I’m Not Angry. I’m Exhausted.

I’m not yelling. I’m not slamming doors. I’m not writing paragraph-long texts begging to be heard. I’m quiet now—and that scares people more than anything. But what they don’t realize is that I’m not angry anymore. I’m exhausted. Emotionally, mentally, spiritually depleted from carrying rage that was never mine to hold in the first place. It’s not that I stopped caring—it’s that caring started killing me.