, the ones whoʼve seen every nook and cranny of your soul, that spend every waking hour connected to you, somehow donʼt feel you slipping away? itʼs a blame game that canʼt be played without risk of drowning in my own hypocrisy seeing that even I did not feel myself fading out until it was too late.


did I do it on purpose? was this my subconsciousʼ doing? did it feel the need to protect me from the pain of losing myself even before it happened? and how did it happen? was it slowly, gradually, until I could not look back and think of a time I felt real and complete? or was it abruptly, like having the ground you stand on being ripped from under you, leaving you falling into an endless abyss of darkness and questions? is it too late? am I ever going to feel like me again?


all questions that require answers, answers that are as essential for me as the air I breathe and every moment without answers feels like the air is growing thinner, my chest tightens, and my windpipe is slowly getting crushed under the weight of all those uncertainties.


somewhere, deep in my mind, a part of me is screaming saying theyʼve been asking for help for an eternity. have i? the more I think about it the more every small action and decision shapes itself into a cry for help. how could i have not noticed?


so, slowly but surely, i feel a little less like myself. I donʼt even know who i was anymore. was my mind always this dark, this depressive cycle of jabs and insults? was i always this tired? a tiredness that sleep cannot and will not fix. a tiredness that seeps into my bones, into my bloodstream, leaving me oh so exhausted i canʼt even bear think of tomorrow.


who am i? who was i? and who will i be?


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