"How do you think people view you?"
A question they asked.
It echoed louder than it should have.
It reminded me
of how much I've forgotten myself—
So much,
I don't even know how I view me anymore.
This isn’t something I’m proud of.
It’s been months
since I looked at myself in the mirror,
and even when I do,
I don’t recognize the person staring back.
I forgot what my eyes look like.
Were they ever bright?
Were they ever mine?
Now, they just seem tired—
tired of pretending,
tired of being open windows to a soul that’s
too quiet, too cluttered, too cold.
I'm not even sad anymore.
I'm just done.
Done trying to make sense of it,
done pretending I’m not breaking.
It’s not dramatic—
it’s just this dull ache
that never goes away,
like background noise
you’ve lived with for so long
it becomes your silence.
I miss who I was.
Or maybe I just miss having
a version of myself I could believe in.
And yeah—
they probably think I’m rude.
Distant and cold.
But I’m not trying to be.
It’s just hard to care
when even your own existence
feels like background noise.
And I don’t care.
Not about how I’m seen.
Not about expectations.
Not even about what I’ll be tomorrow.
Because how can I care
about the world’s view of me
when I can’t even hold eye contact
with my own reflection?
So no—
I don’t care how people view me.
Because I don’t even know
if there’s anything left
to be seen.
🖊️ Umclite
U