the invisible girl

I have been in a lot of treatment and met many people who got the help and attention, intervention, early on. I am not one of those people, though I needed that help desperately.

My mother describes me as a very young child to be outgoing and bubbly, scaring away other children in the playground with my overwhelming friendliness. I was afraid of nothing. But by the age of 5 there was a split in who I was. That happy child morphed into a sad, depressed little girl. I shut down completely, lost my voice and rarely spoke. My kindergarten teacher commented to my mother that she was concerned I never smiled. My third grade teacher also expressed concern. My mother's response? "That's just how Caitlin is." I would cry at night and not have the words for what was wrong and she just would get frustrated. I was wordless. The Unsayable had me destroyed.

But that's not who I was originally. My trauma changed who I was. It altered the person I was supposed to be, suicidal thoughts arising by the time I was 8 years old. I went though my life this way until I went to college at 18. Things were out of control and out of desperation I sought help at the counseling center and was prescribed my first medication of many to come. Things continued to decline for years to come.

Sometimes I wish so badly that someone had noticed and actually done something. That I hadn't fallen through the cracks, ignored and overlooked. I got good at disappearing. I remember a teacher telling me it was bad to keep feelings inside, that they build up like blocks until they all topple over. But I knew in my heart it was better that way, to not involve anyone. Not to be a bother.

I wonder often how I would be now if someone had intervened, took the time to see me. I had been invisible for so much of my lifetime. I have had to fight for every little thing by myself with no help or support from family. I have done everything myself. Instead of being proud of that I am drained and regretful. I still feel ignored. I still feel undeserving and worthless, a burden. I feel like it is too late for me. I thought I would have a life by this age, a career, meaning, peace. Instead I feel like a drain on society, an institutionalized waste. Broken beyond repair.

It's hard to not live in the past when so much of it defines everything and haunts me daily. I am working on letting go without forgetting, honoring it instead of being weighed down by it. It's probably a lifelong journey to be able to survive it. I still don't know if I have it in me.