You wear layers no one else needs. Warm rooms feel like winter. Fingers stiffen without warning. You wrap blankets tighter. Still, something inside stays frozen. People say it’s in your head. But your skin remembers differently.
Tired doesn’t mean sleepy anymore
You sleep. But it doesn’t count. You wake up the same. Foggy. Slow. The energy never lands. Coffee becomes routine, not rescue. Walking feels like dragging. Nothing gives back what daily life takes.
Hair falls without goodbyes
Showers become silent losses. Strands collect on shoulders, pillows, sinks. It’s not dramatic. But it doesn’t stop. You try to care less. But the mirror is honest. And your hair is not what it used to be.
Your weight writes a story without your consent
You eat like always. Maybe even less. Still, the scale rises. Or stays. Or laughs. The clothes shrink or maybe you expand. It doesn’t matter. The story’s the same. The body resists logic.
Emotions shift without invitations
You cry easier. Anger finds you faster. Joy takes longer to arrive. Moods swing without rhythm. Everything feels too much. Or nothing at all. You notice. But you can’t control it.
Memory starts to blur at the edges
You forget simple things. A name, a date, the reason you opened the fridge. Words disappear mid-sentence. You pause. You pretend. The mind feels like it’s floating. You hope no one notices.
Digestion doesn’t like surprises anymore
The foods you trusted turn against you. Meals feel heavier. Bloating becomes familiar. You eat slower, hoping to predict reactions. But the body decides on its own.
Heartbeats dance to a new rhythm
It speeds up when you’re still. Slows down when you move. Flutters. Pauses. Starts again. You notice. You worry. But tests say you’re fine. Still, your chest disagrees.
The mirror tells half-truths
Your face changes slowly. Puffy one day, hollow the next. Skin dulls. Eyes sink. You recognize yourself, but not fully. You wait for the familiar. But it doesn’t return.
Motivation doesn’t answer the call
You want to care. You want to try. But nothing feels urgent. Or important. You sit more. You start things, forget them. The will is missing. You notice its absence more than its presence.
Periods arrive like strangers
They come too early. Or late. Or loudly. Or not at all. They don’t follow patterns. They make their own. You track. You guess. But the body keeps secrets.
You feel like a guest in your body
Movements feel different. Small things take effort. Joy doesn’t visit like before. You smile less. Or more carefully. You feel watched by your own reflection.
Temperature becomes a personal war
Rooms feel wrong. You’re always adjusting. Turning fans on, then off. No one else understands. Your body argues with the weather.
The world feels louder and you feel smaller
Sounds overwhelm you. Crowds exhaust you. Conversations take effort. You want silence. But even silence feels heavy.
Everything slows, but time moves faster
You do less. But the day still ends. Hours pass. You feel unaccomplished. But tired. You wonder where it all went.