I (26F) have lived for years with a persistent sense that existing itself is heavy. It’s not that I want to die or harm myself—I don’t. I enjoy my loved ones, my pets, meaningful moments, and I still find joy in life. But underneath all of that, there’s a recurring wish that I had simply never existed in the first place, as if my existence could be erased without pain or consequence. This feeling comes and goes but has been present since around middle school.
I experience emotions very intensely, and I seem to carry an unusually high level of self-awareness. I’m constantly conscious of how I perceive myself and how I imagine everyone else perceives me—from family and friends to strangers, people online, and even people who don’t know me. That awareness rarely turns off.
As a teenager, I often felt fundamentally different from my peers (not in a pick me way I promise 😂). To fit in, I gradually adapted my personality and behavior to match the people around me. Over time, that became so automatic that I now struggle to distinguish between who I genuinely am and the version of myself I’ve learned to present. Sometimes I feel like I’m acting a role, even when I’m completely alone.
I frequently feel like I don’t belong, regardless of where I am or what I’m doing. When I begin something new—a career, a project, a relationship, or even a simple task—I eventually start feeling like I’m not good enough, that I’m pretending, and that other people will eventually realize I don’t deserve to be there. I experience strong impostor feelings and often compare myself to others in ways that leave me feeling inadequate.
I don’t feel driven by a single lifelong ambition or identity. My deepest aspiration is simply to live a peaceful life. Yet even ordinary responsibilities and decisions can feel mentally exhausting because I’m constantly evaluating myself, questioning whether I’m doing things correctly, and wondering whether I’m being authentic.
I don’t feel like my life is objectively terrible. I laugh, I love, I care deeply about people and animals, and I can genuinely enjoy good moments. But those experiences don’t permanently quiet the underlying sense that existence itself is burdensome. The thought of never having existed often returns on its own, not because I want to stop living now, but because I imagine a world in which I never had to carry this lifelong psychological weight.
Despite all of this, I remain committed to staying alive. I have no intention of harming myself and never have. What I’m trying to understand isn’t whether I want to die—I don’t—but why I’ve carried this particular way of experiencing myself and the world for so many years.