Life has a way of slipping away bit by bit when things stay hard for too long. It never felt sudden. People just faded out slowly, and I hardly noticed until the quiet got too loud. Friends used to drop by or call regularly. Then weeks turned into months between messages. I made excuses for them—work, kids, life getting busy. But I knew my ongoing problems weighed on everyone. Carrying my mood became too much, so they stepped back. I don’t blame them entirely. It still hurt.
Family tried at first. They offered advice, checked in, sent a little money when they could. Over time, though, the same issues kept circling with no end. Their patience thinned. Conversations grew shorter, edged with irritation. At gatherings I felt the awkward glances, the unspoken “when will this change?” I started skipping those events to avoid the tension. Work fell apart too. Focus slipped under constant stress and exhaustion. Small mistakes piled up. Bosses stopped cutting me slack. Jobs ended, one after another, until finding new ones felt impossible.
Eventually I was alone most nights. The darkness brought endless questions—where things went wrong, why no one stayed, what I could have done differently. Sleep rarely came. Hope felt thin some days, gone on others. I wondered if anyone would even notice if I disappeared. Those years taught me how heavy real isolation feels. Continue Reading https://drbokko.com/?p=35867
