There is a kind of ache that hides in plain sight. Life looks “fine” from the outside —work, friends, responsibilities—but inside there’s a constant heaviness, as if your chest is carrying a weight no one else can see. It’s the feeling of being surrounded by people and still sensing that no one is really standing with you. You can talk about your day, your tasks, your wins, but there’s a deeper layer that never quite makes it into words. That quiet question - Who actually sees the real me, not just the put‑together version?—keeps echoing …
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