Sometimes I wonder why I’m still here.

Especially in those moments of quiet when everyone else is asleep, or I’m in the middle of writing an email, or doing chores at home, and it hits me: Why did God give me another life? I survived something I wasn’t supposed to. I got another chance. I’m grateful, truly. But there are days when I question it. Days when I feel like I’m just floating between responsibilities and routines, wondering what it all really means.

I know it sounds pessimistic. Maybe it is. Or maybe it’s just what people don’t talk about out loud because we’re supposed to stay “strong” or “positive.” But honestly? There are times I want to give up. Sometimes there’s this quiet panic that comes out of nowhere, the heavy what-ifs about a future I’m not even sure I believe in anymore, the quiet grief for dreams I know I’ll probably never reach.

And I don’t mean the usual stuff like bills or tight budgets—though those don’t help, obviously. I’m talking about the kind of tiredness that sits in your chest. The doubt. The fear. The loss of direction. Some days, even hope feels too heavy to carry.

They call it an existential crisis, I think. But if I’m being honest, I prefer calling it temporary insanity. At least that sounds like it might pass.

I only came across the term recently. Existential crisis. it’s when a person begins to question the meaning, purpose, or value of their life. Not necessarily because something specific happened, but because something inside quietly shifts. And when I read that, I paused. Because maybe that’s exactly what this is. Maybe I’m not broken. Just… searching.

And no, I’m not writing this to spread negativity or make anyone feel heavy. It’s more of a wondering out loud. A quiet hope that maybe someone out there, maybe someone in my age group, feels this too. And if you do, what do you do about it? How do you carry it? Maybe we can help each other, even just by knowing we’re not the only ones trying to make sense of it all.