Neglected.
Abandoned.
Overlooked.
Forsaken.

Words that only scratch the surface of what I feel most of the time.

Am I not worth it?
Am I not worth checking on?
Am I not worth texting first?

Why do I always have to be the one who reaches out?
Why can’t I, for once, feel like someone is looking for me—
wanting me, missing me, remembering me?

It’s like if I don’t speak, I don’t exist.
If I don’t remind them, they forget I matter.
And that thought sits heavy in my chest,
like maybe I was never worth remembering in the first place.

I’m simply lonely.
Yeah… that’s the term for it.

And I feel it behind the closed doors of my room—
and it’s unbearable.
Unbearable in the way silence screams at me,
in the way it coils around my ribs until I can’t breathe.
Loneliness grows louder the longer I sit with it.
It eats at me,
Until I’m clawing for reasons,
some excuse to make it seem less like I’m unwanted
and more like it’s just me.

So I excuse it as “social anxiety.”
My neat little shield,
my shy excuse for why I run from people.
Not because I’m an introvert—
my ever-loving cover story—
but because I’m terrified.

Terrified they’ll see me and not want me.
Terrified they’ll look once,
measure me against their shifting standards,
and find me lacking.

Every room feels like a test.
Every smile feels like a mask I’ll never wear well enough.
The pressure to mold myself,
to blend into them,
to erase myself just to belong—
it’s crushing.

And I hate it.
God, I hate it.
But still… I join.

And when the day ends,
when the mask finally cracks,
it’s just me again.
Me and the silence.
Me and the weight pressing down on my chest.
Me staring at the ceiling,
wondering if I’ll ever matter enough
for someone to notice I’m drowning.

But no one comes.
No one ever comes.

Am I not worthy of your love?
Did I break something I can’t see?
Tell me—
Please…
Just
Say
It.

This silence cuts deeper than words.
It hurts—
to know my feelings hang
unanswered in the air.
It hurts—
to carry love for you
while yours rests gently
in her hands.

I love you.
But you—
you love her.

I love you.
You love me.
So why does silence
stand between us
like a wall neither of us dares to touch?

Why can't we say it—
out loud,
clear,
honest?

Is it fear?
Timing?
Or the quiet belief
that if we speak it,
we might lose
what we're too afraid to reach for?

We carry love
like a secret
burning quietly
beneath the surface.

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙣
is the echo of being unseen,
especially by the one
you’d tear yourself open for.

Nothing stings deeper
than the fleeting thrill
of being noticed—
only to find
you were just a shadow
of someone else in their eyes.

That moment—
when your heart’s quick thrum
starts to falter,
when the butterflies in your stomach
melt into silence,
wings torn by truth.

The disappointment follows—
slow and sure,
like your favorite scene buffering
just before the ******,
all because the signal was too weak
to carry what mattered.

This—
this is the ache that lingers.
Not seen on skin,
but etched beneath it.
A pain not physical,
but eternal.

Sometimes, I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs.

I want to say that I feel stuck—like I’m trapped in a life that doesn’t feel like mine.
I want to say that I hate my life.
That I feel constantly alone.
Constantly.

And maybe, deep down, I know that isn’t entirely true—that some people might care.
But I can’t seem to escape this overwhelming feeling that no one really does.
No one checks in. No one truly sees me.

I feel like I’m always falling short, like I’m constantly lacking something essential.
And I know I shouldn’t compare my life to others—but it’s hard not to.
It feels like I’m watching the world pass by, like I’m on the sidelines while everyone else lives fully, effortlessly.
And I’m just… stuck, observing.

I hate that I’m not confident. That I’m not outgoing.
That I don’t seem interesting enough for people to want to stick around.
Sometimes I wonder if I add anything meaningful to anyone’s life at all.
If I disappeared, would it even matter?

Some days, I hate how I look.
I hate my body.
And more than anything, I hate me.

I hate the complexity of emotions—how you can feel so much at once and still not fully understand any of it.
I hate how heavy it all feels.
I hate this version of life I’m living.

Right now… I just hate it all.