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February 27 • Old Eyes, Too Young

Day 233

I don't remember thinking anything bad about my childhood. I do remember as early as the third grade thinking I was so much 'older' than any of my friends. I even made the mistake of saying that to a group of my buddies. Once.

In my memories, I cannot distinguish between my thought process from decades ago, and my thought process today. It's the same voice, the same emotions, the same fears, the same goals — usually something to do with making someone else happy, or at least making them think well of me.

It doesn't seem like it should be that way, and I'm open to my recovery revealing a better way, but right now I feel like I must be content with exploring these matters at arm's length, almost as a neutral observer. I wish I could remember a different version of myself from before adulthood.

I remember being young and small and bullied and all those sorts of things. I wish I could find a place in time when I could contrast the light-hearted existence of what I think childhood should be, with the intensity of adulthood; it all feels the same in my heart, my mind, and my memories of looking through my eyes.




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