Sometimes I don’t want you to see me.
I have no need to be acknowledged or accepted. I don’t wonder what you might think and I care nothing for what your eyes might say when they scan my face, meet my gaze and react.
Sometimes I have no desire to be noticed.
I don’t need to sparkle or shine, be all smiles and personality. I just want to blend into the background, fade to grey, blur my edges and become one with the chair I’m sitting on.
Sometimes I want you to ignore me.
Bare-faced ignore me so I can feel angry and resentful without finding the reason in myself.
Perhaps you could just gloss over me.
I could be toaster instructions or the guarantee for that new piece of kit that earns a cursory glance to confirm its existence (and makes you feel better in the knowing that it is there) but isn’t actually looked at or seen at all.
Then I can sit in that stolen space, seen but unseen, and exist (for once) without an audience. And the weight of eyes and expectation might just lift a little, little enough for me to breathe, and then maybe I’ll cry or smile or sing a little tune or make a decision that will change everything. Or nothing. Or not.
Sometimes I am so tired of looking at myself that I need to be invisible for a while.
But I can’t do that while you’re looking at me.