Lately I've been staying up at night, just lying in bed and crying. Not for myself, but for them. For them, for Mark, and for everyone who has to put up with the craziness that my life has become.
For Anna, who cries every time we look in the mirror, at the pain she feels over being trapped in a grown man's body. I cry over her need for perfection and order, because no matter how much she cleans and washes and organizes, it is never enough. She will never have what she wants. A body, her own birthday, friends, a boyfriend. Someone who will see her not as a man, but for who she really is – a teenaged girl.
And I cry for Fred, who remembers the abuse, the pain, the trauma. For the fact that he, too, will never have what he so desires. A childhood, friends to play with, the innocence he has never known. I feel sorry that he endured that pain that was meant for me, and me alone. I am sorry that he remembers, and not me. I regret that it is him who cries in the night, him with the flashbacks, him with the memories. I want to take his pain away, even as I know this is impossible.
Then there is Mike, always so calming, so soothing. Angie appointed him as the "leader" of our sad little group, the protector. It is Mike who calms the littles when they cry, he who comforts Anna when she looks in the mirror, and Fred when he cries. He is the one to scold Devan when he cuts us, and to let him know that he is loved, despite his anger and acting out, despite the resentment he senses from the others in our system.
Sometimes I forget that Devan is just a child. Just a kid who doesn't know how else to express himself other than to act out, transform his pain and frustration into something physical, something tangible. I cry for him, too, because of the hatred he holds for everyone and everything, because he has never learned how to love, never experienced it firsthand. Despite what he thinks, I love him too, just like the others.
David, the "bad boy" in the group. It was him who was present for most of my drug addiction, and during my brief relationship with April. I feel his presence still, and in the time that he has made himself known to my conscious mind, the old cravings for my poison have increased. I sometimes feel frightened when he is out, I fear that he may go back to his – our – old habits. That he will drag the rest of us down, spiraling again through the throes of addiction.
We have all introduced ourselves to Mark. He does his best, he tries to understand as well as he can. He colors with Fred, watches soaps with Anna, reads books to Devan, and has discussions with Mike and David. He welcomes these foreign gusts into his apartment, into his life. He accepts us, and for this, we love him. The littles are no longer frightened by his presence, and have grown to trust him as I have.
I cry for them all. For Mark, for Anna, for David, Mike, and Fred. Not for myself though… never for myself.