The Weight of Unluck: A Life Lived in Shadows

Since the day I was born, it feels as though misfortune has been stitched into the fabric of my existence. Every corner of my life seems touched by an invisible curse—opportunities vanish before they arrive, friendships fade like whispers in the wind, and joy remains a distant mirage, always just out of reach. There is no fun, no job worth calling purpose, no friends who stay, and no life that feels truly mine. My health wavers like the tide, never stable, never predictable. Interests come and go like passing clouds, but nothing sticks, nothing brings meaning. Each day is not lived—it's endured.

The world buzzes around me, vibrant and alive, while I remain numb, watching from the outside like a ghost haunting my own life. All I want some days is for the clock to stop ticking, for the silence to be broken—not by noise, but by peace. But even that feels too far to reach.

I've become a spectator in my own story, watching as others move through life with purpose and connection while I remain anchored in this limbo of unluck. The simplest tasks feel monumental, and every small victory is quickly overshadowed by the next wave of misfortune. It's exhausting to keep pretending that everything might change tomorrow when history has shown me otherwise.

Yet somehow, I continue. Not because I want to, but because I must. There's a stubborn ember inside that refuses to be extinguished, no matter how strong the winds of misfortune blow. Maybe that's all I am—not a person living, but a will persisting against all odds.