The Writer

Anthony Valen, The Glass Child

"When I was growing up my younger brother, Denver, had a bad eating disorder. I had it too, but he had or bad, or maybe it was just that he was bad at masking it. My mom and dad were always worried if he was eating enough or if he was going to be okay, they floated around him like flies on a farm, making sure he wasn't sick. I noticed this, I saw the stress that it gave my parents. I saw them break down over it, so whenever I felt sick or I lost my appetite or something came up. I would just hide it, I didn't want to stress my parents out they already had enough. Of course, it was their choice and job to worry about their kids, and me, but I didn't want to be worried about it. When I was a kid my twin, Anna, had mental health issues, self-harm, and depression, even some drug addiction. My siblings were pulling my mom, both grabbing one arm and needing her attention. Of course, I needed to, but she only had two arms, I thought to myself. After my father died, it only got worse. My mom had no support, I was hurt, but she was hurt the most. She needed my help, not to be helping. I had always been standing off to the side, I wasn't as shiny as my siblings in the sky. They were black holes, I was just there. So I decided that I would be the good kid, the good son. The son who got good grades, the kid who never overdosed, the kid who never needed help eating, the son who went to a good college, got a PhD, got married, and had a kid. The son whom you could ask if he was okay and when he said he was fine, you'd actually believe him, even though it was so far from true. Even though it seemed like I hadn't been hurt by I father's death, I'd spend half the time sitting by his grave talking to him for hours, hoping that in some way he'd be able to hear me. It seemed like I wasn't even bothered by emotions, but I learned to mask them so much that eventually they just dissolved. I had forgotten how to cry when I just wanted to not be a burden. I became a therapist so no one has to feel like such a burden that they stop themselves from feeling and being themselves. When I was a child, I was invisible, I was the glass child." -Anthony Valen.

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the writer

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When I was growing up both of my brothers were on the autism spectrum. I was surrounded by autism, books on it covered the shelves, it's words lingered in mouths. My parents told my brothers that their autism was a superpower, my ADHD was called that. I wasn't special, I still was close with my parents, but they never needed to focus on me the way they focused on my brothers. Growing up my brother was always in and out of different schools, so I always went to school, I only missed a day if I was puking, and if I wanted to go home during school, I wouldn't, even if it was an emergency. Growing up my other brother wasn't the most responsible, so I did all the chores he couldn't, I walked the dogs, I woke up early every single day, I did the dishes without being told, and I made sure I had straight A's. I masked my anger issues, I masked my frustration, I masked my joint pain, I masked my eating problems, I masked my heartbreaking, I masked my stress, I masked my feelings of resentment for my brothers, I masked my tears, I masked my sickness, I masked my struggles in school, I masked my need for help, I masked everything that I forgot masking is only a term used for people on the spectrum, I wasn't on the spectrum, so I had to be fine. It had worked, I was glass. The glass child, good grades, good relationships, good routines, bad mental health that was the inspiration for many books, that no one ever read.