am I invisible? (or does the internet simply hate me?)

on believing I’m not seen, trying and not getting results, and envy as a catalyst for action.

I think I was between 11 and 12 when I first discovered the wonders of the internet. true to my nature as a Bookish Girlie™️, the first thing I remember researching online was my favourite mangá at the time, ‘Sakura Card Captors’, and ending up in the world of fanfiction.

at that moment, I knew I had found my place. I surrounded myself with fanfiction from my favourite books, discovered (the horrors) of online group chats where my friends and I met to chat after school and had my first contact with what would be known (many years after that) as ‘content creation’.

I was so happy when I started my first blog. I thought I would finally have a place to speak, but most of all, to be heard. I remember thinking ‘I’m finally going to find my people and have my thoughts and opinions validated. people will have to hear me out now, right?’.

of course, I wasn’t that evolved back then and didn’t think with that many words but the feeling remained.

it turns out, I was wrong. no matter how hard I tried, how much I posted, people didn’t really react to what I was saying; they didn’t seem to talk back to me, agree or disagree with what I was writing.

then social media came along, and I thought. ‘well, NOW everything will be different’ — only to have the same results. I posted and posted and posted to have the same aggravating numbers stare back at me again and again. I saw friends starting their accounts at the same time as me and reaching incredible achievements, building whole careers while I was still stuck in the same place.

I created amazing things that I loved only to see them fall flat and be forgotten by the ever-changing algorithm.

and I began to wonder… maybe the problem is me? maybe there’s something wrong with me. I’m not doing something I should be doing for people to see me, to talk to me, to engage with what I was saying and doing in any way.

so I pushed and pushed and pushed until I realized there was nothing left.

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I’m not (only) talking about the internet

the other day I was reflecting on my life (it is still the beginning of the year, after all) and I noticed I have never been called beautiful by a man. now, listen, I know there’s a bunch of deconstructing and social norms and patriarchy in that comment alone, and how women are still raised to nurture a man’s affection — but I’d be lying to you if I said that didn’t hurt.

I was also never called smart.

maybe that should hurt more.

anyway, it did hurt because just as I never heard that from my family (even my mother), not hearing it from a potential romantic prospect meant (in my head) that something was really wrong with me. I investigated this further and had an understanding that even the few relationships I had and the way I navigated life made me feel completely invisible.

I went into a room and had conversations and somewhat enjoyed myself only to feel like I wasn’t seen by the time I got home.

I saw my friends start and end romantic relationships and get married and build a life with someone and I did not. why? I wouldn’t know where to begin answering that question.

the relationship thing hits deep. because I want it. boy, do I want it. I’m a romantic, I was raised by Disney movies and I read more romance novels than would be socially acceptable, and yet, true romance, true love (and, here, by true I mean real) always escaped me. avoided me. didn’t see me.

in work and in love, I felt fleeting. I started and finished jobs, as I worked as a freelancer for a long time, and the notion that I was just there not really adding was always on the back of mind. and I worked hard and I did my best and sometimes I’ve put way too much on my own plate, and still.

I felt invisible and forgotten.

it hit me, the other day, how no one, not even family or friends, ever asked why I’m still single. I never heard the ‘when are you getting married?’ question at awkward Christmas dinners. I saw other people get asked that question, many times. me? not so much.

and maybe love and the internet have the same idea of me. one I can’t change no matter what I do because I’m invisible to the algorithms and men’s gaze.

(considering many men were the actual creators of said algorithms, it makes sense, right?)

and I crave it. maybe wrongfully so, but, man, do I crave it — a little bit of attention, of connection, being seen and loved and just achieving the success I wish for myself.

even if just once.

it doesn’t even have to be in all areas of my life. one will suffice.

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this is me trying

I keep looking around and thinking, ‘well, maybe I should give up’. I should stop creating, stop looking for love, stop looking for answers.

(the truly infuriating people would say ‘the moment you give up it will reach ya’ to that.)

because maybe I really am invisible, and I should accept the fact that my life might not be as successful and as colourful and as full of love as I wanted it to be, but at least is there, right? I have a roof over my head, food on the table, a dog that’s always asking me for pets and treats, many books to read and movies to watch and places to visit in the city.

and I have a few very lovely friends that I know would do anything for me and me for them, some money in the bank that allows me to breathe a little in this economy and, most importantly, my health.

but giving up just sounds… sad. and when I lay my head on my pillow at night that anxious energy of having someone hold me as I fall asleep takes me by surprise (even though I know it’s coming), my throat constricts and I have tears in my eyes.

I want to look at my published work and think ‘gods, I’m so happy this is helping someone, anyone in the world, no matter how much or for how long’. I wish to be seen and I wish to be heard, and I feel like giving up would be submitting myself to a life of invisibility.

maybe I should really give 'The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue' a chance. she and I may have more in common than I realize. for some reason, I was never able to finish that book.

and, I don’t know, maybe the forces that be have another plan for me (hello? yes, could you tell me the plan, please? thanks!) or maybe this is the plan and I need to find contentment in solitude.

maybe this is me, an eldest daughter who had to be a grown-up from a very young age and never got to experience fun and the joys of being a child because she was too busy self-regulating her own emotions and trying to be good and proper and not make a mess when her parents were obviously too caught up in their own drama.

maybe I should be thankful and keep my head down and just… carry on without ambition because I’m not the ambitious kind, I’m the ‘hey-can-you-take-a-picture-of-us’ kind that’s never asked to be in the frame.

giving up sounds lovely and torture at the same time, and I’m not sure it’s the answer. and, hey, to throw another maybe in the mix, perhaps the problem really is me and I should manage it alone. nobody wants to deal with the demaged nowadays, am I right?

I don’t have a conclusion, a silver lining, or even a word of comfort to say. I’m okay. maybe not okay okay. but I will be eventually. sometimes, though, we just have to let ourselves be overtaken by the choking negative feelings of life so we can move past them and find a way through the dark forest instead of avoiding it altogether and have it blow up in our faces at some point in the future.

this is me being overtaken by negative feelings.

we all feel them sometimes.

my first step to dealing with it? writing about it so no one will read it.

the thought creeps into my head again.

‘should I give up?’

I can’t answer that yet. for now, I’ll keep writing. I’ll keep looking for love. I’ll keep hoping my person will show up eventually.

in the meantime… will you let me know if you read this?

you know… just in case.