Most emotionally-scarring childhood experience?

jpMilwaukee, now THAT'S trully horrifying--and believable. I hope you've recovered.

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I have nightmares sometimes...

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jpinMilwaukee wrote:

I don't remember how old I was but I was at soccer practice you evening and having a wonderful time. Practice ended and all the kids ran to their parents and left for a nice meal at home. My parents were no where to be found.

My soccer coach waited around for a few minutes and then informed me that he needed to leave, so he got in his car and also headed for home. I was left alone which really didn't bother me so much until it started to get dark.

I found a suitable tree to climb and hid in the branches and waited for my parents to show up while the sun slowly sank below the the tree line to the west of me. It started to get pretty cold as well.

I waited and waited and waited but nobody came to rescue me from my birds level perch. I soon became very worried. Should I try to walk home? Which way was home? maybe I should just wait here.

I finally worked up the courage to come down from the tree and walk to a house a few blocks away. I interrupted their dinner with a push of the doorbell and asked in my friedliest voice if I could use their phone. They let me so I kindly informed my dad (who was at home but thought my mom was picking me up who was at choir practice talking because she thought my dad was picking me up) that I was still waiting to be picked up.

He came and got me but I never let them forget the incident.

oh crap, that happened with me on a regular basis....I'd always look out the window at school, seeing all the other parents cars queing up for when we were let out in 5 or 10 minutes. I felt some kind of reprieve from heaven on the odd occassion I'd spot my car. Mostly though, one by one everyone else would leave and I'd be standing there...I could start walking home, because there were several routes to take, and sure as hell I'd take the wrong one and miss the car coming....So I was basically stuck. My mother and father worked together at a business they owned...she was like the bookkeeper. It wasn't as if she was having some adding machine crisis that kept her there.

On the other hand, one year I was a brownie, and sometimes when we were all in the church basement, gluing macaroni onto felt, we'd run over the brownie meeting by a few minutes....so there would 15 cars waiting for 15 little girls to finish up. Except of course mine, who would come down to the church basement steps and make me leave so she didn't have to wait. I didn't even think about becoming a girl scout...that would have been too embarrassing.

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These heart wrenching stories are making me have flash backs. Suppressed angst from childhood, nightmares about day trips to the depths of the bayous in Louisana and a low off Cuba dropping many cubits of rain and our model A Ford running out of petrol and all the time the water was getting higher and higher and the alligators were circling our model A when all of a sudden an apparition appeared out of the mists. It was an angel dressed in a hot red bikini with a basket of Barbie Dolls - Six alligators were pulling her chariot and she was singing "Jesus loves me, yes I know" when a bolt of lightning appeared and struck her dead, and I trembled as I heard a voice "ThatL teach you to take my son's name in vain. She sank slowly into the rising waters of the bayou. I grabbed the basket of Barbie Dolls, and on each little Barbie Doll was a an engraved ankle chain that had this message.

"The devil made me do it"

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When I was a baby, my father went out for cigarettes one day and just kept going. Didn't leave a forwarding address or anything.

My mother, with 3 children and no skills, became a welfare mom. She tried to find work, but the big problem was me ~ being a baby, infant then toddler and not in school like my older brothers, I put a real crimp on the job interviews. So she finally agreed to put me in foster care and a nice couple in another province picked me up.

They lived in a small town and I got to play with the little girl, Marie, across the road. Marie's grandfather had a dairy farm which we really enjoyed. Until one day. We were playing hide-and-seek in the barn, and I chose to hide behind one of the cows. The cow let loose, as cows are wont to do. The adults came running at the sound of my screams, to find me glued to the spot under a steaming pile of fresh manure. The adults nearly pissed themselves laughing.

To this day I can still feel the moist warmth when I think about it.

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That reminds me of another childhood experience. I remember a strange noise woke me up. It was... screaming. Some kind of screaming, like a child's voice. I went downstairs, outside. I crept up into the barn. I was so scared to look inside, but I had to. And I saw lambs. The lambs were screaming. They were slaughtering the spring lambs, and they were screaming. First I tried to free them. I... I opened the gate to their pen, but they wouldn't run. They just stood there, confused. They wouldn't run. So I took a lamb, and I ran away as fast as I could. I didn't know where I was going. I didn't have any food, any water and it was very cold, very cold. I thought, I thought if I could save just one, but... he was so heavy. So heavy. I didn't get more than a few miles when the sheriff's car picked me up. The rancher was so angry he sent me to live at the Lutheran orphanage in Bozeman. I never saw the ranch again. They killed my little lamb.

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I have been scarred for life and I am sure that my psychological problems and physical deformities are a direct result of my early childhood.

Let me begin

I have no idea what age I was. My mother was a cruel cruel woman who beat me daily and verbally assaulted me for the slightest infraction. My father was a quiet man who did nothing to protect us children. My eldest sister was adept at pointing out my flaws and placing blame at my doorstep so I would be beaten instead of her. My younger sisters were the unfortunate recipients of my wrath as the abusive behavior, learned by my experiences, became part of my personality. The vicious cycle ensued. There was the time when I was locked in the basement with no food or drink for three days, instructed to complete a variety of heavy-duty chores as punishment for some perceived fault by my mother. There was no heat, no bedding, only a rusted bucket to relieve myself and my skin was cracked and sore from the welts I had received just prior to being incarcerated in that dank and dusty hell-hole. I had no idea if it was day or night. I listened to the scraping sounds of rodents scurrying around, fearful that they would bite me, imagining my entire body being eaten by vermin while I slept. Finally, exhausted, mentally spent and needing to do something drastic before I completely lost my mind, I climbed up onto the washing machine. I used some object (I don't remember what) to smash out the basement window. It was night-time. I cleared the broken glass out of the way and boosted myself up to the window-sill. I was struggling and wriggling, trying to pull and push my body through that very small enclosure, when I suddenly felt a tugging. I looked back inside the basement and, to my horror, there was my mother, pulling my leg

just like I'm pulling yours!

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It is noted in the owner's manual that Bostonians have an outrageous sense of humor.

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If my mother were here, she'd slap that smile off your face!

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Give me a break Heeven, even little old 70 year old ladies gotta have their day on A2k.

But my mother would put a twister on ya if you crossed her.

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I don't know about my childhood traumas, most of them have been repressed. But I do now with certainty that this thread is among my most emotionally-scaring adult experiences.

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Ticomaya wrote:

That reminds me of another childhood experience. I remember a strange noise woke me up. It was... screaming. Some kind of screaming, like a child's voice. I went downstairs, outside. I crept up into the barn. I was so scared to look inside, but I had to. And I saw lambs. The lambs were screaming. They were slaughtering the spring lambs, and they were screaming. First I tried to free them. I... I opened the gate to their pen, but they wouldn't run. They just stood there, confused. They wouldn't run. So I took a lamb, and I ran away as fast as I could. I didn't know where I was going. I didn't have any food, any water and it was very cold, very cold. I thought, I thought if I could save just one, but... he was so heavy. So heavy. I didn't get more than a few miles when the sheriff's car picked me up. The rancher was so angry he sent me to live at the Lutheran orphanage in Bozeman. I never saw the ranch again. They killed my little lamb.

Tico. This is so terribly sad. You've just put a lump in my throat.

It reminds me of a another childhood memory of my own: My parents had acquired a number of baby geese (goslings?) to raise. The the idea was to sell them in advance, raise them to full-grown at Christmas, then deliver them to the buyers for their Christmas dinner. So, when the time came for the slaughter it was terrible. (I think I must have been around 6 - 7 years old. I heard this terrible cacophony outside ... coming from the other geese as the first ones were slaughtered. It was absolutely shocking. I rushed outside & saw (& heard!) what was happening. To try to force the sounds & images go to away, I shut myself in my bedroom & hid under the bed, with my ears covered & eyes closed. (!) I couldn't be found for hours.

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I, too, was deeply moved by Ticomaya's heart-wrenching story and I have a question for Tico:

Do the lambs still scream, Tico? Well...... do they?

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You're a hard man, Gustav!

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Dagmaraka wrote:

gus, wouldn't the eagle take care of the fox? have your memories fight it out in the open.

I have long considered Dagmaraka to be a genius, but that statement pretty well seals the deal.

All these years of treatment. All the money spent. The long afternoons on the psychiatrist's couch. All for naught. The fox still lunged and the eagle still screamed.

But then Dag comes along and in one swift, beautifully- constructed sentence, she whisks the demons away as if they were pesky gnats.

The woman is a saint.

<Gustav, mentally healthy for the first time in his life, stares out the window and sees the powerful strokes of the departing eagle, an angry fox vainly struggling in its death grip.>

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Quote:

You're a hard man, Gustav!

I think it would be best if you continue this conversation via pm, msolga.

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Chai Tea wrote:

My older sister told me that when she was a kid she found a lizard running around the house. She didn't want to see it get hurt, so she drowned it in a fish tank.

An ex-gf of mine (long time ago) got a guinea pig when she was a kid, loved it, stroked it n held it ... squeezed it to death. No kidding.

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gustavratzenhofer wrote:

Quote:
You're a hard man, Gustav!

I think it would be best if you continue this conversation via pm, msolga.

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Ticomaya wrote:

That reminds me of another childhood experience. I remember a strange noise woke me up. It was... screaming. Some kind of screaming, like a child's voice. I went downstairs, outside. I crept up into the barn. I was so scared to look inside, but I had to. And I saw lambs. The lambs were screaming. They were slaughtering the spring lambs, and they were screaming. First I tried to free them. I... I opened the gate to their pen, but they wouldn't run. They just stood there, confused. They wouldn't run. So I took a lamb, and I ran away as fast as I could. I didn't know where I was going. I didn't have any food, any water and it was very cold, very cold. I thought, I thought if I could save just one, but... he was so heavy. So heavy. I didn't get more than a few miles when the sheriff's car picked me up. The rancher was so angry he sent me to live at the Lutheran orphanage in Bozeman. I never saw the ranch again. They killed my little lamb.

Tico

It has just been brought to my attention that your story, which move me so very deeply, is possibly not an actual Tico childhood experience! Surprised

May I now withdraw my heart-felt sympathy & also the lump in my throat? Unlike everyone else, it seems, I didn't see the movie. You cad!

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On Christmas Eve of 1991, I was driving a 23 foot RV around at night on the interstate highway (10?) in southern Texas. The headlights of an on-coming truck blinded me temporarily. When I recovered, I saw for just a second a sheep trying to outrun my rig. Splash. It was horrible. Poor thing was trying to outrun me. The next day I had to wash the gore from my grill. And that's the horrible truth. I havn't eaten mutton ever since--or ever.

Notice the symbolism: the death of a lamb on Xmas eve?

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Most emotionally-scarring childhood experience?

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