I don’t know if you know how much it hurts when you forget me.
You said you’d call as soon as you got off work. I never heard from you.
You said you’d take care of that before you left in the morning. When I woke up, I saw it was still undone.
You said there was a big event happening at church, and you’d be sure to pass on the details. I saw the photos on Facebook after it had already happened.
You said, “I’ll come by tomorrow!” You never called, and you never came.
You said, “Our group meet-up has to be delayed.” I texted you later and found out the last meeting happened without me. Without my ever knowing about it.
You said, “Let’s get together sometime!” And I never heard from you again.
You posted about your little one’s birthday party. The one I wasn’t invited to. Another event I would have loved to be included in. But was left out. Again.
You said, “I’ll take care of it!” when I said there was a problem. But you didn’t.
Because . . . you forgot me.
You might have a laundry list of excuses: I just got so busy. It totally slipped my mind! I meant to text you and forgot. I’m so sorry, next time! But all I know, all my heart feels, is that I didn’t matter enough for you to remember.
I sat at home and I knew. I knew you had time to check your social media accounts. You had time to play a level of Candy Crush. You had time to gossip with the friends who actually seem to matter to you. You had time. You had energy. You just didn’t have time or energy for me. You remembered everyone else, but you forgot me.
I often sit back and think, “Why am I so forgettable? Why don’t you see me? Aren’t I worth seeing?”
My heart hurts, wishing so much to be that person who’s always first on the invite list. Or at least on the list at all. The one who has 10 different girlfriends who love her and want her around. The one who never forgets others and who is never forgotten, but I guess, in this crazy world, I have to remember that we all forget. No one is perfect, and I believe we’re all trying, albeit some more than others. No one is immune from forgetting. Even me.
But I guess what I’m also saying is . . . will you try to remember me next time? Will you remember that on the other side of that text message or email or Facebook invite is someone who is already aching? Who already feels rejected. Who is already cringing, prepared for what feels like the inevitable, waiting to be left out. Someone who is so tired of feeling useless and invisible. Someone who is asking to be remembered. Someone who is asking to be seen.
Please see me. Include me. And please, don’t forget me.