Invisible Girl

My Dear Stranger,

I grew up learning how to disappear if things start to feel overwhelming.

Not because I wanted to,

but because no one ever stayed long enough to really see me.

No one taught me how to

No mother's warmth to hold me,

No father's love to protect me.

There was no gentle place to land,

no arms that felt like home,

no voice that said, You’re safe here.

Only silence,

Only space,

Only lessons learned too early

about standing on my own without choices.

I watched love happen to other people.

I watched them be chosen, protected, spoken to with care.

And I stood there, pretending it didn’t hurt,

pretending I didn’t notice the difference.

I learned how to swallow words.

To keep thoughts locked inside my head.

How to keep feelings killed inside my chest

because every time I tried to explain myself,

It felt like speaking a language no one understands.

So I became quiet.

Not peaceful—just contained.

Friendships came and went like passing weather.

They stayed when they needed something,

left when I finally needed them.

And love—love was something I gave with both hands open,

again and again,

only to be met with absence.

I gave everything,

and still ended up feeling like I was never enough.

It hurts ... to always be the one who loves deeply,

but never truly loved back.

What's wrong with me

that I never get to be someone's first choice?

Am I not worthy of love?

I don’t think I ever asked for too much.

I just want to be understood. To be loved. That's it.

My Dear Stranger,

Over time, I started to believe

that being unseen was my destiny,

that being unchosen was my punishment,

that something in me was unworthy of love.

Now, I don’t dream anymore.

I don’t hope.

I don’t even ask to be loved.

I just wish

that one day,

I can feel less invisible.

Less misunderstood.

Less like a background character in everyone else’s life.

Just once,

I want my voice to land somewhere safe. Being heard. Accepted.

I want to be chosen without having to beg.

I want to live without explaining why I deserve to.

Until then,

I write.

Because these pages are the only place

that never turns away when I finally speak.

Your Stranger

Vie