A Plea in Silence

I disappear because I want to be found.

Disappearing has become my default response to hurt. It’s a coping mechanism born of exhaustion. I no longer have the energy to argue or confront, unlike in the past. When wounded, I either lash out or vanish, seeking solace in silence. Yet, my retreat is often met with defensive walls. When I finally muster the courage to express my feelings, I’m met with explanations and justifications that invalidate my experience. The dismissive comments sting: "You’re overreacting," or "You made your choice." But I didn’t choose to have my feelings ignored; that was their choice. Even seemingly insignificant actions are twisted into expressions of hatred, a blatant disregard for my emotional state. The lack of consideration is a constant source of frustration. People readily let me disappear. While I do need space, my disappearing isn’t a rejection of connection; it’s a silent cry for help, a desperate plea to be found, a fragile hope that someone will care enough to bridge the distance. Yet, despite this silent yearning, despite the pain I carry, despite the vulnerability inherent in my retreat, I remain unseen, unheard. The loneliness is a crushing weight, a constant companion in my self-imposed exile. It’s a vicious cycle: hurt, retreat, and deeper isolation, a cycle I desperately wish to break free from, but lack the tools to do so. The silence is deafening, the absence of genuine connection a constant ache. I crave understanding, empathy—someone to see beyond the silence and find the person desperately seeking connection within. This unspoken longing is almost unbearable, a constant reminder of the chasm that separates me from those around me. I yearn for closeness, yet my coping mechanism pushes it further away. This paradox is the heart of my struggle, the root of my pain. I disappear, hoping to be found, but the silence only amplifies my isolation.