The Weight of Silence: My Story of Grief, Anxiety, and Overthinking
Life has a way of shaping us in ways we never ask for, and for me, the shaping began too soon.
My name is @scottykriz, and before I even had the chance to understand what family really meant, I had already lost mine. The passing of my parents at an early age left me with a silence that was louder than any noise I had ever known. It was the kind of silence that sits in your chest, not just around you—a silence that turns laughter into something foreign and comfort into something unreachable.
When most kids my age were figuring out who to play with after school or which dream to chase, I was learning how to survive nights filled with questions I couldn’t answer. I asked myself why life had singled me out. Why me? Why them? But no matter how hard I searched, the answers never came. What did come, however, were anxiety, panic attacks, and the constant weight of overthinking.
I became a loner, not by choice, but by the hand life dealt me. At first, I thought people would notice, that someone would step in and remind me that I wasn’t alone. I believed in people, believed they could stand in the gap, help me carry the load, and maybe even heal what I thought was broken beyond repair. But belief can be cruel.
I learned quickly that not everyone who smiles at you will stand with you when the storms hit. Some people disappear the moment things get heavy. Others stand close enough to watch but never close enough to catch you when you fall. That realization was another kind of loss, another kind of grief.
My trust began to fracture. I withdrew into myself, creating a world where I didn’t have to depend on anyone. The loneliness was sharp, but at least it felt safer than depending on someone who would eventually walk away. That’s how the cycle began, loneliness feeding anxiety, anxiety feeding panic, and panic feeding more loneliness.
On the outside, I tried to act normal. I forced smiles, pretended I was fine, but inside, I was a storm. My mind never stopped running. What if this happens? What if they leave too? What if I’m not good enough? What if life keeps taking? These “what ifs” became the background music to my existence, drowning out peace whenever it tried to find me.
Still, through it all, there was one small spark: survival. As much as I struggled, I refused to let the pain define me completely. Losing my parents, losing trust in people, becoming a loner, it all hurt, but it also taught me something about resilience. I began to see that even when people didn’t stand for me, I could learn to stand for myself. It wasn’t easy, and it still isn’t. There are days when the panic wins, when the anxiety feels like chains around my chest. There are nights when the overthinking pulls me apart. But I also know now that my story doesn’t end there.
I am @scottykriz—the loner, the overthinker, the one who battles anxiety and panic—but also the one who survived when life gave me every reason not to. My scars are my proof, and though they remind me of what I lost, they also remind me of how far I’ve come.