I tell myself I’m fine because I’m moving.
I wake up,
I shower,
I show up to school with the right words,
The practiced smile.
I laugh hard enough to pass the test.
But the truth is quieter.

I dissociate in the shower,
Watch the water slip from my hands like time I can’t touch.
I sit on the edge of my bed after waking up,
Staring at the floor as if it might tell me how to keep going.

I scroll at night,
Thumb aching,
Mind empty,
Searching for nothing but distraction from everything.

It’s not laziness.
It’s not disinterest.
This half-alive state where I can still perform but every step costs more than I have.

That’s why I’m exhausted.
That’s why I can be so social at school yet let every message rot unanswered once I’m home.

I am not cold.
I am not careless.
I am frozen moving just enough to look alive.
While inside,
I am standing still.