worldsaway

I don’t think I matter. Depression can do that to you. But right now, the feeling is so big it’s overwhelming me—taking over every thought, every movement, every second of my life.

The voice just keeps saying, you don’t matter. You don’t matter to your parents. You don’t matter to your friends. You. Don’t. Matter.

It’s so matter-of-fact. So firm in its conviction. I’ve heard it before, and I’ve pushed it away—convinced myself that I do matter. Other people have convinced me, too. It usually takes a lot of voices to drown out the one in my head.

But this time feels different. It feels louder. Like it’s gained confidence.

The worst part is, the real voices—the outside ones that have done so much to remind me this voice isn’t real, that those words aren’t true—have gotten so much quieter. I think I annoyed them with my neediness. My worst fear: being too much to handle when I’m vulnerable. And yet, it’s the truest, most real fear I have.

What do I do when I don’t matter?

I want to vanish. Disappear. It would be so easy, because I already feel invisible—no matter how loud my cries are.

Because, well… I don’t matter.

But here’s the thing about that voice—it doesn’t present evidence. It just repeats itself until it sounds like truth.

And I’ve been letting it.

Because it’s easier, in a twisted way, to believe I don’t matter than to risk needing people and feeling like I’m too much for them. If I don’t matter, then I don’t have to be disappointed. I don’t have to wonder why someone didn’t show up, or why a text went unanswered, or why someone got tired of me.

But that doesn’t make it true.

That voice doesn’t mention the people who have shown up. It doesn’t mention the times I was cared for, or listened to, or chosen. It edits those out like they never happened.

And it definitely doesn’t get to decide my worth.

It’s loud right now, sure. Louder than usual. But loud doesn’t mean right—it just means persistent.

I’ve fought it off before. Not perfectly, not permanently, but enough to know it can be wrong. Enough to know it has been wrong.

So maybe I don’t fully believe “I matter” right now. Maybe that feels too far away.

But I can question this:
What if this voice isn’t telling the truth?
What if it’s just scared of being hurt again?
What if it’s trying to protect me, just in the worst possible way?

And what if—I don’t have to disappear to be okay?