I lose my grip on reality quite often. It's in these moments that I begin to feel detached from my surroundings.

It's not that I don't understand the problems; in fact, I might understand them too well. My mind races ahead, constructing scenarios, predicting every twist and turn, analyzing each potential fallout. It's like a relentless storm of thoughts that leaves me paralyzed with fear and anxiety.

There are moments when the pressure becomes so intense that I choose to surrender to the uncertainty. I want to stop trying to predict what will happen next. I choose to embrace the unknown, to let life unfold without my constant interference. I crave the freedom to just be, without the endless calculations and anticipations.

But when I choose to let go, guilt washes over me. I feel like I'm giving up, like I'm failing to live up to my responsibilities. It feels as though I'm abandoning my duty to prepare, and that makes me feel weak. The guilt demand me that I should be stronger, more capable, more in control. It tells me that by surrendering, I am betraying myself and those who depend on me.

But sometimes my mind screams for escape. The thought of facing difficulties head-on fills me with an indescribable dread. I want to run away. Far, far away from everything.

The truth is, more often than not, I do run away. It's not physically; it's mentally. When the pressure builds and the problems seem too much to handle, I disconnect. I shut down from everything around me. It's difficult to explain, but it feels like I'm not really there. My body is present, but my mind is elsewhere, lost in a chaos of thoughts and emotions.

My mind is a noisy, chaotic place, and it's a place I can't escape. It's filled with an endless stream of worries, fears, and what-ifs that drown out everything else. This mental noise becomes so unbearable that I find it impossible to focus on the world outside. Conversations become muffled, tasks become impossible, and even the simplest interactions feel like a burden.

In these moments, I retreat. I build walls around myself, creating a barrier between me and the rest of the world. It's a form of self-preservation, a way to protect myself from the overwhelming noise in my head. But it's also a form of isolation. By shutting down, I distance myself from the people and experiences that might help me find peace.

When I retreat, I feel like I'm floating in a void, disconnected from everything that once grounded me. It's a lonely, desolate place, where time seems to stretch endlessly, and the noise in my mind becomes my only companion. I replay memories, overthink future scenarios, and get lost in a labyrinth of my own making. It's exhausting, yet I can't seem to break free.

I wish I could explain this better to those around me. I wish they could understand that when I seem distant or unresponsive, it's not because I don't care. It's because I'm trapped in my own mind, struggling to find my way back to reality. I'm fighting a battle that they can't see, one that leaves me drained and depleted.

The truth is, I want to be present. I want to engage with the world and the people I care about. I want to break free from this mental prison and find a way to quiet the noise in my head. But it's a constant struggle, and sometimes, running away mentally feels like the only option.

For now, I take it one day at a time.