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This Made Me Cry
The 8-year-old in me, that is.
I saw this image in someone’s piece somewhere in some publication (God knows it’s been used enough) and I just cried. Not boo-hoo falling out. The painful kind of cry. The feel-it-in-your-heart-as-the-tears-flow kinda cry.
And then I cried some more.
I’m not a crier by nature. Not anymore, anyway. I was when I was younger. As a kid. I remember being called a crybaby when I was eight. Crystal Littleton*. We were in the restroom and she asked me why I was such a crybaby; that all I ever did was cry. What Crystal and many others didn’t know was that I was being abused at home.
I don’t know if 8-year-olds can have nervous breakdowns but if they can I had one.
That’s a lie. Yes, I know and yes they can because I had one. I know that “nervous breakdown” isn’t a medical term, but it is one that many people can identify with. I can remember being at the doctor’s office. I can also remember mom insisting that she come in with me. The doctor told her no. Sitting on the edge of the exam table, the doctor and I were eye to eye, which I remember thinking was nice. When you’re a kid standing near adults, you’re always being looked down at. Even though there was usually never anything bad intended by it, it still somehow felt wrong to me somehow.
