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TALES OF A SUFFERING MAN
I sat in my car for 23 minutes before work not because I was early, but because I didn’t know if I had anything left in me.
My hands were shaking on the steering wheel. My chest felt tight, like something was sitting on it. My mind kept whispering, “Just go home. Just rest.” But reality doesn’t care how you feel. The clock doesn’t pause. Bills don’t wait.
So I stepped out.
By the time I walked into the building, I had already put my mask on. Smiled at a few people. Nodded like everything was normal. Inside, I was exhausted. Not just tired drained.
No one asked if I was okay. Instead, I got more deadlines. More pressure. More reminders about how “important” everything was.
That night, my phone didn’t give me a break either. My mum needed help with bills,my younger brother needed school fees,my girl wanted to know why I’d been distant.
I stared at the screen for a long time.
I didn’t tell anyone about the sleepless nights or the fact that I haven’t felt genuinely happy in months.
I just typed, “I’m fine.”
Because as a man that’s the only answer the world seems willing to accept.

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