I feel so empty

It’s strange to write something I’ll read in a few days, but here I go. I feel like I’m an excellent companion, and I also love laughing with my friends and family, being there for them. But when I face the pillow, everything changes. For entire years, I’ve felt this way and done this: keeping everything to myself and not burdening anyone else. I wonder why I can’t be like them, why my being casts no shadow, why I don’t echo in anyone, why I’m so replaceable. I ask myself where my place is, why I have no branches, why I’m not that shade that offers relief to others. I keep it all inside; I don’t feel like I belong anywhere. I feel like this isn’t the place for me, like everything I do is useless, like no one notices what happens to me. Blessed four walls that see me broken and only mock me. Tired of being a fake who’s only happy. I look at you all and feel envy—I wish I were like you, loved, cherished, heard, and above all, visible, real. Not like me, who’s nothing, no one. Why can’t I? Why am I not real? I live so my mom won’t cry, or my dad, or my sister—not because anything truly motivates or nourishes my being. I fear exploding one day. I don’t ask to be happy because that’s reserved for better, more complete people. I only ask not to lose. Good at accompanying others but never anyone for me. Starving for validation, to be noticed. I hope at the end of my days, I’ve done something right and not just occupied a space that never belonged to me.

Note: My native language is Spanish.