This is the feeling of being so unknown, so unseen. As if I’m not perceived by others; they don’t interact with my true self, only their projection of me. I’m consumed by the sensation that no one will ever know me, I’ll never be fully recognized. Still I’m right here, I’m peeling back layer of layer of skin to show myself, why aren’t you looking? Why don’t you understand? Will I ever find someone who will? Will it be this, always? Will I be alone, always? Even the people closest to me find me a stranger at times. Why don’t you know me? Why don’t you try to? I feel like understanding may never come. I feel like I only truly exist in my own head.
It’s a strange longing, as if something is missing from your life and it will never come, or maybe it never existed in the first place. The longing for someone to take your hand and say: I see you. You are young and foolish and for the first time you experience loneliness and melancholia. It’s the paradox of wanting company in self-isolation. There’s a fascination of this loneliness, the wish of sinking into it. There are creatures in your dreams at night and they’re crawling under the floorboards. They are here to keep you company.