Childhood Memories

Posted: April 11, 2009 in Uncategorized

When I was little, I was the go-between where my parents were concerned. When they weren’t talking (which was a lot of the time) there was a quiet understanding that I’d be the messenger for each. That was my understanding, anyway. It was never (well, almost never. I can remember a few “go tell your mother” and “go tell your father”‘s) spoken out loud; thing is, if anything was to get done, someone had to do the communicating.

There was a lot of yelling; my parents just didn’t do it at each other. My father hollered, I think, just to hear his own voice. He was rash, unpredictable, and difficult to gauge. I was never sure whether what I was going to say would set him off or not; I felt like I was walking on eggshells around him all the time.

We lived in survivor mode in my house. Everyone had a different way of getting by; one would quietly pretend that all was well, another would be completely oblivious to all that was going on, still another would act out. I tried to stay away as much as possible, both physically and, when I couldn’t arrange to be gone, mentally. I’d dissociate. Of course, I never realized at the time that that was what I was doing; those sorts of things don’t become evident until much later in life when you find out that the “little voices in your head” really are little voices in your head, or that dead feeling inside is not a normal thing that everybody feels.

Life is what it is, and I’ve come to accept that. The only anger I have left is for people who know and repeat the behaviors, leaving behind more kids like me having to deal with a lifetime of depression and anxiety and fear. Oh, and maybe a little bit for the the people who know and won’t give those like me the respect we deserve, or some time to learn and understand.

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