I feel a constant internal alarm. All day, I simply scream and scream – by my actions, through my eyes. Via my thoughts and behaviors and feelings, the decibel of my screams remain consistent and harsh.

Yet, I never audibly make a sound. No one hears a thing.

Intimate, internal, intrinsic screams echo throughout my mind. I want so desperately to remain silent, to remain invisible, yet I cannot stop screaming. Every second of every day, I am begging and pleading for someone to hear me. Silently. I use every ounce of strength I can muster to remain completely and totally invisible.

I don’t want you to hear me. I do not want anyone to hear me. Do not look at me. Do not listen to my words, meet my eyes. Yet, I am wailing, hollering, shrieking with pain. With grief. Boisterous. Muted. Thundering. Concealed. Visibly invisible.

I do not know what is more deafening – the debilitating silence or the roaring internal cries. Both envelope me until I am drowning in darkness, unable to move.

I do not know which is worse – to be ignored or to be invisible. If no one sees my pain, maybe it won’t exist. Yet, if no one sees my pain, the muted screams do not simply go away.