*Childhood Memories*Anxiety*Fear*Sadness*Grief*
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Join Date: Feb 2007
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*Childhood Memories*Anxiety*Fear*Sadness*Grief*
(Thank you all for listening & sharing.... I have had so much to say! And you all encourage me to keep saying it--I am forever grateful!)
Feb 15th
Wow, I have a lot to say today. First thing I literally JUST noticed as I am typing. I hear a pounding in my apartment complex…like someone pounding a hammer, or beating on a door. I thought, what do they want? Wont the please stop?!? Then I realized I wasn’t just annoyed—if fact that’s not it at all! I feel anxious…very very anxious. I feel like someone needs me…I feel like I am doing something wrong and they are pounding AT ME. My rationality tells me, its probably something else…but as it goes on I feel increased anxiety. I just put 2 and 2 together! Another “Ah-ha” / lightbulb moment…my WHOLE life when my dad was mad he pounded on the floor will all his might to let me know I was pissing him off. He would be flaring mad! Wow…I never realized this before, and it blows my mind now. To think --I have a panic attack at the sound of pounding on a wall!
(As I am re-reading this paragraph and proofreading it--I felt anxiety when I read the words: "pounding on a wall")
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Speaking of childhood memories, I had another one come up today. I was listening to Eric Claptons, “Tears In heaven”. As I heard...
“Because I know I don’t belong…here in heaven”
–I knew Clapton wrote this song about his son who is in heaven, and he knows he cant be there with him—his place is here on earth. I thought back to this moment…I was little, maybe 10? And I remember my closet was my “safe haven”—my spot to get away from the craziness and yelling. I remember one day I was so sad—I remember it so vividly. I balled, and screamed, and cried, and I asked God to take me away. I did not want to live anymore—I could not bear the pain I was feeling. I was serious. I did not want to live—I wanted to die—but I didn’t have the courage to kill myself. I prayed to God, PLEASE, please, please take me off of this earth. I am so sad for that little girl. What was so horrible in a little kids life, that they seriously wanted to die?!?! This is total affirmation of my feelings. I may have thought it was normal at the time…but THIS IS NOT NORMAL for a child. I see this now.
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This brought up another memory. I had a friend as a teenager...
Wow! ***Side thought****
I was about to write, “I had a friend as a child,” because as I remember it, I feel like that same little child in my closet. I remember this experience as if I was 7, 8, 9 years old….But this could not be true…because this friend, I didn’t meet her until I was in high school. I must have felt like a little child inside—being controlled all the time***
Okay, back to my thoughts…she used to write poetry all the time! She came from a place of deep hurt too. Her father had abandoned her and had recently committed suicide, and her mother didn’t (seem) to love her. Anyways, she had BOOKS of poems, and I thought they were so beautiful! I told her she should be a writer—I mean, they were amazing! To this day I will say this. Looking back, I realize I was SO drawn to these poems because they had meaning for me—meaning I couldn’t express myself!! There was one in particular I remember—I repeated it all the time—I had memorized it. It was called “the sad clown”…I love this poem. I WISH I COULD remember it word for word! But I guess what is important is the meaning behind it.
I remember it talked of a clown who entered the stage, and the children he was to entertain were delighted! Everyone laughed, and the clown smiled…and the poem ends when she says: but what the children couldn’t see was under all the face paint—under the mask—he was crying; he was sad; he was not the “happy clown” everyone saw him as.
NO WONDER! I loved this poem. This is my life. I am the clown—I feel responsible for the “entertainment” of everyone’s feelings—but really, it was a mask—I was DYING on the inside and I couldn’t show anyone. To think—how long I have been feeling this way inside…how did I not see this? It was literally in front of my face. Maybe I denied that this poem was me? I don’t know.
Anyways, I photocopied pages and pages of these poems, and I took a marker and went into my closet—the same closet I wished to die in—my safe spot—and I wrote these poems all over the walls. I loved to read them here. Shortly after, my dad had all the walls in the house painted—I asked him not to paint my closet. He agreed not to—and I believed him. I came home, and it had all been painted over. I said nothing.
It was like he literally took a paintbrush and erased all my feelings! He hid them! How dare he!!!!
THANK YOU FOR LISTENING!
Much Love!
In recovery,
Stephanie
Feb 15th
Wow, I have a lot to say today. First thing I literally JUST noticed as I am typing. I hear a pounding in my apartment complex…like someone pounding a hammer, or beating on a door. I thought, what do they want? Wont the please stop?!? Then I realized I wasn’t just annoyed—if fact that’s not it at all! I feel anxious…very very anxious. I feel like someone needs me…I feel like I am doing something wrong and they are pounding AT ME. My rationality tells me, its probably something else…but as it goes on I feel increased anxiety. I just put 2 and 2 together! Another “Ah-ha” / lightbulb moment…my WHOLE life when my dad was mad he pounded on the floor will all his might to let me know I was pissing him off. He would be flaring mad! Wow…I never realized this before, and it blows my mind now. To think --I have a panic attack at the sound of pounding on a wall!
(As I am re-reading this paragraph and proofreading it--I felt anxiety when I read the words: "pounding on a wall")
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------
Speaking of childhood memories, I had another one come up today. I was listening to Eric Claptons, “Tears In heaven”. As I heard...
“Because I know I don’t belong…here in heaven”
–I knew Clapton wrote this song about his son who is in heaven, and he knows he cant be there with him—his place is here on earth. I thought back to this moment…I was little, maybe 10? And I remember my closet was my “safe haven”—my spot to get away from the craziness and yelling. I remember one day I was so sad—I remember it so vividly. I balled, and screamed, and cried, and I asked God to take me away. I did not want to live anymore—I could not bear the pain I was feeling. I was serious. I did not want to live—I wanted to die—but I didn’t have the courage to kill myself. I prayed to God, PLEASE, please, please take me off of this earth. I am so sad for that little girl. What was so horrible in a little kids life, that they seriously wanted to die?!?! This is total affirmation of my feelings. I may have thought it was normal at the time…but THIS IS NOT NORMAL for a child. I see this now.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------
This brought up another memory. I had a friend as a teenager...
Wow! ***Side thought****
I was about to write, “I had a friend as a child,” because as I remember it, I feel like that same little child in my closet. I remember this experience as if I was 7, 8, 9 years old….But this could not be true…because this friend, I didn’t meet her until I was in high school. I must have felt like a little child inside—being controlled all the time***
Okay, back to my thoughts…she used to write poetry all the time! She came from a place of deep hurt too. Her father had abandoned her and had recently committed suicide, and her mother didn’t (seem) to love her. Anyways, she had BOOKS of poems, and I thought they were so beautiful! I told her she should be a writer—I mean, they were amazing! To this day I will say this. Looking back, I realize I was SO drawn to these poems because they had meaning for me—meaning I couldn’t express myself!! There was one in particular I remember—I repeated it all the time—I had memorized it. It was called “the sad clown”…I love this poem. I WISH I COULD remember it word for word! But I guess what is important is the meaning behind it.
I remember it talked of a clown who entered the stage, and the children he was to entertain were delighted! Everyone laughed, and the clown smiled…and the poem ends when she says: but what the children couldn’t see was under all the face paint—under the mask—he was crying; he was sad; he was not the “happy clown” everyone saw him as.
NO WONDER! I loved this poem. This is my life. I am the clown—I feel responsible for the “entertainment” of everyone’s feelings—but really, it was a mask—I was DYING on the inside and I couldn’t show anyone. To think—how long I have been feeling this way inside…how did I not see this? It was literally in front of my face. Maybe I denied that this poem was me? I don’t know.
Anyways, I photocopied pages and pages of these poems, and I took a marker and went into my closet—the same closet I wished to die in—my safe spot—and I wrote these poems all over the walls. I loved to read them here. Shortly after, my dad had all the walls in the house painted—I asked him not to paint my closet. He agreed not to—and I believed him. I came home, and it had all been painted over. I said nothing.
It was like he literally took a paintbrush and erased all my feelings! He hid them! How dare he!!!!
THANK YOU FOR LISTENING!
Much Love!
In recovery,
Stephanie
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