There exist two sides of a story in this life, right? But what if we aren’t on either side, but are somewhere in the middle hanging in suspension? In a space people don’t talk about much unless, “they’ve made it?” What about those of us still navigating through this space though?
Do You Really Want to Know How I’m Feeling?
How am I feeling?
That’s a loaded question. Because I’m not quite sure. I’m not angry. I’m not numb. I’m not happy either. I’m just… here. Existing in a kind of muted state, where everything still functions but nothing feels particularly real or urgent.
I’m aware that I’m emotionally burnt out, physically spent, worn down, yet I have this extra energy to keep writing.
There’s a strange kind of terror in not knowing what you feel. Like the compass inside is glitching — not spinning wildly, but just… stuck. Unmoving. It’s not sadness, exactly. It’s the awareness that I’m emotionally disconnected until something extreme, like anger, drags me back into myself.
Right now, I’m sitting in my cluttered apartment. There are dishes in the sink, clean clothes waiting to be folded, a bed left undone. And instead of doing any of that, I’m typing this. Or I’ve been fiddling with my lock-picking set for a while. Something about misaligned priorities — or maybe just redirected energy — feels easier than confronting the basics of daily life.
It’s not dramatic. It’s not catastrophic. But it is unsettling. And maybe that’s the most honest answer I can give right now.
Letter from the Void
If any of this resonates, I write more like this in my ongoing project, You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything.— it’s my newsletter with thoughts from the quiet spaces, where clarity sometimes hides. You’re welcome to sit with me there, too.
If you’re not ready for that but still want to leave a trace, drop a one-word comment: how you’re feeling — or maybe just “here.”
Or if this reminds you of someone in your life, maybe show them this. Sometimes feeling seen or recognizing bits of ourselves in something outside of us can make it seem we’re less alone.
You could check out my other work if you’d like. No spam, no pressure, just an invitation to sit with something that you might be feeling and I might have been able to put it into words. Sitting at the edge of the void wondering if someone hears us whisper, and maybe someone did. One day at a time.
Three months ago, I was stacking boxes in a warehouse, choking on my own thoughts. I had no one to talk to, so I turned to a blank page instead. Since then, I’ve written over 50 blog posts — not because I had a plan, but because I needed to feel something.
— The Archivist
Blogging My Way Out of Silence
Three months ago, I was stacking boxes in a warehouse, suffocating under fluorescent lights and the weight of my own thoughts. I felt like I was disappearing — not in a poetic way, but in that quiet, invisible kind of way where no one asks how you’re doing, and you stop knowing how to answer if they ever did.
So I started blogging.
Not because I had a plan. Not because I thought I’d be good at it.
But because I had nowhere else to put the things that lived in my head.
I Blog Because I Wanted to Feel Alive
For years, I kept myself small. I buried my curiosity beneath jobs, routines, silence. I didn’t think anyone would care what I had to say, so I stopped saying anything at all. But something in me couldn’t stay quiet anymore.
Blogging became a way to write myself back into existence.
To prove — if only to myself — that I was here. That I am here.
That I’m not just a forgotten footnote in a story I didn’t ask to be part of.
From Warehouse Floor to Digital Garden
Since I started, I’ve written over 50 articles, shared thoughts on dozens of different topics, and published every single one without pretending to be an expert. I wrote because I needed to. I wrote for 18 days straight. I built a digital garden to house the chaos. I made a manifesto — something I could hold in my hands and say: “This is mine.”
I have 4 subscribers.
One comment.
200+ scattered likes and visits.
It’s not viral. It’s not monetized. But it’s real.
And that’s more than I had before.
The Burden I Carry Is Free
I named this post after a phrase that kept haunting me: The burden I carry is free.
All these thoughts and feelings and desires I hold — they don’t cost anything. No one asks me to carry them. But they’re heavy. So heavy.
Blogging gave me somewhere to lay them down.
Sometimes I feel like I’m too much.
Sometimes I feel like I’m not enough.
Sometimes I feel like I’ll explode from overthinking, and sometimes I feel absolutely nothing at all.
And still, I write.
Music That Speaks When I Can’t
There’s a French artist I found recently, Indila. Her song “Parle à ta tête” loops in my ear like a mantra. I don’t even know French, but something in her voice feels like she’s talking directly to me from across time and the sea. I might not be struggling with fame, but I do know that the performative aspects of living is unbearable.
Let me live as myself— free to express, explore, to know I am alive as I feel deeply, unapologetically, and real. Not as a fake, not as someone who might eventually be lost to time, not even making it into the cliff notes of life. This is my mark, this is my proof that I was here, and I wonder if anyone else feels this same pressure to perform, even if we aren’t under the same spotlight as celebrities, we still are on the world’s stage after all.
I’ve been listening to “Monster” from Epic: The Musical, too — and it hits deeper than I expected. It echoes that internal voice that tells me I’m selfish for wanting more, broken for feeling differently. Like I should be grateful, quiet, small, and I’m a monster for thinking otherwise.
But then I play “Legendary,” also from Epic, and I remember:
There’s still a part of me that believes in more.
There’s still a part of me that hopes and I shouldn’t be ashamed of wanting more or being conflicted all at once. The dissonance is real, yet what happens when we want to break free from our shells, free from what is in exchange for what could be? Is that really being foolish or are we seeing something we can’t ignore anymore?
Even I haven’t figured that out, but I lean towards, “Yes — I saw something and I want more of it in my life. Is that so wrong?”
Blogging for Survival, Not Fame
Originally, I hoped this blog might help me make a little money. Just enough to buy time. Breathing room. A chance to chase my curiosity full-time. But I found myself torn between writing honestly and writing for clicks.
I’m not a content machine. I’m not a brand. I’m just someone with a lot of feelings and a need to be heard.
But I still want this to grow. Not for fame or appeasing the algorithms — but for connection.
Because I know there are others out there like me, staring at a blank screen, or walking their own version of a warehouse floor wondering if anyone else feels this lost and full at the same time.
If that’s you — I see you.
Maybe You’ve Felt This Too
Like you’re disappearing, slowly.
Like you’re carrying too much and no one knows.
Like your thoughts are too loud, and your world is too quiet.
Like you’re terrified of dying before you’ve ever really lived.
If so — you’re not broken. You’re not alone.
There’s nothing wrong with wanting more. Or needing a way to be seen.
Where Do I Go From Here?
Ain’t that the kicker — I don’t know myself exactly.
Maybe I’ll offer a zine. Or a newsletter. Or something small you can hold onto when your own thoughts get too loud. I have a PDF you can look into as well.
Maybe someone will read this and decide to start writing again or start that something they said they’d do someday.
Or for the first time.
Or simply whisper, “Me too.”
That’s enough for me right now.
I don’t write because I have the answers or I’m an expert at anything.
I write because I need to remember I’m still here.
And maybe, if you’ve read this far, you do too.
Want to Support or Connect?
If any part of this resonated, you can:
Subscribe to the blog — I share honest, raw reflections like this often. Buy me a coffee (Coming soon?) — Support helps me keep creating without forcing performance. Or leave a comment — I’d love to hear your story too. Even a simple, “same”, is enough for me to know someone gets it and I’m not always writing into the oblivion alone.
You’re Still Here — And That’s Enough.
Thank you for reading this. Really.
I don’t know who will find this post, but if you’re reading these last words, just know — I’m glad you’re still here. And I hope you keep going.
Your thoughts matter.
Your voice matters.
And maybe, just maybe — your story’s only getting started.
Below are other articles you could check out, just because. No pressure, no need to rush, just options to explore. From this part of the void to yours, until next time.
— The Stratagem’s Archives
What post of mine stuck with you—and why?”
“What would you want to see more of?”
“Would you support this space if I offered a way to?”
When I first thought about starting my blog, discomfort wasn’t just a passing feeling—it was a weight. Thoughts swirled in my head:
“You’re falling behind in life.” “You’re stuck in jobs that only keep you afloat.” “Why aren’t you building something of your own?”
That spiral came from something as small as reading a chapter of The Opposite of Spoiled by Ron Lieber. Suddenly, I was face-to-face with questions I had avoided for years.
Life in the Grind: Between Gratitude and Restlessness
I’ve been lucky in many ways:
I live on my own in a small studio.
I have steady full-time work with benefits.
I pick up part-time hours on top of that.
I see family often, and I’m not alone.
But I also know the grind: 3AM alarms, long commutes, and sitting in traffic wondering if this is all my life will be. I should be grateful (and I am), but envy and restlessness creep in. I want more—more peace, more freedom, more of a life that feels like mine.
Why I Finally Chose to Write
I knew I couldn’t keep waiting for the “perfect time.” If I didn’t start now, I might never start at all. A blog felt like:
A break in my exhausting routine. A way to sharpen my voice and courage. Proof that clumsy and done is better than perfect and never begun.
This space isn’t about being polished—it’s about being present, learning, and creating even when it feels uncomfortable.
The Dragon We All Face
Many of us wrestle with that question: “Am I doing enough?” The truth is, it’s never comfortable to face it. But discomfort is a sign of movement, of growth, of slaying the small dragons that keep us from even trying.
I don’t have the answers yet. But I know this: starting, no matter how small, is already a victory.
A Note to Fellow Archivists
If you’ve found your way here—whether in the early morning hours, on a restless night, or during a pause in your own journey—know this space is for you too. This little archive is a safe place to reflect on your path, even if it doesn’t fit neatly into life’s expectations.
If something here resonates, I’d love to hear your thoughts. And if you’d like to walk alongside me, subscribing means you’ll also get my Letters from the Void—personal reflections and early glimpses of projects I’m building behind the scenes. And a copy of The Stratagem’s Manifesto as a thank you gift from me to you for subscribing.
Because sometimes, finding each other in the noise is proof that we’re not as alone as we thought.
Other Articles
If you’d like to explore more about doing things even though you’re not ready to comfortable to, I have other articles below too check out:
