When Silence Becomes the Loudest Grief

No one ever saw me bleeding, because my pain wasn’t visible. There were no bruises, no broken bones. Just this constant, quiet ache inside me that I carried every day. The kind of pain that doesn’t scream out loud but grows heavier in silence. The kind that makes you sit in a room full of people, smiling, laughing even — while inside, you’re barely holding yourself together.
Most days, I pretended to be okay. I’d nod, say the right things, show up when I had to. But a part of me always wished someone would really look at me and ask, “Are you truly okay?” And mean it. Not out of politeness — but because they could feel something was off. Because they cared enough to notice.
I loved people deeply. Gave them the best of me. I was always the one trying harder, holding on longer, giving more — hoping someone would do the same for me. But they didn’t. I loved like it was everything, and they received it like it was nothing. I stayed loyal, even when they grew distant. I gave warmth, even when all I got back was cold silence.
And slowly, I lost pieces of myself. I kept adjusting, kept making myself smaller just to be accepted, to be chosen. I became softer and more understanding, even when I wasn’t being treated right. And when I had nothing left to give, they still looked at me like I wasn’t enough.
I didn’t ask for much. Just presence. Just someone who wouldn’t leave when things got heavy. Just someone who wouldn’t pull away when I was struggling silently, when I needed comfort but didn’t have the words to ask for it. But one by one, they all left. Even the ones who said they never would.
Now, I sit with this emptiness. It’s not dramatic. It’s just always there. A quiet void that never really goes away. It’s like I’m still waiting for a goodbye that was never said. Still wondering if I was the reason they walked away. Was I too intense? Was I too emotional? Or was I just never what they truly wanted?
And the hardest part is, I don’t even cry anymore. Not because I don’t feel it — but because the tears stopped coming. Like even they got tired of falling when no one was ever there to wipe them.
I used to believe love was enough — that if you gave it wholeheartedly, it would come back to you. But I learned the hard way that love, alone, doesn’t guarantee anything. Especially when you’re the only one trying.
Now I’m just trying to pick up what’s left of me. Trying to rebuild the parts I buried just to keep others comfortable. Trying to believe that maybe, one day, someone will stay. Not for the easy version of me — but for all of me. Even the parts that are still healing.

~AV💔✍🏻