Withdrawal into Oneself

You leave the room even while still sitting in it. The voices of others become a distant sound. Your gaze lowers, your shoulders draw forward, your breath grows shallow and quiet — as if you wanted to stop hearing your own breathing. Touch becomes too much. Words become too much. Even eye contact feels like an intrusion. You retreat inward, until barely anything of you remains visible on the outside.

Perhaps you recognise it in daily life: you cancel plans without being able to say exactly why. You sit in a group, listen, smile — but inwardly you have long since left the room. You spend hours alone in your room and notice how the door to the world becomes harder and harder to open. You become your own island — and after a while you no longer know whether this protects you or suffocates you.