Not angry.

Not even okay.

Just… numb.

Last week, something happened. Small to the world, maybe. But not to me — because it came from someone who means something.

And here’s the thing: for them, one word — “sorry” — makes it all okay. Just like that. Wrapped up. Forgotten. Done.

But for me? It didn’t vanish. It didn’t fade. It froze me.

No tears. No shouting. Just silence. A flatline.

That’s what numb feels like. Not explosive, not dramatic. Just a quiet emptiness where feelings should be.

And maybe that’s worse. Because at least pain screams. At least anger fights. Numbness? It’s a dead quiet that eats you alive.

 Numb doesn’t scream. It just stays. Quiet. Heavy. Unseen. .