“Dear Self, Why Did You Go Silent?”

You froze on the inside without even realizing it.

Day after day, moment by moment, the chill crept in—

quietly, like fog rolling in at dawn.

Now, you are like a painting.

Not just any painting—one that looks beautiful from afar,

still and complete…

But up close, it’s a mess.

Smudged.

Stained with colors that clash, drip, and spill over one another.

Not vibrant.

Just… chaotic.

You used to think this chaos made you interesting.

Now you’re not so sure.

You ask yourself so many things.

And the questions don’t stop.

When did I stop being me?

When did silence become so loud?

Am I still afraid like I used to be?

Or is fear just a part of me now, stitched into my every breath?

You don’t get answers.

Only echoes.

The kind that hurt your head,

the kind that make you press your hands against your temples

as if you could squeeze the noise out.

Is your mind still your own?

Or is it your pain that moves your body now?

What drives you—will, or wounds?

Have you truly lost yourself?

Did you give your heart away piece by piece until it turned to stone?

Or did you build a wall so high even you can’t hear what’s inside anymore?

Are you betraying yourself

by pretending you’re fine when you’re anything but?

You ask again:

Why did I lose the answer?

But that’s not the right question, is it?

Maybe the answer never left.

Maybe you did.

Or maybe… you never asked out loud.

You just screamed inside

where no one could hear it.

Not even you.

You live in between noise and silence.

You speak, but not with your voice.

You scream in ways that no one notices.

You listen—oh, you listen to everything.

But you’re deaf where it matters.

To your own needs.

To your own pain.

You turned your life into a reflection of you:

One single color on a vast canvas.

They call it minimalism.

They call it clean.

But you know better.

You know it’s black.

The black that sits in your chest.

The black that you carry in your eyes, even when you smile.

You tried to add light.

Yellow for hope.

Blue for peace.

Red for love.

But each color bled into the black and vanished.

Each new feeling made the darkness heavier, not brighter.

The more you tried, the more it consumed you.

People tell you to feel again.

But how do you feel

when you don’t even remember what joy looks like?

What if even sadness feels like emptiness now?

What if you’ve grown so used to numbness,

that any emotion at all feels like danger?

You remember when you used to be soft.

Gentle.

Open.

But each time you opened,

someone walked in,

broke something,

and left without looking back.

So now, you close.

You guard.

You harden.

Not because it’s right,

but because it’s safer.

You’ve learned to wear silence like armor.

You’ve taught yourself that quiet is a weapon—

but you never meant for it to be used against yourself.

And yet, here you are.

Hurting in ways no one can see,

bleeding from invisible wounds

that never had time to heal.

And still—

you look in the mirror,

and your reflection seems exhausted.

Not from the world,

but from carrying your silence for so long.

You ask again,

Why did I lose the answer?

But maybe, just maybe…

The better question is:

When did I give up on asking?

And what would happen

if you started again?