The Ache of Being Unknown
by Crystal Craig

There is a kind of aloneness
that deepens in the presence of others.

Not solitude,
but a quiet exile—
as if I’m watching the world through glass,
capable of mimicry,
but never belonging.

I know how to read a room,
how to become what’s needed—
a chameleon trained by necessity,
shifting shape to earn warmth
or at last
to avoid the shun.

But inside,
there is a me I have never learned to carry.
A me that feels like too much
or worse—
wrong.

In groups,
I feel counterfeit.
Smiling.
Nodding.
That’s what they really want.

Mirroring expressions
I don’t trust
were ever meant for me.

Every glance feels like evidence.
Every silence, a verdict.

Feedback isn’t guidance—
it’s confirmation.

Proof that the real me,
if ever revealed,
would fracture the illusion,
would cause people to recoil
and leave.
Again.

So I anticipate the rejection
and reject myself first.

Better to be the saboteur
than the abandoned.

There is a voice in me
that whispers Run
just before sleep swallows me.

I don’t know if it’s fear—
or the only fragment
still trying to protect me.

There’s another voice, too.
Angrier.
Older.

It grieves what I allowed.
The things I endured
under the name of love.
The choices I made
because I felt like I had no safe alternative.
The compromises I accepted
when no door was open.

How familiar this ache is—
the ache of being unknown.

Of being alone
even with the people I love.

Yet here I am,
sharing these dark,
veined insecurities—
not to be rescued,

but just to be seen.