DCLXVI
I hate everything.
- Oct 29, 2023
- 21
Let me start put by saying, this is a bit of a long story, but I don't think I could really post this anywhere else and be understood.
I did not have a good childhood by any means. I actually can't even recall most of it. Zero memory. Nothing there. Once, a kid I had never seen before (or so I thought) came to a school I was transferred to after I was expelled, and said he knew me and asked if my mom's name was Cindy. Caught off guard bc I had zero idea who this was or why he knew my mother's name, I immediately went into defensive/denial mode when he explained that my mom babysat him and his sister for over a year, realizing that I would've been around 4-5 years old at the time and should be able to recollect memories from that age. Got home from school, asked my mom about it, and it was true. And yet, in my memory? Nothing
Apparently your brain will repress traumatic memories, which I had never fully believed/realized until then.
One day, my mom asked if I remembered the day I broke my dad's fingers. Which, I kinda did, but only vaguely. I have maybe 3 memories of my dad, as I suffered every type of abuse in his hands, and not one of them are good. This led me to become an extremely angry and violent kid. I never really hurt animals, but I had absolutely no remorse for people. And I especially had no remorse for the kids who picked on my siblings. I once picked up a shovel and stood behind a kid who was swinging on a swingset, then raised the shovel so that the kid would freefall backwards into it. I've also set the back of my grandparent's neighborhood on fire. I threw a kid off his bike, started punching him, then took his bike and ran him over with it, like I was a FUCKED up kid. There was a time in my life where I liked the sound of making people choke so much that it got to a point where my mom would make a choking noise every time I raised my hand so that I wouldn't actually try to choke her. And these are all things that happened before I wad even 10 years old. All of these occurrences SCREAM psychopath, I know, but my parents didn't care enough to realize it wasn't normal. Surprise, surprise, later in life I would go on to be diagnosed with Antisocial Personality Disorder from the abuse I had endured, mostly by my dad.
Anyways, the story goes like this: apparently my dad was tickling me or holding me down or something; something that was meant to be playful, as my mom was on the couch next to us. I either got sick of it and got angry, or I just immediately snapped as soon as he put his hands on me, I don't remember exactly what she said, but apparently my little psychotic 7 year old ass looked him in the face and bent two of his fingers completely backwards and proceeded to laugh at his pain. I think I vaguely remember this, but I only remember the part where his fingers broke, I don't remember anything before or after it
I'm just glad I did that before my mom kicked him out, even though I don't really remember it. At least my fucked up rage was directed at the right thing at least once.
I did not have a good childhood by any means. I actually can't even recall most of it. Zero memory. Nothing there. Once, a kid I had never seen before (or so I thought) came to a school I was transferred to after I was expelled, and said he knew me and asked if my mom's name was Cindy. Caught off guard bc I had zero idea who this was or why he knew my mother's name, I immediately went into defensive/denial mode when he explained that my mom babysat him and his sister for over a year, realizing that I would've been around 4-5 years old at the time and should be able to recollect memories from that age. Got home from school, asked my mom about it, and it was true. And yet, in my memory? Nothing
Apparently your brain will repress traumatic memories, which I had never fully believed/realized until then.
One day, my mom asked if I remembered the day I broke my dad's fingers. Which, I kinda did, but only vaguely. I have maybe 3 memories of my dad, as I suffered every type of abuse in his hands, and not one of them are good. This led me to become an extremely angry and violent kid. I never really hurt animals, but I had absolutely no remorse for people. And I especially had no remorse for the kids who picked on my siblings. I once picked up a shovel and stood behind a kid who was swinging on a swingset, then raised the shovel so that the kid would freefall backwards into it. I've also set the back of my grandparent's neighborhood on fire. I threw a kid off his bike, started punching him, then took his bike and ran him over with it, like I was a FUCKED up kid. There was a time in my life where I liked the sound of making people choke so much that it got to a point where my mom would make a choking noise every time I raised my hand so that I wouldn't actually try to choke her. And these are all things that happened before I wad even 10 years old. All of these occurrences SCREAM psychopath, I know, but my parents didn't care enough to realize it wasn't normal. Surprise, surprise, later in life I would go on to be diagnosed with Antisocial Personality Disorder from the abuse I had endured, mostly by my dad.
Anyways, the story goes like this: apparently my dad was tickling me or holding me down or something; something that was meant to be playful, as my mom was on the couch next to us. I either got sick of it and got angry, or I just immediately snapped as soon as he put his hands on me, I don't remember exactly what she said, but apparently my little psychotic 7 year old ass looked him in the face and bent two of his fingers completely backwards and proceeded to laugh at his pain. I think I vaguely remember this, but I only remember the part where his fingers broke, I don't remember anything before or after it
I'm just glad I did that before my mom kicked him out, even though I don't really remember it. At least my fucked up rage was directed at the right thing at least once.
