I cant do this

@gonerlair

🥺

I know it's difficult, but the longer you neglect yourself, the harder it will be.

It's important to do small, manageable tasks daily that allow you to feel like yourself again.

It will make you feel better.

I would start by showering daily.

Eating well .

Fresh air.

Exercise.

Getting back to skin hair.

Looking after your hair.

And finding something else that allows you to enjoy your week and have something to look forward to.

It takes time to feel better, it's day by day, step by step.

Sending you my genuine best wishes 💜 💕 

@gonerlair

It sounds like so much is weighing on that heart right now — the kind of heaviness that seeps into every corner of daily life, until even simple things start feeling like climbing mountains. The sense of disconnection, the loss of joy in things that once felt comforting, the self-criticism, the anger that doesn’t feel like one’s own — all of it points to deep emotional exhaustion. It’s not that something is “wrong” with this person; it’s that they’ve been trying to survive for too long without enough care, rest, and gentleness coming back their way.

When life starts feeling like this — when even the mirror feels like an enemy, when small joys fade, when words dry up before they can be shared — it’s usually a sign that the mind and body have been under quiet strain for far longer than realized. The soul, in a way, is asking for pause. For softness. For reconnection.

There’s no need to rush to “fix” this. Healing here begins in stillness — in moments of permission to not be okay.
Instead of searching for motivation, try creating tiny, safe spaces for gentleness: sitting near sunlight for a few minutes, washing the face slowly instead of perfectly, listening to a song that once felt like home. When the mind whispers, “I’ve let myself go,” try softly replying, “I’m still here. I just need care, not criticism.”

It’s understandable that sharing feels hard right now. When people have been misunderstood before or have had their pain minimized, it becomes easier to silence oneself than to risk feeling unseen again. But even if words can’t come out fully yet, small expressions — a note written down, a quiet message, a walk alone — are forms of self-communication. They remind the heart that it hasn’t gone completely silent.

The anger and irritability aren’t signs of being a bad person — they are signals from a nervous system overloaded with sadness and fatigue. Anger is sometimes grief in disguise, sometimes helplessness finding its only available doorway. Each time it appears, it’s an opportunity not to scold oneself, but to ask gently: “What is this part of me trying to protect?” That simple curiosity turns anger into a teacher instead of an enemy.

And about the body — it’s understandable to feel at war with it when life feels out of control. The mind tries to find something tangible to direct the pain toward, and the body becomes the easiest target. But that body has been carrying this person through days that feel impossible. It’s been breathing through the tears, enduring the sleepless nights, showing up when the spirit couldn’t. It deserves gentleness, not punishment. Even something as simple as placing a hand over the chest and taking a slow breath is an act of quiet reconciliation.

Healing, right now, doesn’t mean becoming joyful overnight. It means learning to sit beside the sadness without judgment. It means acknowledging, “Yes, this hurts. Yes, I’m tired. But I’m still here.”
There will come a time when the numbness fades and small joys start to reappear — but not because this person forced themselves to be positive. It will happen because they allowed themselves to rest, to grieve, to soften toward their own pain instead of running from it.

Maybe start with something very small — choose one gentle ritual for the next few days: washing the face not out of duty, but as a quiet moment of care; writing a few words each night about what the heart felt that day; stepping outside and feeling the air for a minute. Small acts, repeated, become lifelines.

There’s no shame in not recognizing oneself right now. It just means this person has outgrown who they were — and hasn’t yet met who they are becoming. That middle place feels like falling apart, but it’s actually the space where healing begins to breathe.

It’s okay to not be okay right now.
It’s okay to not know what to do.
It’s okay to feel lost, angry, and tired.
What matters most is to not abandon oneself in the process.

Hey.. ik sometimes that stuff just takes over our mind and we feel so overwhelmed by all the chaos but sometimes it's okayy to feel it all and takecare of it one by one. You can't ignore and let yourself go, try to do one step at a time and all will be good. I know it's very easy for anyone or even me to say these things when in reality you're the only one suffering through it but trust me, it gets better. Just don't give up, you're loved!!

If you want to talk about it, I'll be your listener, just takecare of yourself 🫶🏻