I try to tell them. I really do. But they just smile, nod, and tell me to “stay positive.”
But how do I stay positive when the whispers never stop? They slither into my ears, soft at first, then sharper, louder. They say my name when no one is around. They laugh when I’m alone. I cover my ears, but it doesn’t help.
I see things, too—shadows that move when they shouldn’t, figures standing in the corner of my room. People say, “It’s just your imagination.” But imaginations don’t make you flinch at something no one else can see.
And the smells… Oh, God, the smells. Smoke fills my nose even when the air is clear. Rotting meat, even when I’m sitting in my own clean room. I gag, but no one else reacts. They don’t smell it. They don’t hear it. They don’t see it.
I tell my friends, my family, my doctor. They tell me to relax, to “not overthink.” But how do you not overthink when your mind is a battlefield? When reality shifts like sand under your feet?
I need help. I know I do. But I also need someone to believe me. I need someone to listen, really listen, without brushing it off as stress or exhaustion. Because this? This is real to me. And I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending I’m okay.