I don’t know if it was turning 40 or what, but I’ve had a couple of observations, realisations, revelations – whatever you want to call it – come to me. And, I’ve been thinking I should write them down, for whatever reason. Posterity, maybe. Thus, I sit here, tablet and stylus in hand, pondering…

First off, as a child, all I wanted to do was grow up. I suppose that’s not terribly different from the desires and mistaken ideas of many children; I was under the impression and assumption that adults were strong and respected. They appeared to be respected, even if they weren’t all that intelligent. I wanted respect.

I saw in the eyes of adults a disdain for childhood and the foolishness of children, and I wanted to be seen as I was. Even then, I had a hatred for stereotypes. I wasn’t the adult I wanted to be, but neither was I truthfully totally a child…

I didn’t always understand that my brain worked differently from other people’s.
What I did know was that my advanced vocabulary and unusual interests kept me isolated (and incomprehensible) to my peers, while my age kept me locked away from a true association with the grown ups I so wanted to be included in.

I was lonely. I learned both to dislike everyone while craving to be liked by everyone.

It has just dawned on me recently that the disdain I saw directed at children by the “high and mighty” adults was, in fact, a mask for jealousy. Oh, they thought it was disdain, but what they really were was jealous of the freedom (the freedom I saw as a prison) of being a child.

They knew what I didn’t (because I didn’t know they were wearing their carefully crafted masks) that age doesn’t bring respect, it doesn’t make you any more likable – or capable. Age brings responsibilities you may or may not be able to handle. It brings knowledge but not necessarily wisdom. It brings a loss of innocence which may at first seem exciting but is really very sad and empty.

I thought I’d be happy when I grew up. I didn’t know I wasn’t made that way. The lonely child, with her strange interests and over developed vocabulary, is the lonely adult who still struggles to find someone to talk to and with which to hang out.

A lot of my problems, I know, stem from mental illness as well as being slightly autistic. I was never going to fit in this world. But, I wish I had enjoyed being a child more. I wish I had known, old is just old, and it’s filled with all the insecurity and pain that childhood is…and worse. And, respect, validation, appreciation – all those things I wanted – are still not there like I was made to believe they would be by the adults who were trying to believe their own bullshit…but, really, knew better.

That’s the first thing…

Observation (or maybe realisation and acceptance) number two: even if I hadn’t married my first husband who did everything in his power to undermine my self esteem, I still would have ended up making bad, destructive, choices with my life. Because, I was that child, that incomprehensible, mentally and emotionally wrecked child who belonged nowhere but longed to be desired and adored. If my ex-husband hadn’t been there, there would’ve been someone else I would’ve gone out of my way to ruin myself (more than I already was) with. One way or another, the damage would’ve been done because I was already the damaged.

For a long time I wished I could’ve escaped – I even thought that I could have had certain things been different, but… it’s like H.G. Wells’ Time Machine… I’d still be here in the condition I find myself, regardless.

What’s the point of this? Not sure. It’s simply something I’ve come to realise. Maybe it’s just the acceptance, another moment to reflect on the insanity of life, and the fucked-uppedness (it’s a word now!) of it all.

The broken child, the wounded adult, the fucked up world.

I wanted to end this on a more positive note. I’m struggling… but, I’m hopeful these observations, and especially the self-discovery, will help me in some way. Sigh…


Childhood Memories

As I was “lurking” on The Northlands – an online forum I visit (http://www.thenorthlands.net/forum/ ) – I noticed that one of the members had posted a thread entitled “What Were You Like?”, asking the other members to share what they were like as children and requesting that we share a favourite childhood memory. So, I stopped lurking and posted something that I now want to share as a blog post, as well.

When anyone asks me what my favourite childhood memory is, 9 times out of 10 this is what first comes to mind.  I decided to share what I posted on The Northlands as a post here because, well, I can… and, mostly because it is one of my all-time favourite personal stories: it was something that happened in my childhood that still touches and affects me to this day.

This is what I wrote in the thread:


My personality hasn’t changed much (if at all). I control negative aspects of it a bit better now… but, I was a miserable, moody, sarcastic, selfish, nearly constantly ill child who had a love for reading and an uncommon talent for singing. I am now… well…

But, one of my favourite memories from being a child is when a couple of wild ducks “adopted” me. I was six years old and very low because my mother was in the hospital. I had no friends and my grandparents – who normally took care of me when my mother was working or ill – were out of town; my oldest sister and her husband were looking after me at my grandparents’ house which was on a lake. I was depressed and scared and had little to distract me from the terror that my mother wasn’t going to recover. But these two ducks (a mated pair) just arrived one day. I named them Ducky (the female) and Lucky (the male). They would fly across the lake each day to come and visit me and “dance” with me in the backyard. It was rather magical. As I say, they were wild, but I could go outside and call them and they would come to me. I’d stand at the edge of the lake and shout, “DUCKY! LUCKY!”, and here they’d come, flying across the water to see me. They stayed around for years, and after the male died (or was killed), the female still came to visit me until she finally died. They were my daily companions and added a needed bit of joy and enchantment to a lonely childhood.

Oh, and if you wondered, my mother did fully recover and is still going strong. She will be 78 on the 21st of this month. I often think about Ducky and Lucky and the happiness they brought me…and the lessons they taught me. They taught me to look up, and to dance in the rain.