I worked with her for two years and she had regular meltdowns which resulted in her crawling into a ball in the closest corner and scream wails of inner pain. If anyone came near her she would scream, “Get away from me daddy. I don’t want you to touch me anymore!” Her pain was blasted through the hallways. Tears streamed from her face creating a puddle on her clenched hands that were wrapped tightly around her knees. She rocked back and forth and would swat at anyone if they got too close to her. She sobbed and screamed, sobbed and screamed, sobbed and screamed.
It would take at minimum twenty minutes for me to calm her down. Once she was calm she would climb to her feet, slap a smile on and everything would be happy and okay again. I called child protection agencies on numerous occasions, but they never did anything for this young girl.
Day after day she would come to my room and tell me of some horrible sadness or wrong that was inflicted upon her. Betty, her imaginary friend, often would hurt her. She would show me bruises and cuts that were supposedly inflicted by Betty. I spent countless hours documenting her pain and making calls to local agencies, but nobody ever came to her aid.
The girl was never afraid to share her hurt. It was obvious to me that her inner pain was taking over her entire being. One afternoon she wrote me a letter. To this day I wake up at night sweating and worrying about this young girl. I don’t know where she ended up or if she made it out of her own personal horror story.
I have an imaginary friend named Betty. Betty messes up my room and then blames me. She is my sister and my imaginary friend. She is five years old. She deletes files on my computer and that is what really burns me up.
My dad is attached to me. I don’t know why. He was my primary caregiver when my mom was away (at work). My mom and dad don’t get along. When it happens sometimes I am cranky because I can’t sleep because of the arguing. It makes me sad.
My mom goes over to other mens houses. She is kissing them and hugging them like they are her own husband.
My mom spends a lot of time out of the house. I have two sisters. One is older and one is younger. I like them. We talk about when our parents fight. Betty usually makes raspberries at me and I have to hit her to make her stop. It makes me sad, like I will never be cheerful again as long as my parents fight.
I like writing stories.
Betty and I fight about who sleeps on the top bunk and who sleeps on the bottom. One night she snuck up to the top bunk and pushed me off. Do you know what happened? I broke my leg. A year ago, one day just for fun I kicked Betty down the stairs and she broke her leg and I said “revenge” real loud.
(names and identifying information have been changed to protect the children involved)