“Christ, how I wish I was something. Shannon always says she wishes she was a screamer, like Joe. Loud, fierce, impossible to ignore. But me? I just wish I was anything but what I am. I don’t speak. I’m scared. I’m traumatised. That’s what all the doctors say, anyway, like giving it a name makes it easier to carry. I’m afraid of everyone and everything. Afraid of their voices, their footsteps, the way they look at me for too long. Two years ago, I could talk. I could laugh. Now my words are stuck somewhere deep, locked up so tight I don’t even know if I’d recognise my own voice if I heard it. Maybe it’s safer this way. Maybe if I stay small enough, quiet enough, I’ll disappear altogether.”
-Anna Lynch.