Little Girl Lost

Once upon a time, there was a girl whose spirit had come to earth. Her heart was golden, but there was a high gate around it. Occasionally she would peek out timidly. But mostly she would hide, in her own little world. She was curious about the world outside, but also deeply afraid.

Highly guarded and withdrawn is how she learned to exist. That’s how she felt safe. An outsider, she had always been. Riddled with anxiety and stuck in her head. She didn’t quite know how to talk to people. She didn’t quite know where she fit in.

So, she curled up into a little ball, quiet and meek. She avoided eye contact and socializing to any extent past the necessary minimums. She did not want to be seen. To be seen made her feel she was in a line of danger. She was far more inclined to hide, from any potential predators that could be lurking. For if she was really quiet and sat really still, then no one would notice her. She could then get home, go to her room, close the door, and exhale. She was safe. Exhausted, but safe.

It’s a tough way to live, day after day. A frazzled nervous system in a tensely bound body. She lived for the escape, into books especially, at first. She would hide from the world, keeping her nose in a book; one book after another. She’d found an escape from her life, a portal. It led somewhere else; to be someone else; to live another life, so to speak. So, she read feverishly. She loved to read and write.

She was quiet. She walked lightly, so as to not be heard. She spoke softly, mostly. She wanted to be camouflaged; to blend into the background. She wanted to slip by, like a phantom unnoticed, unreal, just a ghostly figure going from point a to point b. The less interaction, the better.

For if someone wanted to talk to her, she would be tongue-tied, nervous and hot with embarrassment. She had withdrawn and gone so deep into her head. She quite honestly liked it there. It was nice; it was safe; it was a distraction from the unkind, unsafe outside world that she desperately avoided as much as she could.

She must have intuited that she could not protect herself; physically or emotionally. She must’ve felt that she was not strong enough to fend off the perceived and potential horrors that lie amongst us in everyday society. So, she hid. In order to survive, she had to be meek, she had to lay low, she had to flee and hide, or else she felt she would be destroyed.

For her, it was like walking an emotional tightrope every day. She’d be holding her breath, moving carefully, focusing on just trying to get across the goddamn rope. Day after day, her terrible anxiety was a tightrope to walk; a feeling of being unsafe, in danger, and unable to reach out for help because she thought they would surely make her fall. It was all on her; to balance; to make it through; to not fall down. So finally, she could get back to the safety of solitude, alone in her room. Sleep and do it all again the next day.

Emotions bubbled. The winds were blowing all around her. The daily tightrope became more narrow, unsteady, and harder to walk. She didn’t know how to keep her balance. She was afraid and desperately seeking some relief; some quiet aid; some sort of a safety net to catch her fall; to make her feel safe. Something to help her escape the fearful feelings that grew inside her like a cancer. She didn’t have the skills or the support to navigate her life. She was lost at sea, paralyzed in fear and drowning. The tide was taking her under.

Her previous escape through books evolved into escape through more destructive means. When one is desperate to get out of their own personal hell, they will cling to just about anything. When in survival mode, she is hypersensitive, reaching, scratching, and clawing for a way out of the darkness. Any promise, any hope, any potential to save the afflicted from their troubles is welcomed.

She tries anything, in the name of hope. In hope that she’ll be able to be with herself, in her body, on the tightrope, without exploding into a million fragments of fear and pain. In hope of a softer landing, at the very least. The fear is real- it is all-encompassing, extremely perplexing, and often paralyzing. Living in an ongoing state of hypervigilance is tiresome and throws the entire system off balance.

After a period of time in this neurotic state, she becomes worn down. She half hopes there is a soft net underneath the tightrope to catch her fall, to give her another chance. The other half of her wishes for daggers, or hot lava below, that would end this nonsense permanently.

Walking a tightrope, holding our breath, one slip away from annihilation.

Is this really what life is about?

Why so futile? Others did not appear to struggle in this way.

What is this curse? What was different about her? What was wrong with her, she wondered.

She had been like this since she could remember. She did not know what was wrong with her.

She felt flawed, different, afraid, ashamed, helpless, and rejected.

There are generational traumas that need healing, spells that need breaking. Her mother, grandmother, aunt, intentionally or perhaps subconsciously, created metaphoric clones, generation after generation and dysfunction permeated. Recreation of their own deep issues that they won’t personally address, but instead project onto their next of kin. Welcome to the world, kid- all their battles become yours.

She followed in her mother’s footsteps and was overweight as a child. Mother followed grandmother’s footsteps and became addicted to diet pills while pointing her finger and shaming her young child’s pudgy frame. Of course, the child was not yet in grammar school and certainly did not fix her own meals. The girl’s father worked long hours and he hardly acknowledged her when he came home. So, she became confused and ashamed. And this would follow her throughout her life.

She did not know what was “wrong” with her, but she internalized it deeply. She felt great shame, in most elements of basic living. In eating, in getting dressed, and going to school. She wanted to disappear.

The girl was emotionally raw with daggers in her being that no one saw. She was deeply scarred before she went to kindergarten. It only got worse with elementary school and the girl’s digressing family life at home. She could find no safe, happy place, so she didn’t want to be anywhere. She wanted to be alone; safely alone. So, a high gate she built.

This is how she learned to survive.

A phantom, light footsteps, softly spoken words, mostly.