And for a moment, I don’t have to wonder whether I matter, I just breathe. I know how strange that sounds. How can breathing be brave? But sometimes it is. Sometimes it takes everything in me just to get through a conversation, to sit around people, to act normal when I don’t feel normal at all. There are moments when the pain comes on so sharply that I can spend thirty minutes, sometimes even hours, just trying to settle myself enough to breathe properly again.
People don’t really know how much I carry when I’m around them. They see the face I put on. They hear me talking. They see me answering questions and carrying on with whatever needs to be done. What they don’t see is how much effort goes into being that person. Sometimes, before I even get home, I’ve already gone through countless versions of myself just trying to figure out how I should act, what I should say, and whether I even belong in the conversation.
Sometimes I just want to leave.
I’ll walk down the street by myself because being alone feels easier than trying to explain what is happening inside my head. I don’t necessarily want someone to follow me. I don’t want to have to talk. I just want some space where I don’t have to think about whether I’m being too much, whether I’m being annoying, whether someone actually wants me there, or whether I’m only around because there wasn’t another option.
That’s the part that hurts.
The thought that maybe I’m just an option.
Maybe I’m there because it’s convenient. Maybe I’m useful right now. Maybe I’m wanted until something better comes along. Maybe one day I’ll just be discarded and everything I thought meant something will turn out to have meant nothing.
I know those thoughts aren’t always fair. I know my mind can take one small thing and turn it into ten different possibilities. But knowing that doesn’t automatically make the feeling disappear.
Then I get home.
I get to my place, close the door, and I can finally be myself.
I breathe.
It’s almost like I have to find myself again after being outside for too long. I sit down. I become quiet. Sometimes I stare at the ceiling for what feels like hours. Sometimes I just lie there and let my mind run until it eventually gets tired. It can feel like an endless cycle of trying to get through the day and then recovering from the day once I’m alone.
And sometimes I genuinely wonder, Do I even breathe when I’m around people?
Do I even show that I’m there?
Because I can be standing right in front of someone and still feel completely absent.
Maybe that’s why I enjoy my own company so much. Not because I don’t care about people. I do. But when I’m alone, there is nothing I have to prove. I don’t have to wonder if someone is going to choose me. I don’t have to question whether I’m enough. I don’t have to become a different version of myself just to make the moment easier.
I can sit by myself . I can think. I can imagine another life. I can just exist without feeling like I’m being measured against somebody else.
And for a little while, I can finally breathe.
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