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justothev8man · 5 years ago

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I was reading something about if you're having trouble sleeping tips to help fall asleep and one of the tips was about using a happy memory from your childhood which made me realise I do not have even one happy memory from when I was a kid. At best I have couple of very short fleeting images of working on motorbike with my father in this tiny little shed he had in the backyard.

Nothing that even comes close to something I could turn into a happy memory though, the first happy memory I can conjure is not until my early 20's but we will get to that shortly.

Do any of you guys have happy memories from your childhood? I highly doubt I am alone in this?

I'm really apprehensive about writing this in here but one of the tips is to write shit down so here goes, I can always delete it straight away.

I'm prob not going to go back and proof read this so the grammar and spelling is just gong to be as it comes out of my head and gets typed. I often spell incorrectly and have poor grammar on my first edit of things.

I grew up in a very low socio economic area and in a very low income house hold.

my mother was this really overweight, lazy, abusive, manipulate women that use to sit on the couch watching tv and smoking Winfield red cigarette while barking orders at us kids and yelling at us at the top of her lungs. I loved my mother deeply up until my early teens when I started to understand her abuse and oppression for what it was.

She was the type of women that would point out the fault in others or put others down to make herself feel better.

She was nothing but a pathetic little women that pushed everybody in her life and her children and husbands life away and out of our lives so she would never have to admit her own faults and failings.

The old man had two jobs and worked seven days a week. I don't remember him working seven days when we were very young only later on.

When BHP shutdown it hurt the whole of NSW really hard and I think the old man lost his job … I think that would of been the late 80's maybe.

I can remember they had to hide the car and we had to be quiet and pretend we were not home if someone came to the door because they were trying to take the house off us ( bank foreclosure).

So the old man ended up working at some marine company I think, working on the boats and got a weekend job working at a service station.

I remember one time he put his work shirt on (I cant remember the name of the company but it had his work company name, logo etc on it) and he took us kids down to the docks and told the guys on the tug boats who he was and where he worked and they let him bring us all on board while they did a run out to sea with a fucking massive tanker.

I remember him taking us down into the engine room and showing us around and then took us up to the kitchen and the crew gave us food.

I remember being blown away by this fucking huge ship that these tiny little boats towed out to sea and scared shitless when the tug boat went over on this crazy pitch at one stage.

Anyway I don't know why but he ended up leaving or loosing that job and went off to work somewhere else and in my early teens he cut his fingers off at work doing some fucking thing or another.

I have like these almost good memories of riding motorbikes while camping in the bush but we were never allowed to go anywhere on them. My mother would only let us ride them around camp or just up the road a little way and back, she never like us getting far enough away that she would lose control of us.

very very very controlling women, the biggest and most prominent trait I remember of her is her controlling us, she always had to be in control. I HATED her for that as I got older.

I have this memory of a little honda motorbike dad bought us that didn't go and he had it for years until we were big enough to ride it and then I remember working on it with him and his mate in the shed and fixing it up and getting it running.

I have this memory of working on another motorbike engine too that he did a full teardown and rebuild on. His motorbike that he use to ride to and from work.

I remember the first time I saw the pistons inside a v8 with the heads off, blew me away picturing all those violently flying up and down inside the engine. I think it was a Chrysler engine.

I can confidently say that beyond 12 years old I absolutely unequivocally hated even single day of my childhood without question. I DID NOT have one pleasant day beyond 12 years of age.

I was not allowed to go anywhere with my fiends or do anything at all on my own. I had to be home doing the washing and hanging it on the clothes line, doing the dishes, cleaning out the laundry of the dirty litter etc from the cats and dogs.

I have memory after memory after memory of all my friends being off doing this and doing that and myself not being allowed to go. I suffered massive socially at school because of it and never ever had a friend or mate until my mid 20's but I think I also never really made any connections with my friends at school and truly became mate because I was to busy secretly hating everyone and my life and I knew that if I did become mates with them the next time they asked me to come to a party at night or something I would not be allowed because of my mother and I would yet again look antisocial and like a weirdo.

I didn't start to develop a personality until around 17 because I wasn't allowed to be who I wanted to be or have my own opinion in my mothers house. chatting back after being spoken to was absolutely not tolerated and having your own opinion was completely out of the question. To this day I cringe every time one of my nieces tries to back chat or explain her point of view to my brother and he shuts her up and won't listen. it is really really bad to not listen to what your children are trying to tell you and get across their thought or what they are feeling to you. it makes them have to bottle it all up inside. You must listen to your children when to are trying to speak to you and / or tell you what they are feeling!!!!!

this made my teenage years the most stressful and oppressed years of my life to date.

Mother would sit on the couch and if we didn't have any chores to do or disturbed her in any way or prevented her from being the fat lazy cunt she was sitting on the couch she would scream at us to get out of the room or make up some indiscretion for an excuse to send us to our room.

My parents never once spent one on one time with us or sat down and quietly played games or did activities with us or entertained us and bonded with us

my earliest childhood memory is my mother jamming a cake of soap down my throat because I swore or said something wrong. I clearly remember the feeling of feeling like I needed to try and swallow this block of soap.

I think I was maybe 7 or 8 at the time.

I have really vivid memories of several occasions where my mother grabbed my brother and I by the hair and smashed our heads together for doing I don't know what wrong.

Is it the violence or the pain that makes these memories clearer than the others? does anyone know?

Maybe a question for a psychiatrist.

I have this really clear image of my father standing over me while I was lying on my back upon my bed with my knees up to my chest and my arms at either side of my head while he was standing over me beating the fuck out of me until I had an asthma attack from the crying and screaming and couldn't breath.

I remember how much more it stung when he missed our ass with the strap and got my back instead.

I have the most vivid memories of lying in bed listening to my older brother running around the lounge room screaming while dad chased him around beating the shit out of him with his strap and fist and the even more vivid memory of my mother screaming " hit him neal, hit him neal"

As I write this and bring back these memories i'm wondering if I should be crying. I am not. Is that bad?

As I got a little older the beatings became less in their severity and frequency because my asthma attacks started to get worse when he beat me and so he couldn't

I wonder if my asthma became phsyco-symptomatic because I knew he would stop hitting me when my asthma come on.

I don't suffer from it now.

My older brother called the Department of social service after one of my father's beatings when he had a black eye and was covered in bruises. I remember he had to stay home from school because of the black eye and all the bruises and he told me as I left for school that today while everyone was out and he was home alone DOCS where coming to see him.

They came back later in the week and took him away.

I think he was put into foster care initially and then eventually he was placed with my grandparents.

My mother cut off the whole family and I never saw my grandparents again. They died a few years ago with me never getting to see them.

I always hated that I couldn't go to the Christmas parties.

Mum could never admit what she had done was wrong in any way shape or form, everybody else was at fault.

Even my brother was at fault. My mothers poor parenting skills and the reason my brother acted out was all my brothers fault.

I had two brothers but neither of them were intelligent enough to see past what my mother was.

I was the smart kid of the three boys and I only really started to open my eyes to what was going on when I went to high school.

I went to a catholic high school and it was there I saw real parents that supported their kids and treated them with more intelligence and more equally.

I think the only time I had fun was when I skipped school for the day and went and smoked mull under the bridge with the pot heads from school. there is a kind of happy memory I think.

This one time we were under cherries bridge smoking cones and bubba ( guy named Rodney but everyone called him bubba cause that's what his mother called him due to the fact he was the baby of the family) got the munchies real bad and decided to eat one of the poisonous berries that grew under the bridge there.

Fatty (guy named Garth but he was a big boy and even called himself fatty) yelled at him " bubba what did you eat that for they're poisonous man " and bubba turned to me and said " justo am I gunna die now man?" made me piss myself laughing stoned as I was.

There we go I think I found a happy memory!!!!

No bubbas were harmed in the making of this story.

When I was 20 I fell fucking madly in love with this red haired / strawberry blond bitch named Michelle.

I stayed with her and her parents in their family home for a while and it was then that I saw a real family at work and it truly showed me the disfunction of my own.

They were not perfect but they were this supportive family that was not unnecessarily strict and spoke to each other with civility and respect in measured tones.

A grumpy but respectful father and a holy supportive mother.

Tho I had very little in common with either of her parents I entirely respected them and still do to this day 20 years and another life later. I haven't seen or heard from them in many years but I bet they are still the same people I remember them to be.

My early 20's were my happiest years to date. I had a real friend or two for the first time in my life, people I could call mates and I could go out and enjoy myself with them and have a personality and a life. I was in love and in lust. I was happy.

I think I made it through the 80's being to young to know if I was happy or not. I think I spent the 90's entirely in dread, all I remember is stress and hatred.

Actually I think stress and especially hatred sums my 90's experience up perfectly.

The early new millennium I learned what happiness could look like.

Who else remembers their childhood as a stressful unhappy time? we all have a difficult childhood don't we? especially our teenage years? or am I unique.

Writing this reminds me that even now I need to try and strive to find happiness and fun in life and try to produce the same for my immediate family.

Grab your kids and go make some happy memories with them. Do something THEY will wholely enjoy and remember as a fun day in their childhood.

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