Lifting the Veil

I've come to hating again.

I can't quite put my finger on the "why". Here's what I'm thinking though.

I look at my 7-year-old self, and all I can think is "I'm sorry I let things go to shit." 7 years is the oldest I can remember before a giant blank appears in my memory until ~15. Sure, there are bits and bobs floating around, but nothing concrete. This was the time I think I started surpessing my humanity, supressing my desire to want or need love and affection. I thought myself unworthy of it. Of course, this wasn't my own doing, it's a result of the attitude of my parents, and to a large extent, my elder brother. He was a problem child, and as a result a lot of my parents' attention was focused on him, positive and negative. Which didn't leave them a lot of energy for me. So in order to make them feel more comfortable, I did want and I did not need anything. I wanted them to be happy. If they were happy, I was happy.

*shudder*

I spoke about this in an earlier post. I deserve to be put first. I DO.

But this is kind of the underlying problem, and I'm dealing with it. No, someting else is on my mind. I think my 7-year-old self is trying to get out. He's selfish, as children are, and wants focus on him. He also doesn't care for when people even mildly step to him. He's sensitive, he knows when there's a bully around. This is manifest in me now but my reaction is anger, rather than tears (I know I'd call for Mam if anything happened to me back in the day), and I don't know how to deal with it. I realise after so many years of making myself not get angry, I have no idea how to let anger out in a controlled fashion. At the moment I feel like giving out to a load of people for very specific reasons, but I know that's not ideal as I don't want to lose friendships. Yet who knows, would those friendships even get broken? I dunno man. I mean, I feel like REALLY giving it loads. There would not be many pieces to pick after I finished.

I don't know how to control my anger. That sounds like it might be it.

I look at my 7-year-old self. He's not looking back at me. It's as if he's not recognising my existance. Or maybe. . .he's disappointed. But he's letting me hold his hand.

And all I can do is choke up. I am so sorry.