Early Experiences

When I was somewhere around five or six years old a stranger made a snide comment to me in the middle of a mall, and I think it scarred me some. I was there with my mother and grandmother, and we ran into a sweet old lady who lived across the street from us. My grandmother had taken a dish over to her a few days or so before, and for some reason I asked her, “When are you going to give us our bowl back?”. Definitely kinda rude, but hey, I was little and didn’t really know any better. My mom got really mad. She took me aside, sat me on a stool and scolded me in front of everyone in that area of the mall. Sensitive kid that I was, I started to cry. And I cried some more after she walked back over to the neighbor. As I was sitting there, crying, a woman who hadn’t seen or heard any of what happened was passing by. She looked right at me, narrowed her eyes and nastily said to me, “Spoiled brat!” I can only assume she thought I was crying because my mom wouldn’t buy me a toy or something. I don’t really know but I’ve kept that with me all these years.

I’ve been thinking about my past a lot lately. Things like that when I was really young. I keep wondering how much of what you experience when you’re tiny sticks with you and contributes to who you are as an adult.

When I was in first grade I had a few friends in my class and a crush on one of them… a little boy named Lucas. One day one of those other friends, a boy named Timothy, came up to me and asked if I liked anyone. I didn’t want to say, but he kept assuring me that he wouldn’t tell anyone. So I did, and of course like little boys do, he did. He went right over to Lucas and told him. I was mortified. Lucas made a face, and they both started laughing. I remember that being the day I realized I couldn’t really trust anyone. First grade… how sad is that?

I wonder if my social anxiety comes from occurrences like those. I get embarrassed just thinking back on them. I remember it really kicking in during second grade. We moved to a new town, and I started school in the middle of the year. No one really liked me. I dreaded going and faked being sick all the time, but my mom only bought it every now and then. The summer after that I was enrolled in a YMCA summer day camp during the week. Every day I dreaded walking into that building. While all the other kids were playing together with toys on the far side of the room, I would hang out in the book section on the opposite end and read, or pretend to just so I looked busy and content by myself. One of the counselors came up to me one day and asked if I wanted to play with the other kids, and I said I was fine reading. I remember thinking that I wanted to more than anything, but I couldn’t bring myself to walk over there. I never had anything to say and no one ever wanted to play with me anyway.

I’m still like that. I’ve been like that so long now that I don’t know how to be any other way. I want to more than anything, but I’m not sure I ever will. I keep hoping these anti-depressants will magically help, but I don’t think they work that way. I don’t even know exactly what I’ve been expecting them to do, but I’m not sure they’re doing it. I don't even know if they'll work at all since it's an experimental drug. Maybe they are working, I don’t know. Sometimes I feel just fine, but then I get a day like today where I’m paranoid and all over the place. Maybe the upped dosage will kick in soon and help some.