What happened was both unnatural and unexpected. I don’t remember “the event” so I’m left to wonder: Was it fast or slow? Did I suffer? Did anyone try to save me? And above all else, Why? Why me?
I am a ghost, a lost soul — neither here nor there, for I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to go.
I can’t go back, but I can’t move on. I exist in perpetual state of disbelief, of confusion and therefore, torment. I want to move beyond to a place of light, but I have unfinished business. So I’m in limbo, stuck somewhere between, ever transparent, ever hollow.
Although I am a waif, people do notice me. Some are intrigued: “I’ve never encountered anything like you!” Others are frightened: “Go back to where you came from!” Some try to save me: “Dear Jesus, please help this troubled soul.” Others simply ignore me.
A few people hunt for me; they want to study me to prove that I am real, that I am valid. They believe that I may have a message worth hearing or lessons worth teaching. “We want to understand you,” they say. “We want to hear your voice.” So I become a stronger presence and give them something to talk about. “Now this,” they say, “this is something!”
But in the midst of it all, I simply want to find peace. But that which will give me peace — my existence, my identity, my life, my birthright — is forever gone. I may acquire a new existence but my original self, that which came before “the event,” is sealed up tight and inaccessible. So I continue to endure my present state — that of a ghost. That of an adoptee.
OhmMG... 
My heart breaks. I feel your suffering, Erika, as I witness my near 6 year old struggle without words. Keep on writing, expressing. You may feel at times the process is worthless; it is not. Thank you for your courage. I love you.