The Black Hole Inside My Chest

There is a specific kind of exhaustion that has nothing to do with how many hours you slept last night.

For the past two years, I have been living with a chronic depression that doesn’t just take away my energy—it actively consumes it. People often think being exhausted means your battery is at zero. But it’s not an absence of something. It is a presence.

I know exactly what it looks like. Inside me, right between my sternum and my stomach, there is a black hole. Heavy, dense, and dark.

It sits there, and its only job is to absorb. It absorbs the light, the small moments of beauty, the energy I try so hard to generate. And in return, it releases only absence, sadness, and a quiet, heavy resignation.

When you live with this black hole, waking up is the hardest part of the day. You open your eyes, and before your feet even touch the floor, the tiredness is already there, fully formed, waiting for you. Against this kind of exhaustion, even the longest night of sleep feels completely useless. Your body might rest, but the gravity of the dark space inside you never stops pulling.

If you woke up today feeling like you are already running on negative energy, I want you to know I see you. You are not lazy, and you are not failing. You are just carrying a gravity that others cannot see.

For now, just breathe. In this corner of the world, you don’t have to fight the gravity. You can just sit down, and let yourself be tired.