Do you see me?

It’s why I text. To remind you to not forget I exist. Yes, you do need reminding. That in itself makes me sad. How inconsequential am I to you, that you need reminding of my existence, inspite of seeing me everyday?

Which leads me to the important question. Do you see me?
 

It’s a dramatic question, I know. Of course, you see me, physically speaking. I’m a person who exists in your life, if only on the periphery, and I’m not going to magically disappear because you don’t take the time to notice who I am. But I have this feeling that you have a sort of selective vision, that you’re happy to come in and out of things. When you speak to me for a few precious days, a few (so few) moments, acknowledging my existence, I can almost convince myself that you really do see me, that you know I’m here. But then you retreat back into your comfortable silence, your precious distance, and I am reminded that you don’t.

You are simply able to forget about me, to render me invisible, a dot on the horizon that you can take a pleasant stroll to visit when it is convenient. Something that amuses you. Like a love lorn dog in need of constant attention, that you choose to ignore when you don't have the time or bent of mind. I am not in your inner circle, nowhere near enough to cause you actual harm. So I sit here, yelling at the top of my lungs to get you to turn around, waving flares against the night sky and shouting your name. You might turn around, but you’ll never really look at me.

With you, it often feels like those dreams where you want to say something — want to scream, want to get a point across, want to be heard — and your open mouth refuses to make a sound. There is some incredibly small, seemingly simple task you want to accomplish and you just can’t do it for whatever reason. I mean sending a text to you is like praying. One does it fervently, sending it out into the world on pure faith. Hoping everytime that that you’ve read it, heard the message i’m trying to convey, wishing that there’ll be a reply. But like all things based on faith, you know a reply may never come, nor may absolution. 

I know that it’s not easy to look someone in the eye and tell them how you feel (or reject them, even, if that’s what needs to be done) but it is the kind thing to do. It is the honest, human thing to do. Because letting someone linger in a purgatory where they are never quite seen or heard — where they are constantly left questioning whether a perceived subtext was all in their heads or based in reality — is cruel and unusual punishment. I want to know that you see me, that you know what I look like, even if you don’t like it. I want to know that you’ve remembered our interactions, that they hold a significance in your mind, even if it’s not the kind of significance I want them to have. Because I have gone hoarse screaming into the wind in your general direction.

It’s easy to forget me. It’s easy to pretend that I’m not here when you don’t want to see me. And I can see how it must be tempting, how it must stroke your ego and remind you that you have power over people whose existence you barely consider. Just remember, on those days that you forget me, I am rejected, embarrassed and insulted all at the same time.

I know. I tell myself everyday "Silly girl, what makes you think he cares?"

You can lift me up in an instant, and yet you destroy me without even trying.

Adopted and adapted from http://thoughtcatalog.com