november sits heavy on my shoulders,
like a month that forgot
how to be gentle.
every day felt like a misstep,
every breath like thin ice,
and I swear—
I don’t know what’s happening around me anymore.
I blink
and the room spins,
the world blurs,
people’s voices fade
like they’re speaking through water.
one second I’m standing,
the next—
nothing.
just darkness swallowing me whole,
and a hospital ceiling
greeting me like a stranger.
why does my own body feel like a battlefield?
why does my mind keep whispering
something’s wrong, something’s wrong
even when I can’t point at the wound?
november was supposed to pass quietly,
but it hit me like a collapsing sky—
health, emotions, hopes,
all slipping through my fingers
like shattered glass
I’m too weak to pick up.
and the worst part?
I can’t figure anything out.
every answer I reach for
melts before it touches my palm.
every step feels unstable,
like the ground is mocking me,
like life is asking questions
I don’t know how to answer.
i’m trying—
god knows I’m trying—
to stay upright
while everything around me
keeps falling apart
in slow motion.
but somewhere in the rubble,
a small voice inside me says:
you’re still here.
fainted, shaken, heart bruised—
but here.
breathing.
alive.
still fighting in your own broken way.
maybe november wasn’t meant
to destroy me—
maybe it was meant
to teach me where I hurt,
so I learn how to rise
without pretending.
and when december comes,
I hope it brings quiet,
a little warmth,
and a version of me
that finally feels steady again.
