When Did We Become This?
There are questions I carry that don't get quieter.
Questions years haven't answered.
Questions grief hasn't answered.
Questions distance haven't answered.
Questions silence haven't answered.
And one question sits heavier than almost all the others:
When did I stop mattering enough to check if I was okay?
When did I stop mattering enough to call?
To ask?
To wonder?
To know if I was struggling?
To know if I was surviving?
To know if I was okay?
Or even alive?
When did that become normal?
Because I don't understand it.
I don't understand how people who knew everything about me became people who slowly knew nothing about my life.
People who knew my routines.
My personality.
My fears.
My humor.
My struggles.
People who watched me grow up.
People who knew my heart.
People who knew when something wasn't okay.
Mom.
Sister.
When did we become this?
Because I still remember when we knew everything.
When we knew what was happening in each other's lives.
When we knew who was hurting.
When we knew who needed help.
When we knew who wasn't okay.
When did that stop?
When did silence become normal?
When did distance become normal?
When did not knowing become normal?
Because there were years I struggled.
Years life nearly broke me.
Years where I needed people.
Years where I felt invisible.
Years where I felt like I was drowning quietly.
Years where survival took everything I had.
And maybe one of the hardest parts isn't only wondering why things changed.
Maybe one of the hardest parts is wondering if people closest to me knew how bad things got.
Or if they knew and didn't know what to do.
Or if life got loud enough that everyone slowly stopped hearing each other.
I don't know.
I only know it hurt.
Because despite hard years -
You mattered to me.
Despite distance -
You mattered to me.
Despite pain -
You mattered to me.
Despite silence -
You mattered to me.
And maybe that's part of why this hurts so deeply.
Because even after years.
Even after distance.
Part of me still believed I mattered too.