When Everything Falls Apart but You Still Have to Keep Living

Sometimes it feels like life is just one nonstop wave of crap hitting you in the face. You get through one thing, barely catch your breath—and boom, here comes the next one.

I honestly thought last year was the hardest one yet. Court stuff, police, legal cases piling up… it felt like I was constantly walking around with a weight on my chest. Like something bad could drop on me at any second. There wasn’t any peace. Just stress, guilt, and survival mode.

And yeah, I made mistakes. Drugs, wild nights, stupid and reckless choices. I’m not proud of that part of my life. But I made it out. I stopped breaking the law. I cleaned up. I cut ties with the past. And for a second, I thought, finally—a fresh start.

But here’s the thing no one really talks about: sometimes the hardest part isn’t getting out of the hole. It’s figuring out how to live after you’ve climbed out. You expect relief, peace, some kind of reward for surviving. But what you get instead… is silence. Confusion. And this heavy emptiness.

I’m dealing with a leg injury now, and it might sound like a small thing compared to my past, but it’s not. It feels like a symbol of everything that’s broken in me. The pain is physical, but it’s tied into everything else that hurts inside. Doctors say I should be fully recovered by the end of the year—physically, emotionally, mentally. And I want to believe that. But some days, I just don’t have it in me.

I sit at home surrounded by this nice, cozy apartment. Everything looks put together. But it’s just a shell. Outside these walls, it’s empty. Inside me—it’s even worse.

I’m almost 30, and all I can think is: what have I actually done with my life? There’s no career. No stability. No sense of achievement. Just this floating feeling, like I’m stuck between what I survived and what I’m supposed to build—and I don’t know how to do it.

And the worst part? I feel like I’m dragging my family down with me. Not on purpose. But because I can’t offer them anything solid. No consistent income, no plan. Just... me. Trying to hold it together. And yeah, I spiral because of that. Guilt, shame, pressure. It all just keeps stacking up.

And look—I know it’s not my fault the world is so damn complicated. I didn’t choose to be this lost. I didn’t ask to feel nothing when I think about jobs or careers or dreams. Everyone says, “Do what you love!” But what if nothing lights you up? What if everything just feels... dull?

Some days, I question why I’m even trying. Like, seriously—what’s the point? It feels like every bit of progress just gets erased by the next wave of life crashing down. Like I’m building a house in the sand, and the tide won’t stop rising.

But you know what? I’m still here. Still breathing. Still writing. And maybe that counts for something.

Because being in hell and not giving up—that takes strength. Way more than people realize. Getting up every day, even when everything feels pointless? That’s a kind of quiet courage no one claps for, but it matters.

I don’t know where I’m heading. I don’t know if I’ll ever find that thing that makes it all click. But if you’re reading this, and you’ve felt even a piece of what I’m describing—know this: you’re not alone. I’m right there with you.

Searching. Falling. Getting back up—slowly, clumsily, but still moving.

And maybe one day, both of us will look back and say,
“Damn… that was rough. But I made it.”