Children of Pain

For lack of anything current to post tonight, I'm posting an essay I wrote over the summer.

Children of Pain
On the outside, we look just like you. We laugh and smile, go to school, and form and maintain friendships. We are passionate about our hobbies, which, like yours, are rich and varied.

But there is something very wrong—haunting almost—about our normality. Our laughter is quick and almost too hearty, as if we must seize opportunities to laugh because there are never enough of them. Our activities are carefully rationed: at the school dance, we sit to the side and watch. Or we dance one dance and return to our seat, regretting every step we just took. Our faces are white and drawn, cheekbones stark beneath dark, hollow eyes. It is clear that something is not right.

People often assume that this is not real, or that we’re exaggerating it; that it is impossible to have problems like this at our age; that we “just want attention.” None of us has any idea what this means. Every child wants attention; who could fake deep pain? How many of us do you think are headed for Broadway, anyway?

Truth be told, we are some of the best actors you will ever meet. But not because we can fake real pain; our talent lies in disguising it. You never hear our animalistic whimpers or tears of despair. Our destructive, screaming rages happen in secret, behind closed doors. If we must scream or cry in public, we rush for the bathroom. When we come out, the world sees a fresh face and a smile—a smile we have carefully calculated and pasted to our faces to mask our terror.

The endless darkness of pain and sleep eventually gets to us. Appearances falter; weakness shows through. Do not mock us or hold it against us. We’re trying. Just help us, please, help us!