A Processed Past


I have told you this before. The honesty in your writing is so tragic but beautiful. I don’t know how you can be so honest with your words.

I am not honest with my words. A lot of times my words are a reflection of things past and feelings felt. Nothing is ever present for me.

I think that people do notice us. And people do see us. Just not the people we would want to be seen or noticed by. It is easier to feel seen, it is easier to feel around, present, if the person/people whose attention you want acknowledge you. If those people do not acknowledge your presence it becomes easy for you to feel invisible.

I think the random women staring at you were a reminder that you exist outside yourself. That you exist, that you are present in that moment. Maybe they looked at you and saw something in themselves. Maybe they also felt unnoticed and wanted you to remind the, of their existence.

I do not know. I am learning more and more that our internal reality greatly affects our external reality. I have been noticing that whenever I feel small and vulnerable inside, the easier it is for me to feel unnoticed. The easier it is for me to feel unwanted, or attacked and/or ganged on by people even though they are not really against me.

Even these thoughts are a processed past.



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