Breathing Through Emptiness

I often feel that I am the least priority for God, as if I were the last person on His list. Why do I feel this way? I cannot say for sure. Perhaps I did something terribly wrong in life, and this is His way of punishing me.

For as long as I can remember, I have been criticised, humiliated, compared, questioned, and left alone. Thirty years of being misunderstood and pushed aside have shaped me into a complex person, difficult to be with. My thoughts rarely align with those around me. I struggle to trust, I doubt that good things will ever come my way, and I no longer lean on others for help. Slowly, I let go of my dreams.

I chose self-respect over ambition because chasing dreams began to suffocate me. I cried for guidance, but none came. Directionless, I convinced myself that maybe my dreams were never meant for me. Now, I do not even know what I should work toward — how to simply earn a life that is basic, simple, and dignified.

In this materialistic world, even the free gifts of nature are sold at a price. Poverty has been a constant shadow in my life. I watched my parents endure unimaginable hardship, and I lost my father because of money. Despite years of hard work, nothing has changed for my family. We remain stuck in suffering. Our home barely stands, and our lives feel just as fragile. People around us offer sympathy, but sympathy has never built a better tomorrow.

My mother still prays with hope, still believes that one day God will listen. I, however, no longer share that belief. I am not angry with Him. I am only beginning to understand — perhaps punishment must be endured. Someone once told me, “You will not find peace, happiness, or success until you have fully served your punishment.” Maybe ours is a punishment that will take more than a lifetime, stretching into another generation.

These years have turned me into a realist. Though I remain an emotional person, my willpower has faded. I no longer believe in miracles, in peace, or in magic. Once, my heart used to quietly hope for wonders, but with time I have realised such things happen only to those who go beyond limits with faith and energy. I no longer have that energy left. Life has drained me of it all.

Now, I simply breathe and move through each day. My dreams have become distant, almost meaningless. The only thing that still anchors me is my self-respect. For that, I am willing to lose everyone, if I must.

My heart aches endlessly, though my tears rarely fall anymore. How I wish I could cry hard enough to release this weight, but the tears remain locked within. Gradually, I feel myself becoming an escapist — not because I enjoy the pain, but because I have learned to live with it.