Wow, I haven't written anything in quite a while. Probably for a few reasons. Interesting though that the last post that I did write is so closely related to the one that I am attempting today. By the way, as an addendum to my last, apparently a therapist cost 90 dollars an hour, not 80.
So this is what I was thinking about yesterday. If you asked me 12 years ago, when I was still pulling myself out of adolescence, if you asked me if I had had a tough childhood, I would have said "no". However if you asked if I had had a happy childhood I would have "no" as well. It was interesting to me, the difference in perspective and also the difference between the two questions.
I by no means had a horrible childhood. As far as I knew, we always had the essentials. Food, Home, Clothing, a Loving Family. I knew, even as a young child that I was blessed, we were blessed. I knew that many others had terrible trials: divorce, abuse, homelessness, death, sickness. We didn't have any of those things. I may have, at times, noticed that we didn't have as much as other families around us; but I never felt that I would have been considered a charity case.
On the other hand, when I considered the question of whether or not I was happy, I was always so sure that I wasn't. I remembered feeling lonely, outcast, forgotten, under-appreciated. I am not sure that I would ever have assigned these feelings to associations with people like my parents and my siblings. I knew my parents loved me, and I had so many siblings that I never felt totally unloved by them either. So why was this feeling of unhappiness so prominent in my memory?
What were the things that I remembered from childhood that led me to these conclusions? I could compile a sizable list of all of the woes and embarrasments that my have occured. I could brood over the many snubs and neglects that I could recall. But then I think to myself, "how it this any different than any other childhood?" The answers, perhaps, are found more in my mind and how I viewed these events, than in what actually took place.
Now, and even to some extent at a teenager, when thinking over this quandry I would at times say "wait, why do I feel this way". I knew that despite my melancholy attitude I did have times when I was happy. I could remember just as many, if not more, happy moments from my childhood than the depressing ones, so why was I so sure that I wasn't a happy person. I remember being very aware of my sadness, and loneliness. Perhaps that is nothing out of the ordinary.
I vaguely remember in elementary school at a young age being sent to the school counselor. I don't remember if I knew why at the time. I do remember her asking me to draw a picture of my family. I then proceeded to draw the 8 stick figures that represented my family at the time. Taking care to draw them in order and in different heights. I remember a distinct impression of disappointment from the counselor. I remember, afterwards, going over in my mind what I could have done to make her more pleased with my picture. She obviously was hoping that I would show her what a terrible family I'd had. I thought, "I should have drawn my dad in an airplane because he was always away traveling. I should have shown my sister off with her friends smoking, I should have drawn my other sister and brother fighting, and my baby crying. I was upset that I hadn't done that at the time, to make the counselor happy, but not because that was how I really felt.
I also have a clear memory of constantly being at the nurse's office. There was rarely anything wrong with me. I just didn't feel well. I would go to her office, have my temperature taken, and sometimes lie down on the cot before being sent back to class. I cannot remember how old I was or how often I went, but I know that it was probably often enough to draw attention to myself. I was always secretly hoping that something would be wrong with me. I wanted to be sick, I wanted to have something wrong with me that would explain...I don't know, something, anything. I wanted the attention. I wanted to be pitied.
I remember, in my more dramatic moments, more morbid thoughts. What if I died? What if something terrible happened and I was dead, and they would send my coffin off to "so and so"and then they would realize how wonderful I had been. To see the people that would cry over me now that I was gone.
I often remember playing alone, the same game over and over. Trying to escape the evil witch that held me captive in a tower. At recess, by myself. As Anne Shirley would have said, I often mourned for a real "bosom friend". I often played alone, and did it quite well. I did develop the habit of enjoying long walks by myself, especially in the slow drizzling rain of the Northwest. I would find the nearest trees to walk in and just enjoy the time I spent by myself. I might have described those times as my most pleasant, if not my happiest. I would wake early on a Saturday, before anyone else was awake and sneak out of the house in a sweater and just walk for an hour or more. No noise, no people, no cars; it helped to be alone sometimes.
So, why am I saying all of this, where is this leading besides a trip down memory lane that doesn't mean anything to anyone but myself? I am not entirely sure. I know that all of these things are apart of a puzzle, to helping me understand myself now. I have a secret for you, times don't really change, people don't change, at least in our essence. We may change our habits, our location, our opinion, our strengths and weaknesses. But there is always apart of us that is innate. A part of our nature that has been there from the beginning, and will be with us forever. It is that part of our souls that defines us as individuals and not just one more to be counted and manipulated. And if we can find that part of us, know it, search it, and understand it then we can truly understand who we are. We won't be afraid of it, and try to run away from it, but we can embrace it to our good. To strengthen who we are, to continue to overcome our weaknesses and to enhance our better qualities. Until the time when we can truly become the people that we are meant to be.
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