Liminally invisible, except when they enforce violence against me. No privacy, no solace, no oasis; just the constant banging on my window, the constant kicking me out, the constant derision.
My choices aren't choices; I can never say no. I'm only visible when they wish to exert power; no one notices anything about me. They look right past me, walk right through me (which fucking HURTS), or step on my immobilized being.
The threads wrap tighter, constricting blood flow. Until there is no room for my existence, until I am shoved out of reality altogether and scattered across the cosmos, potential energy that should explode every bit of space but doesn't.
I only exist when they need to batter and bully someone. I only exist when they need to reassert that I shouldn't exist at all. I only exist when they need to paint a distortion to continue to revel in their delusion.
Liminal. Invisible. Forever skirting the edges while they shove me off, over and over. This trauma knows no end. I'd cry but this world can't even hold me, let alone my furious tears.
Everyone wishes for invisibility like the heroes, forgetting The Invisible Man is not a tale of happily ever after. It's strenuous beyond belief, this most tenuous of social relief. It is a lie that crushes me, cuts me, atomizes me until my only real option is to spread out in another dimension altogether. One in which I may as well also be invisible, for the lack of anyone to talk to.
Liminal invisible me. No woe, just weary.