When Silence Is the Wound: A Story of Emotional Abandonment

When silence is the wound, the damage doesn’t scream — it lingers in the space where recognition should’ve been. This is the story that stayed.

There’s a story in me.
A strong, hard one.
Like the countless others I zipped shut.
But this one — this one is different.
This one sits at the centre of my chest.
This one stayed.

I didn’t play the victim.

Yet howled.

And shook.

It shattered my world, my body, and the last six years of my life.
All I wanted was to go. To disappear.
Because something vast — a part of my life, my being — got torn up and thrown away.

The Ache to Be Seen After Emotional Abandonment

I begged, silently and loudly, for just one thing: acknowledgment.
Not rescue.
Not pity.
Just recognition.
Of what broke.
Of what it did.

And what did I get?

Abandonment.
Physical.
Emotional.
Mental.

I turned on myself trying to make sense of it.
Clawed at my own peace just to stay afloat.
Started believing I had to be the wreck to be seen.
Finally, let myself become a ghost with a pulse.

Becoming a Ghost of Myself

And hey — maybe all through it,
I did play the victim.
But not to the world.
To the one I hoped would see.
Like a lone actor on a burning stage,
waiting for one pair of eyes in the crowd to nod and say:
Yes. That happened. I was part of it.

And now?
Now I am just a carcass of force.
A shell.
A pile of echoes.
A presence that still stands, somehow — but never whole.

Not then.
Not now.

But maybe healing begins the moment you stop begging to be seen.

Maybe there’s power in naming what stayed when everything else left.

Because when silence is the wound, speaking it out loud becomes the first act of survival.