If you’ve ever fallen onto your bed hysterically laughing at how hopelessly messed up everything is, you’ll know what I mean when I say it’s a weird feeling to be okay with nothing making sense.

So here I go. It’s a weird feeling to be okay with nothing making sense.

It’s also a weird feeling to notice yourself stopping to care about people you used to and not getting hurt by things that used to hurt. But even weirder, is the acceptance that follows and says, “It’s okay”, that not caring is normal and good for you.

Where does it start? Where do we draw the line and mark it, “the beginning of not giving a s— anymore”?

I don’t know if there’s a clear line to draw, but there is a moment.

There is a moment when the innocent belief that things get better, and that everything happens for a reason, dies. It’s the moment when everything first falls apart.

That’s where the doubt begins. The doubts that maybe everything doesn’t always end up good.

At first it doesn’t break you. You can fight it for a while, not let the dark win, push it back and replace that innocent belief with something else that brightens your life.

But it doesn’t last.

It always comes back, and you eventually become scared of everything real in life. Afraid to love, to care, to put effort into something, less it turn around and destroy you.

In the end, it breaks you. We can only last so long alone.

The first break is by far the worst. The first break feels like nothing will ever be okay, and that everything is completely finished.

But it gets better. Trust comes back with time. The right people will find you, and with some luck they’ll find the hope somewhere in you and bring it back.

The next break isn’t as bad. You expect this one since things got better and you could normally breathe again. The next break is even less.

And over time, you stop caring. Being broken is almost a routine, something normal. The hope is still in you, but you don’t believe in it, and definitely don’t trust it. People become objects, objects become distractions, and life loses meaning.

Then some night you’ll find yourself lying in bed like I was, and see something on your phone that reminds you of back when you cared. Not knowing how to react, you might do what I did and just laugh. Laugh at the stupidity of it all and be somewhat amused at something you can’t quite put your finger on.

But, dare I say, there is a hope, that this isn’t all there is. The hope that at some point it actually does get better, and the cycle of breaking ends for once and for all.

It’s stupidly optimistic to hope for something better to be real, but it’s depressingly pessimistic to assume that there is nothing but the dark.

The answer isn’t clear or concrete. It may not even be real. But I hope it is. It’s hard to admit, because admitting means you have hope that can be taken.

But still, I hope there’s more. And I hope you do too.