Fun Growing Up

Why did I always feel that fun in our family wasnt real, that it was fake?  I mean the simple answer was that I wasnt having fun and was projecting it onto my parents and the family as a whole. But I do kind of think, honestly, that there really wasnt much fun going on, no joy. And I think that is worth exploring more than seeing it just as a psychological event.


It’s sad, it’s really sad to look back on. I mean where was the joy?  I don’t remember any, just people trying to live out a life.  Attempting to do fun things, but no joy accompanying. Maybe that is just the perspective of a kid with no playmate. But they never interacted and their interaction was stifled. Any mild fun was ruined by an outburst from my dad, a pointless outburst of rage and frustration. I find this lack of joy in my own life. An attempt to do fun things, in a sense, things that seem like they are fun, but get no real joy out of it. I dont have the same anger problems but feel them brewing in a sense. I restrain. But whatever, this is about the memory, not about me at this point. Fun things, I mean we went on vacations. But again, there was no togetherness.  There is this picture of me when I was a kid, I am playing in the sand building a sand castle by myself, and my mother and grandmother standing like 2 feet away watching. I mean this is pretty poetic in how I felt and our relationship. A parent looming just a little too close but never actually interacting. Looming over with fear and anxiety and no love, no joy, no fun, no moment. I wish I had had that final moment of rebelliousness when I was a kid. To just stop worrying. To just say, I am going to do whatever it takes to be on my own, because this fucking sucks and I want freedom. But instead I took the route of dependence. Possibly out of laziness and out of fear. I was a “sensitive” kid and my manly instincts were stripped from me, I was castrated. My soul was castrated, shy and passive. No sense of self allowed. At least that’s how I felt. Also I watched way too much tv. That was probably also a big part of it. No meat to my life, no meat to my childhood. Just watching. But that shouldnt have been my fucking choice. They should have said no. God damnit. It’s so stupid. They should have demanded some sort of fucking structure, some sort of vision to help me grow as a young person into an adult. But fucking nothing. What the fuck were they doing anyway?  The only time they interacted was when I had an outburst. God damn I was this caged little kid animal, of course I was fucking roudy. Of course I had crazy energy. They should have helped me to channel it. Of course I was disruptive, but I felt so crushed. I dont know. I dont fucking know. I mean, to call myself a bad kid is kind of pointless labeling but I was kind of a dick haha. But what kid isnt jesus.  The point is there was no structure. There was no joy, there was no building of self and family and connection. It was just isolation. A kid left to his own devices which is never a good thing. You need to show a kid how to be an adult. How to grow and take care of themselves. You cant be a good boy in life. You have to be a man. And you have to teach a little kid how to do that. I was massively sheltered. So isolated. Never charged to experience, to go out and do things. Gosh, i remember feeling the way I do now even as a very very young kid.  I didnt interact. Even in preschool. My brain was scrambled and it still feels that way. It just feels scrambled.


I think a fair way to look at it was, my parents didnt have fun, so I didnt know what it was. They were not passionate or driven so I had no sense of the concept. Again, it’s a whole mix of nature/nurture and who I was but this is my sense of things. I remember a distinctive feeling that I had arrive too late for some reason. That the fun was outside of my life, somehow I was missing out on it, that I was born in the wrong place. Caught up on the outside.  Maybe it’s a fair feeling. I dont think there was much joy in their lives. And maybe it was my charge to find the joy elsewhere and I wasnt as successful as I might have liked. I think tv was a fair escape into some sort of enjoyment filled time.


So where was I in all this. What were my thoughts and feelings?  It strikes me now and back then that I really didnt have a sense of self or that I struggled with a sense of self. I remember even in Highschool trying to verbalize my thoughts more as I walked through the halls. To try to grip and grasp my own personality and not just let my mind get washed away.  So what was I even thinking then, as a kid.  Again I remember not playing with other kids, even when I was very young. I think my mentality then was that I was above them. Separate from them. An outsider.  But kind of a deliberate outsider.  It’s really messed up and I don’t know how that came about. I have no idea how that came about.  My sense of self. It certainly wasn’t stable.  I guess I just never felt alone.  Never alone to myself to be free. Just always suffocated.  Independence was never on the table.  That didn’t exist. It feels good to look back.  Not sure how much it helps or solves but it feels good.  
I remember having some fun.  With my cousins when I was young. Sometimes with my friend across the street. God I was a prick back then. But normal kid stuff, just stuff I should have learned inside of a family. I was reckless, what little kid isnt, but when that takes form outside of a family all of the stakes get raised and one ends up feeling like a bad kid and ruining friendships and never knowing how to resolve them.  Never have an only kid, no fucking way.  It’s a fucking beautiful day out today, my god. Freaking perfect.

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