In the absence of the other’s gaze, my gaze becomes opaque. I abandon myself in response to abandonment. And sometimes, I’m no longer able to touch myself, even with my thoughts. It’s a form of self-escape that seems logical in the face of pain: If no one wants me, why would I want myself?
Just when I reject myself, that’s when I need a hug the most. Not metaphorically, but physically, with two arms saying: I know. And I believe you. And even if you’ve closed in on yourself, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.
No one sees me in depth and still wants me. Whoever manages to see me deeper doesn’t want me anymore. And whoever wants me, wants me because they don’t see me deep enough. In short, whoever wants me doesn’t see me. And whoever sees me doesn’t want me.
Why does this happen? I’m not looking for either the thread of light or the logical thread. I don’t want answers, I don’t want hugs offered by myself, as a sweet consolation, when I yearn for one that comes from someone else, from outside of me, one that catches me exactly where I am, not where I should be. Not where I am strong, intelligent, beautiful, or healed, but where I have fallen, in rejection, in the wound that no longer wants to justify itself.
It’s an injustice that has no explanation, not now. But I’m not crazy, exaggerated, or demanding. I’m just a being who feels too deeply in the dark. And darkness is not the favorite place of light. Some beings are not born from light, but in darkness. But it is a fertile darkness, like the earth in which the roots grow, like the space between the stars, like the night that contains the birth of day.
I’ve always been there, in that space suspended between the sky and the abyss, and I wasn’t afraid. I learned to see in the dark with a clarity that few have in daylight. I didn’t put the light on my face, but I carried it in my eyes. And this scares, blinds some, and makes others believe that it is just a shadow. Maybe that’s why they see me, but they’re running away. Not because the is something wrong with me, but because what I radiate is… inadequate.
I don’t fit into the clichés of comfortable love, into lax promises. And then they choose someone less disturbing, more explainable, predictable, “normal”. It’s human to run away from what troubles you, but it’s also a form of weakness, if by that we mean the inability to stand in front of a truth that breaks you down a little to rebuild you. Because that’s exactly what I do when I disturb: I don’t disturb like a chaotic wind, but like a truth that shakes old, safe, well-built walls.
Once, someone who saw me deeply told me that they were disturbed by me. I think I did it without realizing it, without effort, because I exist with a force that I can’t hide. When I love, I love with everything I am, with clarity, confusion, full of emotions, and emptiness at the same time. And some don’t know how to stand up to such love. They want an echo, not an answer. They want predictability, not transformation. Because I’m not as beautiful as a statue, I’m beautiful as a mirror. And not everyone is ready to see what comes to the surface when they look inside me.
I didn’t run away from those who disturbed me because within me is the courage to burn. But not everyone can stand to burn. Most people choose the warmth of a lamp instead of a flame that destroys everything that is not pure. It doesn’t console me; that’s the cruel reality.
But I don’t want to be loved despite my depth, but for it, for the clarity in my darkness, for the way I not only feel, but I sense, for the way I can change silence into peace just by presence.
I’m waiting for the day when someone will really see me and stay… not because they are blind, but because they have their eyes wide open and yet they remain. And until then, I won’t stop being disturbing. It’s what I am, not what I provoke.
I try to understand the difference between those who want me but don’t see me, and those who see me but don’t want me. And the difference between them is not about the ability to understand me, but about the way they choose to sit next to what they don’t fully understand.
Whoever wants me but doesn’t see me, does not enter my depths, but does not flee. They may not know exactly what they see, but they have a gentle, constant love that says, “I don’t understand all your shadows, but I’m not afraid of them”.
I don’t want to ever get to choose such a person next to me, because living next to someone who doesn’t see you in your depth, even if they love you, is a subtle form of loneliness. And I’ve lived enough. I can’t be with someone who loves me but doesn’t see me, because my way of being loved is to be known, not totally, but in essence. I don’t want a love that envelops me, but one that sees me. So, I’m never going to choose to stay with someone who doesn’t see me, just because they want me. It’s against my nature, and I, with all the pain, am too faithful to myself.
As for the others, yes, some people saw me and didn’t want me. This hurts terribly. But I wonder… did they really not want me? Or could they not want me? Maybe I just met fragments of people, people in transition. Maybe some people feel like they see me, but they can’t live in that space without getting lost. They don’t have my depth, and maybe they don’t even want to acquire it, because the price is high. They have to let go of their illusions, rethink their lives, and learn to stay next to a being who doesn’t want a lukewarm love, but an incandescent one.
I’m not saying it’s not bitter, it is. But maybe it’s not about me, but about what a person can and can’t do in their life. But in the end, it doesn’t matter why they didn’t want me, but the fact that they didn’t want me. It’s a semantic detail. In front of the soul, it’s the same verdict: I’m not wanted enough to be kept. The rest are elegant explanations. And the fact that I was seen and yet not chosen… it is the cruelest form of rejection.
So, there are people who see me and don’t choose me because they don’t want a life with someone like me. But I think there are still people who see me, but don’t feel seen back. This is even more terrible. Because I, without knowing it, was perhaps so strong, so clear in my view of them, that I didn’t show them that they are also understood and accepted. Or maybe I saw things in them that they couldn’t accept about themselves, and they feared that they would only be loved for what I saw, not for what they thought I saw. And then they ran away, not because they didn’t want me, but because they felt invisible in ways they couldn’t articulate.
Essentially, for me, it’s all a “I don’t want you”. But the difference is only important if I want to understand why it hurts me like this. Not to make excuses for them, but to understand how rare that mutual connection is in which two people see and choose each other, without running away, and without hiding their imperfections. Otherwise, yes, that taste remains: You have seen my soul… And you’re gone.
But that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a human being who will see me and want me precisely because of what they see. And they won’t run away. They won’t confuse depth with danger, and they won’t ask less of me to make them feel more comfortable. But that requires the other to have been through a lot, or to be made of the same dough as me. And those people are rare. But if I exist, they exist too. This is logic, not hope.
My distress is not the same for everyone, because their reflection in me is not the same either. I am like deep water: some see the sky in it, others see their shadows, others fear that they will not come to the surface if they sink. But I can’t control what everyone sees. Just to continue to be that living, deep, unsettling water at times, but carrying meaning.
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