She walks the halls, not but a ghost within its walls. A spectre with a beating heart. She speaks, but no one listens. Those closest to her cut her off mid-speech. Whatever she has to say is of no importance. Their deeds and needs are what matters.

Other people come before her. Perfect strangers hold more precedence in her family’s lives. They rule against her. Take others’ sides. Her opinion does not matter. She is an invisible essence, a household item. Something unnoticed; not a person with thoughts, ideas, feelings or importance.

She fades deeper into the background of her own life, while those around her soar. Her successes go uncelebrated. Her wishes unfulfilled. Her needs barely met. Her affection often unreciprocated. Now and then, she is thrown a bone. A bribe to ensure her loyalty. A false sense of importance to quell her minor laments. Then the neglect falls back into place and she drifts away again.

Tears lie just below the surface. She gets so mad she feels she might burst. Yet all her emotions go unnoticed. Day after day, she is expected to soldier on unaffected. To drop whatever she is doing to accommodate the needs of others. To help fulfill their wishes, goals and dreams while hers fade away. She wakes each morning hoping she will be given a shred of acknowledgment. That her voice will be heard, her opinion warranted.

In all other aspects, her life is satisfactory. Her general existence holds no complaints. If only she was visible to those she cherishes, she would be whole. She yearns to be a person who matters. One whose opinions, ideas, thoughts, feelings and accomplishments aren’t thrown aside. Who is respected, not rejected, neglected, disregarded and forgotten. A person whose heart doesn’t smoulder with betrayal, but is alight with affection. A person who is seen, heard.