I Cry Silently

I Cry Silently

I lie in my bed, alone in my crib,
waiting for comforting hands.
I weep and wail, shaking with rage.
I do not cry silently.

My belly's empty and my bottom burns
with the rash of a neglected diaper.
Still, no one comes to attend to my needs.
I cry but find no relief.

Then, out of the emptiness, appears a face,
and I quiet my cries in anticipation.
Surely, my anguish will finally abate.
I wait for comfort and cry silently.

This face shows no love, only anger and frustration.
Her hands are harsh and I find no rest.
I wait an eternity for someone to care.
I bring back the noise of my tears.

She shakes me and screams at me; I don't understand.
The face and hands are unsympathetic.
This is my world; I know nothing else.
I lie here and try to cry silently.

The months go by and become three years.
I have learned that my tears serve no purpose.
I no longer expect a remedy for my pain.
My cries have now been silenced.

And now my tears have turned into rage.
If I am to survive, I must take care of myself.
I've learned this truth in my short time on Earth.
I can only weep in silence.

Strange faces and hands now carry me away
to a new home with unknown faces.
These faces and hands are gentle and kind.
But, still, I must cry silently.

They want me to live with so MANY rules;
They actually think they're in charge!
Don't they realize I am on my own?
I've learned how to cry silently.

The woman who lives here has loving hands.
Her face is soft and her eyes are warm.
Could this be love? How would I know?
My heart is kept caged in its silence.

There's another woman--I call her Coach--
who makes me think about things.
She's helping me work through my outbursts of rage.
But, still, my tears remain silent.

She teaches me how to understand my pain
and puts words and names to my feelings.
I've begun to like the person I am.
My tears are not always silent.

She's a tough cookie--impossible to fool.
She figures me out every time!
I know I still have a long way to go.
Too often my tears are still silent.

I'm learning more, as each day passes,
how to laugh and how to be sad;
I can even be angry and still be okay.
I am beginning to feel less rage.

At last, I have someone who gets me
and understands who I am!
And the other woman--she's now my mother!
Thank goodness! I don't have to cry silently.


Pat Nelson
May 29, 2008

This is a poem dedicated to my adopted son, a victim of severe neglect and abuse, which caused him to have Attachment Disorder. It is said that such infamous people as Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer were afflicted with this horrific disorder. Those affected must receive the proper therapy by one who is trained in Attachment Disorder. It requires special therapy at home as well. There is great hope for my son now that we have found a wonderful therapist, Dr. Susan B. Corbin. She has helped him help himself and has taught us how to parent a child with Attachment Disorder. We are grateful to her every day of our lives.

By the way, I worked hard to be recognized by my son as his mother. He barricaded himself from my love. Coach taught me how to break down the barriers and find his broken heart. Once cold and distant, he is now loving and affectionate. Like labor pains, the struggles we went through are now all but forgotten.

For more information on Attachment Disorder, please click on the following link: http://ATTACh.org