Pieces of Their Unspoken

healing their wounds while hiding your own

note: when I say ‘you’, I’m actually referring to myself, and most of this is coming from past emotions that I felt the need to write on, I’m alright currently :)

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I stitch up their wounds with hands that tremble, but they never take notice.

They’re all too busy, absorbed in their own little worlds to understand that I am also living in my own. I am living too. My sole purpose in life is not to fix your problems while I suffer—is it?

I think I’m going mad.

I try to steady my breathing, to keep calm, to disctract myself. It doesn’t work. How dare I. How dare I be a ‘good listener’, and how dare they take advantage of that. Take advantage of me.

Why am I forced to bear the load of other people’s emotions when I can barely handle my own? Is this some kind of sick punishment for a crime I didn’t even commit?

I complain too much. I should be grateful that people trust me enough to share things with me. Why don’t I feel grateful? Is it my fault that I can’t stand to hear another complaint, another worry, another tear-filled rant?

I’ve always wondered if this makes me a bad person. Maybe it does. Maybe I’m the kind of person who gets too caught up in their own frustrations to care properly. I try, but it’s exhausting. I smile, I nod, I share the right advice but it never seems to suffice. And I hate myself for it. For wanting distance. For craving silence. Maybe I’ve never been the good friend they think I am. Maybe I never will be.

Sometimes, I wish I could be the one talking for a change. To have someone listen to me without rushing to fix, without judgment. But I swallow the words before they escape—because I’m not sure anyone really wants to hear them. I’m probably not worth listening to anyways.

“When you are alone - at sea, in the polar dark - an absence can keep you alive. The one you love maintains your mind. But when she's merely across the city, this is an absence that eats you to the bone.” - Anne Michaels, Fugitive Pieces

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Being the 'therapist friend' isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. You offer a shoulder to cry on, but sometimes you wish someone would notice when you’re the one in need. No one does, atleast for a while. Yes, maybe later, you will eventually find a friend group that doesn’t treat you like this, but the wait is tormenting. You’re telling me I just have to sit tight and endure mistreatment because ‘the right people will come around eventually’?

To start off, I’m sure a lot of you have seen the ‘Main Character syndrome’ phenomenon going around on social media and in real life. On the surface, it may seem that this is harmless but once someone starts thinking of others (who actually care for and support them) as side characters and not truly relavent, they start to get the mentality that it’s okay to be annoying, unnapreciative or just completely ignore someone when they’re the one who needs something from you just because ‘you’re the likeable main character, so it must be fine, right?’. These are the types of people who will quite literally recount all their problems to you, but God forbid you need support or advice, they ‘don’t owe you anything’. This is genuinely such an isolating experience; you are relied on for aid, but aren’t allowed to expect the same treatment in return. People start acting like they don’t even know you. You’re never just alone; you’re lonely. Lonely because no matter how many people you can consider to be your ‘friends’, not a single one will lend you a helping hand. You give and give, offering pieces of yourself until there’s nothing left to offer, but you can’t expect anything in return—you're just a side character, there to be used when needed, forgotten when you’re not.

Being the ‘good listener’ is both a blessing and a curse; how are you expected to always be emotionally availiable, give the right advice, and navigate your own issues on top of it all? It’s important to maintain a certain level of trustworthiness and credibility, but at what point does that turn into becoming everyone’s go-to person to rant to? Sometimes it means pushing aside your own issues to accomodate others. You know in your heart that this is not okay, but do you do anything about it? Probably not. It’s the constant repitition of ‘I’ll get around to talking to her about it some day…’ and feeling sorry for not hearing them out. You are quite literally swallowed alive by guilt, it fights to keep you inside its gaping throat as you pound against it, clawing at it. Searching, failing, to find an escape. You can’t stop yourself from thinking it; This is my fault for being such a terrible friend. I should have told her. I should have known. Truth is, how would you know? How would you magically find out the future consequences of someone’s actions? Exactly, you can’t. That doesn’t mean you don’t blame yourself for it, though. That’s just the funny thing about this whole situation; you know it’s long since spiralled out of control, yet that barely stops you from beating yourself up about it.

This constant ranting often leads to gossip, which in turn leads you to drama. Unecessary, unrelated drama. You may be accused of backbiting, just because you felt too bad to shut someone up. Again, you shouldn’t feel this way, but you do. And in that moment, there is quite literally nothing you can do about it. That can feel so horrible, and soon you can’t stand to look yourself in the eyes. Am I being a bad friend? You’re not even the one talking, yet you suffer the reprocussions. It can start to seem like everyone’s turning on you, because you let this happen. If you had just ‘set proper boundaries’ then maybe none of this would have happened. Yes, you heard that right: This is your fault. You listen and listen and listen—until you can’t anymore. You try to care, you really do, but something inside you just… shuts off. It’s like your brain can’t handle taking in one more complaint or solving one more problem that isn’t your own. And so you plaster on that smile, say “yeah, that sucks,” but deep down, you start to resent it. You wish, just once, someone would notice when you’re the one who’s breaking down, when you’re the one who needs to talk. But no. You’re the ‘strong’ one. Always available, always listening. Until you’re not.

I blend into the background, not even a shadow—just a quiet placeholder in everyone else’s story. Listening, nodding, but slowly slipping out of focus, and no one seems to notice I’m fading away. I feel like some forgotten deity—once praised, now erased from the minds of those who used to kneel down infront of me. A myth fading into nothing, no longer revered, no longer remembered. No longer needed. Asking for support feels like a foreign language on my tongue, almost selfish. Maybe I should just be discarded; what is my worth if not to heal others? I am worthless if I can not be of use.

Ultimately, I’m exhausted. And guilty. And angry. And so much more but I’ve come to terms with the fact that waiting around for ‘the right friend group’ will leave me stuck in this position. Yet, a simple ‘hey, I don’t want to get involved in ____’ can often feel like some impossible next step. And while I’d hate to end this on such a somber note, I know that lying and talking about growth or how to overcome these challenges is me being untrue to myself: how can I share the solution to a problem I only solved out of pure luck?

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