Always about me

It has never been about me. I was like a furniture, soulless child. Parents and adults always ignored my calls. I was all alone. No place to exist. I don’t exist. I have to make sure I am still alive every day. I don’t understand what I did to be denied my whole existence. I feel so out of place. Do I even belong? I wish it made sense. Today someone told me It was always about me, I wonder, am I making it about me because the pressure has always been on me? Or because I never had the chance to exist before?