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#212102 - 03/21/08 02:16 PM Re: Thinking about Little Me [Re: Still]
Jarrad Offline

Registered: 10/27/06
Posts: 1071
Loc: arizona
i agree rob. it was really weird to write about.

#212128 - 03/21/08 05:42 PM Re: Thinking about Little Me *DELETED* [Re: Jarrad]
nicky Offline

Registered: 08/24/07
Posts: 261
Post deleted by nicky

i like the rain cause no one knows im crying

a strong man is one who is able to control himself when he is angry
what is your definiton of control?

i lay awake another hour
just like the one before
the shadows play a game with my head
i can't take this anymore

#212177 - 03/22/08 12:17 AM Re: Thinking about Little Me [Re: nicky]
MemoryVault Offline

Registered: 03/02/07
Posts: 693
Loc: NJ
When I was ten...

My heart was broken by a fluffy orange stray cat that used to visit our back door. I secretly hoped that I was winning her over to be part of our family, but one day, she didn't come back.

I was short, cute, slightly pudgy, effeminate, and smart. My inner world was large and strange. I had very little connection with the world outside. Other people didn't make sense to me.

My friends were the ones who would pretend with me...I didn't know how to speak about real things. Life was something to be endured between books and fantasies.

I wrote the first ten pages of a play about time travel (yes, into time travel even back then!) on an old manual typewriter. One moment, the only appearance of a child who must have been me, really kills me:
DM: Can I go to the zoo?
GM: Later. Daddy's very busy. (He spreads his papers out over his desk, to look like he's busy.)
DM: Aw, Wouldn't you rather see a monkey than fool around with your papers?
GM: Not really.
DM: Aw, please?
(AK enters.) (DM fades into the background and eventually exits unnoticed)
I ripped the pages out of the typewriter to show my father one at a time. He seemed to have no idea what to do with a 10-year-old aspiring playwright, or the messages he was sending.

I was using words like "eventually" and "unnoticed."

I was the natural last for all teams...the acknowledged social dregs of the class. Lonely but without the painful sense that there was any other way.

A storm was brewing...after-school swimming at the local high school (last again, except maybe for one other friend, bonded together in dregs-dom). The air in the locker room after one meet made me alert and strangely alive--testosterone? Old deodorant? I started dreaming about empty locker rooms, not yet ready for athletes.

It was univerally understood that I was a problem. I never questioned it.

That was before.

The man in the schoolyard made the sense of wrongness permanent, like an iron transferring a surface pattern deep into the fabric of a shirt. Absent-mindedness became dissociation, my conviction that I didn't fit in became my identity. I didn't know myself or anyone around me. The real world intervened when someone waved a hand in front of my face.

I write these things from outside...I don't know this kid. I try to, not to look at him with the cold, critical appraisal of my father or my mother's self-interest. I try to find some love for the parts that weren't just version 1.0 of me today. I was a kid. *tears welling up, now* I was just a kid.

#212178 - 03/22/08 12:42 AM Re: Thinking about Little Me [Re: MemoryVault]
dannym Offline

Registered: 03/25/07
Posts: 543
Loc: Boulder, Colorado
Little me....

I was about 8 - I had broken my arm very, very badly at the age of six and had surgery to place pins. I had been a very thin kid, full of energy, but the weight of the cast(I was in a 20 pound cast for 9 months) as well as the fear of falling again made me inactive - So i became overweight. I was very verbose and really didn't connect with kids my age... I LIKED kids my age, but i preferred adults or older kids - I was into reading and talking... I loved to sit and talk with people for hours, about anything... Those who know me now will attest I have not grown out of this \:\)

I had 2 dogs named Doc and Obleo. I had a best friend. He was 4 years older. He lived next door. He was so cool. He was in middle school.

My father was burned badly in a fire - it was unknown if he would survive. My mother spent every minute she could at the hospital. For that 7 weeks, neighbors took care of me after school until my siblings got home from high school activities. We were managing with all the chaos. I was not allowed to see my father... too young to go into the hospital.

My best friend spent a lot of time with me. He showed me magazines he stole from his dad's closet... playboy and penthouse. He explained about sex. It sounded sort of cool, the way he said it felt so good. He told me about hard ons... I told him I got them too! He understood. He would rub my leg when we watched TV in his basement. It felt good to be touched. I was scared and felt lonely... he made me feel so special... I got to eat dinner at his house and they had great stuff like Mac and Cheese and frozen pizzas. My family always had cooked stuff.. never boxed stuff... this was cool.... he groomed me for quite a while before his real fun began.

I was just a kid!


"You should listen to your heart, and not the voices in your head."

Marge Simpson

#212214 - 03/22/08 03:05 AM Re: Thinking about Little Me [Re: dannym]
SuperTramp7981 Offline

Registered: 03/07/08
Posts: 99
Loc: Massachusetts
Already posted from when I was a younger teen, but the hero thread reminded me of something I love when I was a kid

When I was a little kid, small enough for my dad to pick me up still. I used to count the hours to when he would come pick me up from my grandparents or aunts house after he would be gone for a three days, a week, sometimes more on a cruise. I used to love running to him and meeting him at the door, he would tower over me and sweep me up with one arm and give me a kiss on the forehead, the familiar feel of his graying beard scratching my face. He would then have a surprise, I knew what it was everytime and he would plop his fancy "sailors hat" I would call it on my head, and it was always too big, sinking down to my eyes or nose. He let me wear it the whole ride home. He would then take me back home and either put me to bed if it was late, or spend time with me before he even did anything else! He'd read to me, play a game, anything I wanted.
i was just a kid......with the world's best dad!

Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery;
None but ourselves can free our minds.
Have no fear for atomic energy,
'Cause none of them can stop the time.
How long shall they kill our prophets,
While we stand aside and look? Ooh!
Some say it's just a part of it:
We've got to fulfil de book.

Chat Name-Lparsons

#212218 - 03/22/08 03:10 AM Re: Thinking about Little Me [Re: SuperTramp7981]
MemoryVault Offline

Registered: 03/02/07
Posts: 693
Loc: NJ
SuperTramp --

Thanks for sharing that--that's really great. \:\) \:\) \:\)


#212223 - 03/22/08 03:30 AM Re: Thinking about Little Me [Re: dannym]
TJ jeff Offline

Registered: 08/07/04
Posts: 3554
Loc: Northern Wisconsin
Little Me -

5 years old - smaller than others my age - maybe 35 pounds soaking wet - for a couple of years had lived in an old farmhouse owned by a family friend who was a big farmer in the area (but then had to move into town that summer to the house I was in till I was 18)- helped out with farm stuff - loved animals of all kinds - a very emmotional high energy kid - could not sleep without his bear and often wrapped himself tightly into the sheets/blankets on his bed - loved to watch cartoons (bugs bunny, roadrunner, woody woodpecker, mighty mouse, ect...) - loved to sing - loved to play with hot wheels cars - loved to climb trees and play in the woods

I was just a kid

Edited by TJ jeff (03/22/08 03:32 AM)
Who will cry for the little boy? - I will... - Antwone Fisher

Abuse happens in silence/isolation - Recovery happens only when that silence/isolation is broken...

TJ's History

#212237 - 03/22/08 09:28 AM Re: Thinking about Little Me [Re: TJ jeff]
rehpotsirhcs Offline

Registered: 10/11/07
Posts: 204
Little me: I was 6 years old. My room was a giant toy box filled with scattered treasures - toy cars, board game pieces, coloring books, airplanes figures, etc. When Mom told me to pick up my room I would shove as much as I could under my bed and slide the rest in my closet. The only thing kept neatly folded and clean was my taekwondo uniform. I felt invincible when I wore the suit just like the Power Rangers. I was just a kid

#213692 - 03/28/08 02:13 PM Re: Thinking about Little Me [Re: rehpotsirhcs]
VLinvictus Offline

Registered: 12/05/07
Posts: 273
Loc: NY
Little me. I was eight years old, small for my age but with little pudgy tummy that I still havenít managed to outgrow. I had a winsome toothy smile beneath a bowl of blond hair. Iím sure other people who saw me thought I was a cute, normal little boy, but canít know for sure how other people really saw me because I never really saw them.

I lived with my mom and dad in an apartment crammed full of treasures harvested from garage sales, thrift shops, and curbs on trash day. I had an orange and white cat named Jack who would spend most of the day sleeping in some secluded spot hidden among my parentsí horde and would come out at regular times to demand food and attention and playtime on his own terms and stalk away again when he had his fill. He was my closest friend.

My external was a small world, not unlike the Little Prince on his asteroid. I had my parents, and my aunt would visit from time to time, and my teachers Ė they seemed real enough. My peers and schoolmates, though, passed me by like movie characters projected on a distant screen. Like the Little Prince, though, I could catch a ride on the comet of my imagination and escape in the vast, weird, and wonderful universe of my imagination. I could sit for hours in a comfy corner creating epic fantasies to entertain myself. I was an early reader, and from the first moment I could sound out words I devoured books and populated my inner universe with people and places that they and movies provided me. I came to feel most at home in the past, creating my own historical romances, or in the far future, weaving intricate space operas. I was in love with Star Wars Ė I wanted Darth Vader to be my my father so I could take him up his offer to rule the galaxy as father and son.

These fantasies of power belied the powerlessness that surrounded me. I was a strange little kid with strange interests. My schoolmates watched Saturday morning cartoons; I watched Saturday evening British dramas and sitcoms on the local PBS station. I woke up in the morning alone, at breakfast with my mom, and then spent the next eight hours in school focused either on my work and pleasing the teachers or retreating back to my inner space when I got bored. This happened a lot, as Iíd finish my work before anyone else and have too much time on my hands, which usually got me into trouble. At three clock I would go back home and keep my mom company while she made dinner and went shopping or on further garage sale expeditions to add to her collection of useless junk. Then my dad would come home from work, and Iíd go watch TV or hide in a book to block out the sound of their arguments. Whatever the issue, I knew they were arguing about me Ė that I had had failed somehow and would have to be a better little boy. All too soon it was time for bed, with Jack and my mountain of stuffed animals to keep my company. They were more real to me than most people, just like the figures out of history and fantasy that filled my mind. My heart was full of love and concern for them: I didnít want anyone to be unhappy, so each night I had to make sure I chose a different toy to sleep with lest any feel left out or hurt. Then a new day would begin.

The other kids didnít know what to make of me. We had nothing in common and nothing to talk about. We seemed to speak different languages and come from different alien planets. I didnít know their music or their TV shows, and I was totally useless at sports. Somehow, chess and RISK and Axis and Allies werenít as popular as I had hoped they were. I was different; at least thatís what they said (although not in so many words). I must not have fit in to their world they same way they didnít fit into mine. People in books and on TV had friends, so I tried my best to be friendly, but it I learned all too soon that what my mother told me was true: the world is cruel and unforgiving place and you canít trust anyone. I retreated to my place of safety. I rejected the world that would not have me and built up mighty walls around me so I could focus on my own passions and interests in peace. Alone.

When anyone asked, I always said I was fine. When anyone took my picture, I always smiled. Teachers and counselors suspected something was wrong, but I and my mother never accepted it, never acknowledged it. It just stayed there, beneath the surface under the faÁade I bravely maintained each day. I wanted to make my parents happy, although I never thought I really succeeded. I wanted to make my teachers happy, and so at least I excelled in school. I gave up trying to make my schoolmates happy and so wrote them out altogether and accepted loneliness as my natural condition. This was the only world I knew. I was just a kid.

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.
~ Oscar Wilde

#213696 - 03/28/08 02:26 PM Re: Thinking about Little Me [Re: VLinvictus]
hogan_dawg Offline

Registered: 03/26/08
Posts: 492
Little me: I remember seeing the clouds and sky move back and forth as I approached the horsey from behind. I was toddling so I was maybe 2 or 2 1/2 years old. I had just got my 'legs' and was loving the feel and smell of the air and the snow on the ground was white and sweet and soft on my boots. I toddled towards the horsey, my father some distance off, watching me. Then boom. Something hit my head, and I was flat on the ground. I woke up to my Father's hard cold voice commanding me "Get up!".

I was just a kid

Edited by hogan_dawg (03/28/08 02:32 PM)
I can say unequivocally that the lie of "To truly heal you must first forgive" has derailed more victims than the abusers themselves.
Andrew Vachs, 2003

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