Insignificant

It always starts the same way. 

A tightness in my chest. 

Not the kind that makes you panic, but the kind that quietly settles in, like something heavy has decided to make itself at home. I know this feeling. I've met it so many times before. It only takes one trigger: neglect. Someone asks me something, and I answer with so much excitement. I tell a story, share an idea, or talk about something that genuinely makes me happy. 

For a moment, I feel seen. But then the conversation moves on, the topic disappears, and it's never brought up again. Maybe they simply forgot. Maybe it wasn't that important to them. But somehow, my heart translates it differently. It whispers, 

"See? You were never important enough to remember."

And suddenly, I become invisible, like a shadow standing in a room full of people.

It's strange how something so small can hurt so much. I don't even know why this keeps happening. Is it because I'm already having a bad day, because my emotions are simply louder than usual? Or is this something much older than today? 

Maybe this feeling didn't begin here. Maybe it began years ago, back when I was a child. Back when I wanted so desperately to tell my parents about my day, about something I drew, something I learned, or something that made me excited, only to realize no one was really listening. Maybe that's where it started. Maybe every forgotten conversation today echoes every unheard story from back then. And maybe that's why my chest hurts before my mind even understands why.

People always say, 

"Don't take it personally." 

I wish it were that easy. 

Because I know, logically, that people get busy. People forget. People have their own lives. I know they probably never meant to hurt me. But my body doesn't know the difference. To my body, neglect is still neglect. 

Every single time it happens, a younger version of me quietly wakes up, still waiting for someone to ask, 

"So... what happened next?" 

Still hoping someone remembers. 

Still hoping someone chooses to stay.

Maybe that's why I crave validation more than I want to admit. Not because I need applause, but because somewhere inside me there's still a child trying to prove that her voice is worth listening to. And maybe the hardest part isn't that people forget. It's how quickly I start forgetting that I matter, too.