#feeling left out

[madlads01]

Imagine having like 8 parents and almost all of them don't want you (Poor Spider...)

[vnillangell]

[finnmckisser]

uhm vent

i wish i’m enough, watching other people who succeed while me falling behind really hits home. people my age get into big universities or have a lot of achievements despite of what they gone through.

to the fact i have to log off so i won’t comparing myself to ithers because i feel like i hit the rock bottom now

[feyd-meowtha]

Chat, is heated rivalry actually that good? Am I a fool for not giving it a go? I'm having doubts, tell me the truth

[inky-sun]

There is a particular kind of loneliness that is hardest to explain — the loneliness that exists even when you're sitting at the table with your friends.

You're there. Physically present. Smiling, nodding, even laughing sometimes. But as the conversation flows, you begin to hear the gaps — the stories you weren't part of, the jokes built on moments you never witnessed, the memories formed in your absence. They reference conversations they’ve had without you, inside jokes that you don't understand, experiences you never knew happened. And so you sit there, trying to keep your expression light, acting as though it doesn’t sting.

You never say anything. You don’t interrupt or ask for explanations. You pretend it's fine. You don’t want to be the person who seems needy or makes everything about themselves. And so you stay silent, letting the conversations roll over you like waves, each one a small reminder that you were not there — not thought of, not invited, not included.

In those moments, the distance feels sharper than physical separation ever could. It’s not that your friends mean to exclude you, perhaps. Maybe they assume you were busy. Maybe they simply forgot. Or maybe they never even realized you weren’t there. But intention doesn’t change how it feels: like standing just outside a window, looking in.

And still, you carry on. You laugh when appropriate. You engage where you can. You never let them see that quiet ache inside you. You’ve learned to become skilled at hiding it, as though invisibility can be its own kind of armor.

But pretending it doesn't hurt doesn’t make it hurt less.

There’s an exhaustion that comes from being the one who always accepts being on the margins. From being the person who is easy to forget. From always making room for others while wondering if anyone is making room for you.

Maybe one day, you’ll find the kind of friends who notice when you’re missing. Who reach out before the gathering happens, not after the photos are posted. Who carry you in their thoughts, not out of obligation, but because your presence adds something irreplaceable.

Until then, you sit at the table, smiling quietly, carrying both your love for them and your unspoken sadness like stones in your pocket.

[positivelypresent]

Have you ever wanted (or had) to stay in on a nice day and felt guilty about it? This is for you!

[redrobin-biggs]

No Antidote to Cure Me

tw : this isn't proofread, there may be mistakes in grammar and punctuation.

A short tale of the clenched heart that feels alone, even if it's loud. Hints of Katie Wilmot quotes and references of Olivia Rodrigo's lyrics.

Laughter, joy, and love filled the air in the pub. Everyone was giggling at everyone else's jokes, knowing every little bit what they were talking about. A glass was raised high for a shot, and people around the table all roared, their smiles gleaming the room. Chug after chug, cough after cough, and everyone seemed to enjoy it.

Me? No, I couldn't ever enjoy the things that they've shared together. Every single handshake, hangout, chitchat, and balance that they all possess weren't made for me. I could only trace the feeling that lingers after I step foot into my living room— the feeling of dread. I'm only able to imitate my laughter to match theirs, and I'm surprisingly good at that. I'm good at faking how I feel, and how the whole atmosphere affects my way of perceiving people.

Because inside this room, in every circle I’m “involved” in, I feel like I'm invisible, not invincible. I'm out of body and my responses would run out sooner or later. There isn't a cure to help reduce the disease— the disease of feeling like I'm not meant to be included in a scene. I'll always hold my glass longer than I should've, looking down at the unfinished beer that's bubbling inside. Maybe that beer reflected on how I felt about everyone and everything.

And when I pick up the fragments that were missing all along, nobody would dare to notice it. They would carry on with their days, their nights. They would carry on acting like I'm not there, because to them I'll be slowly wavering away and leaving them in a semicircle. I was never important to them, and every thing I said should've been left unsaid. I should've taken everything back.

And again, the cycle repeats until I'm finally wiped out of the image. It truly feels like there's a language that they all speak that I'm still trying to learn, and nobody would open up to tutor me through it. And sadly, I'll always rely on them and their plans, because who am I if I don't have company, even if they put on an act that they want me there? Exactly. There isn't an antidote to cure this sickness— because the pit in my stomach will continue to grow until it leaves nothing but my lonely bones.

author's note ; i actually wrote this around 2am because i saw a katie wilmot edit on my fyp SHOUTOUT TO THEEMMM and i was listening to olivia rodrigo when i wrote this piece. so #katliv

[nelly-rebellyyyyy]

I hate attention, but I don't like being ignored.

Forgot my usual quotes tag list (well i'm not using it a lot) so imma just tag a few ppl: @a-french-coconut, @coffee--spill, @evil-era, @vivaciousmessypixie, @biteygremlinanon, @imightbeafaerie-official-offical