AFTER I LEFT

Chapter 7: 7- A Place I Don't Belong



There are days I just wish one of my brothers would walk into my room and ask, "Are you okay?"—not out of obligation, but from a place of genuine concern. I long for that moment when I'd break down in their arms, cry my eyes out, and finally feel safe, feel seen. But it never happens.

They're always around, laughing loudly in the living room, cracking jokes, creating memories—but somehow, I always feel like a misplaced puzzle piece in that picture. I sit with them sometimes, force smiles, nod when they talk, even laugh when the jokes are half-funny—but deep down, I'm just… absent. Like my body is there, but my spirit checked out a long time ago.

It's not that they hate me, no. But sometimes, the absence of empathy feels a lot like cruelty. They don't see me. They don't notice when I withdraw or when my mood dips, or when my eyes tell stories my mouth can't speak. And maybe that's what hurts the most. That I'm surrounded by blood, yet I feel like a stranger in my own home.

My mom tries—she does. A single mother working herself to the bone just to make sure we have the basics. I see the tired in her eyes even when she's smiling. She holds everything together with strength I envy. And maybe that's why I don't open up to her—I don't want to add to her burden. She's done enough already. She's fighting her own battles while carrying us all.

So, I hide. I retreat into my room where no one bothers to knock. Where the silence wraps around me like a blanket. Where I can finally let down the smile I've been faking all day. That's where I come alive again—in solitude. That's where my thoughts can roam free, where I can cry without shame, where I feel seen… even if only by myself.

Sometimes I wonder: Is it normal to feel this invisible? Is it okay to wish your brothers were just a little more human, a little more tender, just for a minute? I dream of one of them just sitting beside me and saying, "Let it out. I'm here." But I've stopped expecting. Expectations only lead to disappointment, and God knows I've had more than enough of that.

I see other families—siblings who play and tease and hug and fight and make up—and I wonder what that must feel like. To belong. To matter in someone's small, daily life. To be chosen, even in your worst moods. But here, I'm either "too sensitive" or "just moody" or "looking for attention." Maybe I am. Maybe I'm just looking for someone to notice the storm I've been carrying in silence.

That's why I love being alone. Not because I hate people, but because alone is the only time I feel like I'm not being judged. In my solitude, I write, I dream, I imagine places where I'm seen, heard, loved. I drift into that little world in my head where I matter.

But even in all this, I'm still holding on. To hope. To the idea that maybe, one day, things will change. That one day, one of them will really see me—not just as the last born or the emotional one—but as a human being, fragile and needing warmth. Maybe, just maybe, someone will finally reach out, not to scold or dismiss, but to simply say, "You don't have to go through this alone."

And until then, I'll keep pretending in the daylight and healing in the dark. Because even when the world feels cold, I still have my imagination—and sometimes, that's enough to keep me going.

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

Tip: You can use left, right, A and D keyboard keys to browse between chapters.