Tag: emotional exhaustion

  • Author’s Note

    People sometimes talk about depression like it’s constant sadness.

    For me, it’s rarely that simple.

    Sometimes it’s pressure. Sometimes it’s exhaustion. Sometimes it’s numbness so quiet you don’t notice how deep you’ve sunk until something shifts and suddenly you can breathe again.

    That’s where this piece came from.

    Not from a dramatic breakthrough— just a morning where the weight felt lighter.

    And when you’ve carried storms inside yourself for long enough, even small moments of relief can feel almost unreal.

    But one of the hardest things to learn about living with depression is this:

    good days don’t erase bad ones, and bad days don’t erase good ones.

    The storm passing doesn’t mean it’ll never return.

    It means you survived it long enough to recognize clear skies when they arrive.

    That’s what Reading the Sky became about for me.

    Not curing the storm. Not defeating it.

    Just learning its patterns. Learning when the pressure shifts. Learning how to keep breathing through both the thunder and the quiet afterward.

    And maybe most importantly—

    allowing yourself to enjoy the clean air when it finally comes.

    Rowan Evans


    A solitary person stands beneath clearing storm clouds as sunlight begins breaking through the sky after rain.
    Some victories are simply learning how to breathe again after the storm passes.

    Reading the Sky
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I woke today
    feeling different—

    like everything
    had changed,
    in an instant.

    Like the storm inside
    had finally gone silent.
    The winds had died,
    but I was alive.

    Smile on my face—
    for the first time,
    didn’t feel out of place.

    I could still see
    lightning on the edges
    of my perception—
    feel the rumble
    of thunder
    in my chest.

    It was softer now.

    This storm had passed,
    but another
    would surely come.

    It’s a cycle—

    and these things
    have a season.

    The storms?

    They come
    and go.

    That’ll never change.

    It’s learning
    to read the sky,
    to feel
    when the pressure shifts.

    Now let me say this plain…

    I’ve got depression.

    It lives in my chest,
    waiting to teach me lessons.

    It’s a storm
    I’ve weathered—

    more than
    any one person should.

    That’s what makes
    days like these—
    feel like the cleanest air
    I’ve ever breathed.


    If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]

  • Author’s Note

    There’s a strange kind of exhaustion that comes from feeling emotionally out of sync with your surroundings.

    Not just tired physically— but displaced internally.

    Like your body exists in one place, while some deeper part of you keeps reaching toward another.
    This piece came from that feeling.

    From late nights, shifting sleep schedules, wandering thoughts, and the growing realization that sometimes longing isn’t just emotional—
    sometimes it becomes geographic.

    The Tagalog woven through this poem wasn’t added for aesthetic reasons. It felt necessary.

    Because some emotions arrive more honestly in the languages tied to the places, people, and futures living inside your mind.

    And maybe that’s what this piece really is:

    a confession from someone physically rooted in one side of the world, while their heart keeps leaning toward another.

    Rowan Evans


    Person awake at night imagining distant city streets while feeling emotionally displaced
    Body in the west. Heart in the east.

    Out of Sync
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Eyes open—
    when they should be shut.

    You’re awake
    when you don’t want
    to be up.

    It’s hard to exist
    when your day shifts.

    Spirits fall
    when nothing’s wrong
    at all.

    You’re just
    out of sync…

    Four in the evening
    is near eight A.M.

    Time is the distance
    between my feet
    and the streets
    I want to walk.

    Seryoso ako—

    I want to go.
    I want to leave
    these streets behind.

    They were never mine.

    An American zombie,
    sleepwalking
    through life.

    Because the only time
    I feel alive—

    ay kapag ako’y
    nananaginip.

    When I sleep,
    I can walk
    different streets—

    body in the west,
    puso sa silangan.


    Journey into the Hexverse!

    [They Trip on Meaning]
    A free verse poem about miscommunication, emotional exhaustion, and the burden of constantly translating yourself for others.

    [Global Takeover]
    What if home isn’t a place—but something you build from the music you love? Global Takeover blends sound, culture, and identity into one borderless space.

    [Two Americans]
    What does it mean to share a country, a language, and still feel completely different? Two Americans explores identity, culture, and the quiet disconnect between people who should feel the same—but don’t.

    [I Don’t Mean Life]
    “I don’t want to be here” doesn’t always mean what people think. This poem explores identity, misunderstanding, and the weight of not feeling at home in your own environment.

    [121° East]
    A single line of longitude becomes something more—a reflection of distance, identity, and the quiet decision to become who you were always meant to be.

    If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]

  • Author’s Note

    There’s a difference between being lost… and being aware that you’re lost.

    This piece comes from that second place.

    Where you can see the distance between where you are and where you feel like you’re meant to be—but something in you still won’t move.

    It’s not loud. It’s not dramatic.

    It’s quieter than that.

    A kind of exhaustion that sits in your chest and lingers in your thoughts—while the world keeps going like nothing’s wrong.

    And you’re left there… knowing you’re meant for more, but not knowing how to reach it.

    Rowan Evans


    Person standing still on a shoreline at dusk, symbolizing feeling stuck and disconnected from life.
    Knowing you’re meant for more… but not knowing how to move.

    Quiet Devastation
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’ve been lost—
    wandering.
    I know,
    I’ve said that before.

    I’ve probably
    said it a lot.

    Wandering—
    through mental rot,
    every thought
    enough to make you stop.

    Out of sync
    with the world
    around me.

    Hand on my chest,
    I pledge
    to the nonsense.

    Exasperated sighs—
    you can see
    how tired I am
    just by looking
    in my eyes.

    It’s a quiet
    devastation—
    to be stuck in place,
    and know
    you’re destined for more.

    As my mind wanders,
    my feet stay stuck—
    glued to a shore
    that’s never felt
    less like home.


    If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]