If You Ever Wondered Why I Didn't Say Anything

 I didn't say anything because I didn't know how to casually say,

"Hey, I feel like I'm fucking disappearing and I'm terrified no one would even notice"

I didn't say anything because every time I almost did, my brain went absolutely feral. 

Don't be dramatic. 

Don't be annoying. 

Don't ruin the vibe. 

Don't make it awkward. 

So I shut the fuck up. 

People think pain is loud. Like screaming or crying in front of everyone or completely losing your shit in a way that makes people uncomfortable. But my pain isn't like that. 

My pain is quiet and constant and fucking relentless. 

I'll be sitting right next to you thinking, 

I'm not okay. I am really, really not fucking okay. 

And you'll be talking about something random and I'll nod and smile and feel like I'm lying with my entire existence. 

Do you know how exhausting that is? 

Being "fine" when you're not fine is a full-time goddamn job. 

Sometimes I excuse myself to the bathroom and that's where it all falls apart. I lock the door, slide down the wall, sit on the floor like a fucking child, and just lose it. Ugly crying. Silent crying. The kind where your chest hurts and your head feels like it's going to split open and you're mad at yourself for crying but you literally cannot stop. 

The floor is cold. 

The light is too bright. 

Everything feels too much. 

And then there's the mirror. 

Fuck the mirror. 

The mirror doesn't comfort you. It doesn't tell you it's going to be okay. The mirror turns every shitty thing anyone has ever said to you and every cruel thought your brain has ever weaponized against you.

It tells me I'm too much. 

Too emotional. 

Too sensitive. 

Too fucking exhausted.

And somehow also not enough. 

Not interesting enough to check on. 

Not important enough to notice. 

Not lovable enough to stay.

It tells me, This is why no one sees you.

And in that moment - on the bathroom floor with my face red and my eyes swollen -- I believe it. Every fucked-up thought feels true. Every insecurity feels confirmed. 

Every fear feels like a goddamn fact. 

 I sit there thinking, If I just stopped showing up... would anyone even care? 

And that thought? 

That one fucking hurts. 

There's so much shame wrapped up in it too. Like I should be grateful. Like I should be stronger. Like I should stop needing so much from people who clearly don't notice anyway.

So I don't ask. 

I don't talk. 

I don't say shit. 

I carry it alone and tell myself this is just what being an adult is. Being tired all the time. Being lonely all the time. Being fine all the fucking time.

But I'm 23 and I feel exhausted in a way sleep doesn't touch. I feel lonely in rooms I shouldn't feel lonely in. 

--- Morgan, All of Me