One of the downfalls of getting into the research about dissociative identity disorder is reading things that make you cry. I recently had this experience while reading a paper on how having a caring adult intervene when a child experiences abuse is it can mitigate them from forming a mental health disorder. This includes DID.

It reminded me of a poem I wrote in 1991, shortly after entering therapy called The Help That Never Came.

The Help That Never Came

Free and full of laughter

Of joy and awe at birth

Innocent of the ways of men

Unaware of my own worth

I reached out to those around me

Instinctively looking for love and protection

Expecting help and understanding

Not looking for abuse and rejection

Rejection.

Frail and alone I as a small child

Began to have daydreams

Of becoming a doctor or scientist

Denying the pain and silent screams

Each time the abuse would happen

Each time I needed someone to comfort me

I would picture strong arms surrounding me

But knew they would never come

Never come.

I knew there was no adult who cared

No one who offered attention for free

No one to sweep down to the rescue

I had nowhere to turn, nowhere to go

The pain was sometimes so intense

It felt like it was eating me up inside

To survive I used a clever tactic

I would simply forget and move on

Move on.

I harbored hope that my mother

Would see the pain in my eyes

And hold me telling me it’s alright

Then have him arrested

But my mother was also abusive

She hid her sins so well

I couldn’t tell others what she had done

I continued to carry the horror silently

Silently

I tried to show my daddy my pain

I nightly cried myself to sleep

I voided playing with other children

I begged him silently for rescue

But daddy was part of the problem

He allowed it all to happen

He knew it was going on

But chose to do nothing

Nothing.

“Please help me!”  I cried undetected

Slowly dying within

But no one seemed to notice

I grew overweight but still remained invisible

The doctors said I was ill

They used me as a guinea pig

Poking and prodding and medicating

Heedless to my pleas

Heedless.

The teachers said I was hopeless

Told me, “You will never be anything, so why try?”

They ignored my greasy hair and dirty clothes

Never looking or caring for the cause

I believed their monstrous lies

Accepting the neglect and abuse

I stopped trying

Stopped trying

Later in life, I began my struggles

To fight to live and get free

From the haunting voices and actions

That continuously haunted me

Even today many decades later

I fight to stay alive

Still, no one comes to me

There is no one I can trust

No one.

I guess I’m still waiting

For someone to hold me and say I’m okay

To let me know I’m worth something

To give me the time of day

But still I’m all alone, so alone

I’ve been in great pain, no agony

Myself not to blame

A victim of a horrendous tragedy

 

The help that never came

Had one adult, just one, taken an interest in what was happening to me and stepped in, my life would be so different today. Perhaps I’m having a pity party, I don’t know. You be the judge.

The Tragedy of Invisible Children

What got me started thinking about this post was a song I have downloaded onto my phone called, Mad World.

It wasn’t the entire song that caught my ear, although it is sobering in its entirety, it was the middle phrase that got me thinking.

 

 Mad World (excerpt)

Gary Jules, Michael Andrews

Children waiting for the day, they feel good
Happy birthday, happy birthday
Made to feel the way that every child should
Sit and listen, sit and listen
Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me, no one knew me
Hello teacher, tell me what’s my lesson
Look right through me, look right through me

I think you may be able to see the correlation I saw between my poem The Help That Never Came and Mad World. Both speak of invisible children who suffer in silence wishing someone would see them and help.

Unfortunately, the fact that children are allowed to suffer still exists. Invisible children still exist and suffer in silence. Some do so because they have learned to smile, joke, and look happy when speaking to adults they perceive as a threat.

One must remember, they love the people who are hurting them thanks to hardwiring passed down our human lineage. Children feel intensely loyal and protective even of the monsters they have in their lives.

What Can Should You Do?

There is no easy or nice way to stop the tragedy of silent, hurting children. It is going to take a massive effort and deep honest introspection on the part of all adults to combat child abuse.

However, in the current political climate of the United States where children are ripped from the arms of their mothers, I cannot see things changing here anytime soon.

I am so ashamed of this picture of a little girl terrified because her father is being arrested and she may never see him again. Again, I am horrified and ashamed.

So, I am in great hope that someone in another country will start a movement to bring child abuse into the glaring light of the sun. Until we do this, we will continue to have invisible children who are hurt by those they love. We will also continue to see and realize the costs involved in treating the numerous mental health issues these invisible children form that was preventable.

 I Will Continue to Be Honest

Until I breathe no more I will strive to continue being honest in my posts. I do not know how long I will have the freedom to write and spread my opinions and feelings because my country is sliding down into an abyss from which we may not recover.

I do not care how doomsday-ish that sounds.

I do not have my head in the sand and I’m watching with tears streaming down my cheeks as everything I thought my country stood for dies before my eyes.

If you live in a different country, you must be the beacon of hope to the children of the globe. It is up to you to begin the drastic changes that need to be done to end the tragedy of children who wait for the help that will not come.