Nothing kills you quite like your mind. Not people, not situations, not fate, but the thoughts you carry in silence. It's the constant replaying of memories, the fear of what might happen, and the regret over what already has. The mind has a way of turning small wounds into deep scars, whispering doubts until they sound like truth. And because that voice feels like your own, you rarely question it. Slowly, without noise or warning, it drains you, not by destroying your body, but by exhausting your peace.
