I grew up moving from place to place,
Usually about once a year.
It is very difficult for a child to form friendships,
When they are never in the same school two years in a row.
Military brats go through this, I'm told.
My childhood was a series of disasters and moves.
Like the apartment building in Alexandria that caught on fire every other weekend.
Where my step-dad lost control of the car and tried to stop by sticking his foot out of the door.
My sister almost died from an allergic reaction to soap.
I fell off the jungle-gym and nearly bit off my lower lip.
We moved.
The townhouse in burke where my step-dad went through the sliding glass door, face-first.
Where he got Tiger, the 75 lb. German Sheppard,
Who was crazy and scared the **** out of us constantly.
Let's see what else?
I knocked my sister out of a second-story window.
We moved.
The townhouse in Fairfax where I first saw my step-dad hit my mother,
Where we lived when they divorced.
This is where we lived when the 300 lb. redneck enjoyed trying to **** me on a daily basis.
Our college student tenant had to stand up for me.
We moved.
Basically to make a long story short, not a lot of ****** stability in my childhood.
Disaster.
Move on.
Every single adult relationship continued this pattern.
Whether this is because I unconsciously seek out these situations, I don't know.
Probably.
I sometimes think that people need their disasters, so they have a reason to give up.
I am sick of disasters.
I am tired of moving on.
I am sick and tired of giving up.
And of being given up on.
*
Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 11:58 AM UTC
I grew up moving from place to place,
Usually about once a year.
It is very difficult for a child to form friendships,
When they are never in the same school two years in a row.
Military brats go through this, I'm told.
My childhood was a series of disasters and moves.
Like the apartment building in Alexandria that caught on fire every other weekend.
Where my step-dad lost control of the car and tried to stop by sticking his foot out of the door.
My sister almost died from an allergic reaction to soap.
I fell off the jungle-gym and nearly bit off my lower lip.
We moved.
The townhouse in burke where my step-dad went through the sliding glass door, face-first.
Where he got Tiger, the 75 lb. German Sheppard,
Who was crazy and scared the **** out of us constantly.
Let's see what else?
I knocked my sister out of a second-story window.
We moved.
The townhouse in Fairfax where I first saw my step-dad hit my mother,
Where we lived when they divorced.
This is where we lived when the 300 lb. redneck enjoyed trying to **** me on a daily basis.
Our college student tenant had to stand up for me.
We moved.
Basically to make a long story short, not a lot of ****** stability in my childhood.
Disaster.
Move on.
Every single adult relationship continued this pattern.
Whether this is because I unconsciously seek out these situations, I don't know.
Probably.
I sometimes think that people need their disasters, so they have a reason to give up.
I am sick of disasters.
I am tired of moving on.
I am sick and tired of giving up.
And of being given up on.
*
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