Caitlyn had been taught that she was different from a very young age. She supposed she had felt it for as long as she could remember, the disconnect between her and everyone else her age. No one seemed to understand, no one seemed to get it.

Her mother flitted from doctor to doctor, desperately wanting to know what was 'wrong' with her daughter. Eventually, she was diagnosed when she was fifteen.

Caitlyn supposed this was a good thing. As long as her parents would stop thinking she was a brat for hiding during cocktail parties or just being spiteful when she literally couldn't talk because the noise was too much. At least they knew she wasn't faking.

As she grew older though, she began to see that wall she had so carefully built was just getting too overwhelming to hold up any longer. She was tired, exhausted even, but still terrified of anyone seeing the real her.

She sat on her bed after a long day of work, staring at tall the paperwork and deciding she just couldn't do it all. She pushed it away with a huff, wringing out her hands to try and relieve some tension from her head, before quickly realizing what she was doing and stunting the action. It was improper.