Most Kids

When most kids cry, someone comes running to them to help.

Most kids have a mommy and/or daddy that comes to give them love and hugs and kisses.

Most kids have parents who protect them.

Most kids have parents who look out for them.

Most kids learn that home is the safest place they can be.

Most kids face kid problems, like who to play with at recess, and what toys they want.

Most kids don't know what it means to live in fear.

When most kids are sad, scared, angry, etc. their biggest relief is seeing a family member there, especially an adult.

Most kids cry for mommy, and for most kids mommy comes.

Most kids.

But I'm not most kids.

Never have been.

Not even close.

I learned early on not to cry for mommy because mommy didn't help.  Mommy looked on and laughed, and sometimes made it worse.  My cries for mommy made everyone laugh.

I learned soon after not to cry at all.  Any crying at all added more pain, so I kept quiet.

Then I learned the impossible game.  If I cried, I got punished more.  But they would never stop the pain until I cried.  There was no way out.

I learned fear.

I learned that home was not a safe haven.  Home held the very worst of places.

I learned that no one around me would or could protect me.  They couldn't even know.  If anyone else knew, it would only get worse for me.

I learned secret safe places: the back of my closet where I was hidden from view, or under the bed where no one could reach me.  There I would silently cry.  I would pray that no one would hear.  I would pray that no one would come running.

I learned to be alone.

I learned isolation and solitude.

I learned to be strong, but I also learned not to trust.

I learned that no comfort would ever rush to my cries.  There were no loving hugs and kisses.

I learned that I was not most kids.

I hid.  I cried.  I prayed.  And I tried to hope.

And I learned that I was alone.

No one was coming to comfort me.

No one to care.

Little girl.  Alone.