How did we get so f***ed up?
It’s not your fault you’re fucked up; it’s your fault if you stay fucked up. But the foundation of your fuckedupness is something that’s been pushed down and shared through many generations of your family, like a spaghetti recipe—though I can live with spaghetti.
In my case, it’s my introversion, my high blood pressure, and my manic depression.
You were a tiny bundle of joy coming into this planet. Well, maybe you were. I, on the other hand, was not quite ready to come out just yet. My mother was in labor for 36 hours, longer than most soon-to-be-mothers.
Then, just when they were prepped for a C-section I decided to come out, wide-eyed, screaming for them to put me back inside.
Even then, I thought everything was too bright. I still think this.
This was when I had my first traumatic experience, with a man dressed in a bright whiteness smacking me on my ass, forever scarring me, as well as being the kickoff to my forever growing distrust for doctors. And men wearing all white. Who do you think you are, James Bond? Prince?
Back then, there was nothing about the world that was scary, nor too expensive… not yet. However, this was when I started my fucked up mannerisms. Anything my parents put in front of me or around my face, I had to grab and proceed to stick it in my mouth—this is probably why my parents didn’t really make a big deal when I had taken up cigarettes at seventeen.
As we grew older, we grew into the age of keeping, or rather, remembering memories. We were then conditioned to be different from everyone else. Well, that wasn’t their intention when our parents started filling us up with a lifetime‘s worth of beliefs. Their beliefs, I must add. Many of which have absolutely nothing to do with who we actually are, or what is true—“Black people suck, stay away from gays, oh, and you’re fat.”
However, these were not what my parents had said to me. I had a great childhood, with warm and loving parents who lived for my brother and I… and still do.
So what the fuck happened to me?