“Life on Pause: A Real One’s Confession Who’s Tired of Just Surviving

 

I'm 29. And I have no idea why I wake up anymore.

Honestly? I’m not really living. I’m just… existing. Getting through the day. Breathing, because my body still does it automatically.

From the age of 18, my life was wild.

Parties. Escort work. Streets. Shady shit. People with no rules. Money came fast. So did adrenaline. I flirted with jail but somehow never ended up inside. I was always on edge — but at least I felt something back then. Some kind of thrill. Some sense of purpose, even if it was toxic and temporary.

But now?

Now it’s just silence.

No noise. No rush. No direction. Just me… stuck somewhere between my past and whatever the hell the future is supposed to be.

And here’s the real messed up part: I got out of that lifestyle. I tried to do "better."

Tried to work. Tried to be “normal.”

But everything just feels empty.

I don't know what I want anymore.

I don’t know who I am.

I don’t even know what I’m good at.

People keep saying the same shit:

“Find yourself.” “Just work hard.” “Start small.”

Man, I’ve heard it all. And yeah, I’ve tried. I really have.

But I’m tired. And nothing I do fills me up. It’s like I’m pouring energy into a hole with no bottom.

I do the thing. I finish the shift. I go home.

But nothing hits. Nothing feels right. Nothing feels real.

It’s not even sadness.

It’s just… numb.

Like I’m walking through life underwater, slow and muffled.

I laugh. I talk. I function.

But inside, it’s just fog.

And the worst part?

It feels like everything I lived through — meant nothing.

All that struggle, all the chaos, the trauma, the hustle…

And now these past two years? Just me going through the motions, trying not to fall apart.

No career. No dream. No real spark. No energy to care.

And yeah, I’m close to the edge.

Real talk — I’m scared I’ll start drinking heavy again, just to feel something.

It’d be too easy to slide right back down.

But here’s the reason I’m writing this:

I’m still here.

Barely, maybe. But I’m here.

I don’t know why. But I am.

If I can write these words — if I can name the void I feel — then maybe, just maybe, that means I haven’t given up yet.

Maybe someone out there feels this too. Maybe you're reading this and thinking, “Damn… that’s exactly how I feel.”

Then you’re not alone.

And neither am I.

I’m not here for pity.

I just wanna be real, even if it hurts.

I wanna be seen — not filtered, not fixed, not judged.

I wanna live again — not just survive the next 24 hours.

And maybe I don’t have a plan. Maybe I don’t have a “goal” or some cute little self-help mantra.

But I have this moment.

I’m still breathing.

I’m still writing.

And I’m not gone yet.

So if you’re out there standing on the same edge —

know this:

We don’t need to be happy.

We just need to stay human.

And it’s okay to not know why we’re still here.

Just… don’t quit yet.

I haven’t.

Today, I’m still here.

Tomorrow?

We’ll see.