Did You Ever Love Me? by Rithvik Singh is a tender contemporary poetry collection about love, heartbreak, longing, self worth and learning to let go. Its greatest strength is emotional accessibility: Singh writes directly to readers who feel intensely and care deeply. The collection offers comfort without pretending heartbreak is simple, though its simplicity may occasionally feel familiar to seasoned poetry readers. Did you Ever Love Me? Have you ever loved someone so completely that, after they left, you were left wondering whether they had ever understood what they had been given? Not merely whether they loved you, but whether they ever noticed how much you loved them, how much patience you offered, how many small things you remembered, or how often you chose to stay when leaving might have been easier. There is a particular loneliness in that question because it rarely arrives at a dramatic moment. More often, it finds you while you are doing something completely ordinary. Yo...
When Khayati, a bright woman in her 30s, finally found the courage to seek support for her hidden scars, she wasn't prepared for the silence that would greet her. This story isn’t just about healing from trauma but from the wounds inflicted when support was met with disbelief, judgment, or averted gazes. Navigating this emotional maze, Khayati finds that healing often requires battling the world’s apathy as much as one’s inner demons.
"Did you think seeking help was the hardest part?"
“Did you hear that?” I turned to Khayati, who was deeply engrossed in her latte. “They have made it illegal to have a good mental health day without a 48-hour notice!”
She rolled her eyes, smiling. “You are being dramatic again.”
“Always,” I admitted, waving a hand around the cafe where the usual crowd of wannabe poets and coffee connoisseurs sat, each trying to look more important than the other. But Khayati, with her wild, curly hair, her oversized glasses, and her penchant for wearing clothes that seemed to be in a perpetual state of "just got out of bed," was easily the most interesting of them all.
Our laughter drifted off as a more solemn conversation surfaced. I could tell something had been on her mind. Over the years, I had watched her become a fortress of strength, fortified by life’s cruelties and her own dogged willpower. But the recent months had taken a toll. The cracks were showing.
"So, what is eating you, Khayati?” I asked, taking a gentler tone.
She sighed. “It is not just the trauma of what happened, you know? It is the silence I got when I tried reaching out. When I was brave enough to ask for help.”
I nodded. Many people have wounds that go unseen, hidden from the world, mostly from those who prefer comfort over compassion. Khayati was never shy to share her feelings, but this felt different. She wasn’t just dealing with what had hurt her; she was nursing the deeper, uglier wound of not being heard.
“Is it just me,” she continued, “or does it sometimes feel like people only listen when they can relate? Like…my pain was only worth acknowledging if it mirrored their own?”
And that’s how it began. An afternoon coffee became a marathon conversation about how seeking help often feels like walking into a desert, hoping for a mirage to turn real.
Also Read: Stop Suffering in Silence: Is Kindness Worth the cost?
2. "When did seeking help become a 'trend'?"
“Did you know that nearly 40% of people report being brushed off or judged when they try to open up about mental health?” I threw the stat into our conversation like a pebble into a pond, watching the ripples of thought spread across her face.
“That’s low,” Khayati smirked darkly. “I think it is closer to 80% in my life.”
We both laughed, but it was the hollow, knowing kind of laugh. She told me about her recent attempt to speak with a counsellor who, rather than empathizing, had chosen to pepper her with impersonal questions. “Why do I feel like I am auditioning every time I try to explain my pain to someone?” she asked, only half-joking.
It seemed that a lot of "help" felt more like a performance review than real support. “I feel like I should be wearing my trauma like a badge, complete with measurable metrics. Do you think I can put ‘Broke down only twice last week’ on my CV?”
Her laughter had an edge, but I knew it was because the experience had burned her. Too often, she had been met with a kind of detached judgment, the sort of response people throw out when they are more interested in ticking boxes than hearing stories. It was a laugh that was as sad as it was defiant.
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"Why is silence the loudest response?"
One evening, Khayati told me about the time she had turned to a family friend—someone who prided themselves on being the “pillar of support.” She recounted how she’d prepared herself, thinking maybe this time would be different, maybe this person would actually listen. But instead, she was met with a disturbing silence, one that seemed to deny her experience entirely.
“I felt like I had walked into a library and someone was angrily shushing me from across the room,” she said with a sad smile. “And it was the same story, over and over.”
We have all felt it: the ache of realising that the people you trusted don’t actually want to hear what hurts you. The world often meets vulnerability with discomfort, preferring to silence it rather than understand it.
“Did they even say anything?” I asked, trying to imagine the scene.
“Not a word,” she replied. “Their silence was almost…violent. Like, ‘How dare you?’ You know?”
I did know. Her story mirrored so many others, each with its own version of unspoken disbelief and judgement disguised as stoic silence.
Must Read: Unhealed Trauma: Is it holding you back from the life you deserve?
4. "Why are we scared to believe others?"
“Ever feel like people would rather believe in ghosts than your pain?” Khayati asked one day.
She wasn't exaggerating. Studies have shown that we are more likely to believe in the paranormal than in others’ personal struggles. It was a statistic that made my heart sink. We laugh at things like this until we are the ones seeking support. We joke, make memes about “listening ears,” and then freeze up when someone close actually opens up.
“I think people just fear they will have to do something about it if they believe you,” I suggested.
Khayati nodded, but her eyes remained clouded. “Why don’t they realise that sometimes, listening is all we really need? A bit of acceptance would mean more than any advice.”
5. "Who gets to validate our pain?"
We humans love quantifying things, measuring them, putting them into neat categories. But some things, like pain, simply don’t fit into boxes. Khayati’s pain was one of those things.
“When did pain become something you need permission to feel?” she asked me once, halfway through her second mug of tea.
It is a good question, really. Who decides which pain is valid and which isn’t? We are conditioned to seek validation from external sources, as if someone else could ever truly measure what is inside us.
6. "What happens when we stop asking for help?"
Khayati’s journey had made her wary. “I don’t ask for help anymore,” she admitted one evening, her voice a mix of defiance and sadness. “What is the point if it is just going to end up hurting more?”
It was a sentiment that had crossed my mind, too. There’s a sting that comes with asking for help and being met with indifference. Slowly, the silence makes you shut yourself off, until the walls you once built to keep the world out also keep you locked inside.
The world feels like it’s gotten too busy for compassion. But when you reach out and find no one there, the pain doubles down, leaving scars that run deeper than the original wound.
7. "How do we heal from the world’s indifference?"
If anything, Khayati taught me that healing is not just about overcoming trauma; it is about healing from the dismissive responses we receive when we’re at our most vulnerable. The question remained: How do we heal from the wounds inflicted by others’ indifference?
Khayati found solace in creativity—painting became her silent therapist. She poured her pain into canvases, letting colours and words speak the truths no one had wanted to hear.
In the end, we realised that healing was not about forcing others to listen. It was about finding strength in our own voices, even if no one else cared to hear them.
Frequently Asked Questions
How can we support someone who’s opening up about trauma?
Listen actively, validate their feelings, and avoid giving unsolicited advice.
What should I do if I feel unsupported in my own healing journey?
Consider finding alternative sources of support, like therapy or supportive groups.
Why do people respond with silence or judgement?
Often, people fear confronting their own vulnerabilities or feel helpless.
How can we create a more compassionate society?
Encourage open dialogues about mental health and make empathy a daily practice.
Written by Tushar Mangl - Energy Healer, Counsellor, and Author of "The Avenging Act." Writes on personal finance, Vastu, mental health, leisure, and a greener society.
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