Little Girl Lost | Teen Ink

Little Girl Lost

February 20, 2011
By PortraitWords SILVER, Bronx, New York
PortraitWords SILVER, Bronx, New York
6 articles 14 photos 12 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Love me for my ugly, for my pretty is deceitful"

Sweet girl. All she knew was music and Muppet Babies. Her laugh was the song of innocence. A loving, well-mannered, and shy child. She was sick, and so she was doomed. No one could cure her misunderstood illness, and it swept her away. Kidnapped by disease of the mind. Rest in peace, she could not. I feel her crying all the time. Dreadful screams. I can almost see her red, tear streaked face.

I am sorry little girl. I am sorry Kristina. So sorry.

I am not the little girl in these pictures. I can't look at them, because they make me cry. She is not me. She is dead. Those are not my eyes, and that is not my smile. People say it is the same pair of eyes, and the same smile, but their vision is not as keen as mine.

When I look at recent photos of myself smiling, all I see is a girl lost within a thick fog of all things dark. She is some place where the only colors are different shades of gray, blue-gray, and black.
If she is crying too hard, they put her in a black room full of nothing, where she hides her face in her knees and weeps.

No, I do not see the girl who jokes and dances, like everyone else sees. I know when she laughs she is not sincere, but doing so because it seems to be what is supposed to be done. I see a stranger. In fact, I often get surprised when I look in the mirror and see the girl staring back at me. Who is she?

I get a creepy feeling looking at her. And then I feel my companion, the voice without a body, snarling at the girl. Perhaps I have died, and stolen this girl's body, and I just don't remember. I don't know what I look like, but I am not the girl in the picture, or the mirror. When I look at her, four year old Kristina is screaming. She wants the demon to let her go.
She wants to go back.

I want to go back.

The author's comments:
I wrote this almost automatically, and when I went back to read it, I cried. It was like uncovering buried emotions that I didn't realize I had put away. I suffer from mental illness, and It breaks my heart to look at old photos and videos of myself during a happier time, because the little girl in the pictures has no idea what is about to come. I wish I could shield her from it all, and I constantly feel like apologizing to her - to myself - for all the agony that deep down, I know is not my fault.

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