Bully me, please.

Childhood

I am an only child and growing up I was always around those older than me for the most part. From years 1-5, my mother describes me as an angel. Even as an infant; when one would expect sobbing, and leaking from various orifices; I was on the quieter, tidier side of infanthood. There was just a handful of occasions when the bratty, childlike side of me would show itself.

One such occasion was when I was 2 or 3 years old; I was all dressed in my nicest clothes to go out, but decided a better use of my time would be to play outside in the mud.
Again and again, my parents called but I would not go inside the house to leave. My mother allegedly told my father to hit me (an acceptable punishment 27 years ago) but even the sting of a swift hand would not get me to leave my precious mud. Frustrated, as any parent would be, my father held me away from him by my collar (remembering I only weighed like 5kgs at this point) and carried me towards the bathroom. On the icy shower went, and in it, he soaked me. Don't worry, I promptly called for the manager and told her "don't ever do that to me again!" To which my father responded with another coat of freezing water.
Boy did I learn my lesson that day. My parents merely had to threaten me with "a shower" and I would, immediately and without question, stop the misbehaviour. That was one of the naughtiest things I did, and that is saying something for 1-5-year-olds.
Don't worry, eventually I grew big and strong enough to spread out like a starfish so my dad could not get me through the bathroom door without breaking my limbs.

I was just about to write how years 0-5 were very pleasant but I almost forgot a very crucial part of my journey to becoming the mentally ill human I am today. This is why writing down my entire life is a good idea I guess. Bringing back all the trauma.
Both my parents worked, and although my mom only worked in the mornings, I obviously still had to go to daycare. I clearly remember (my earliest memory) the teacher/carer threatening to glue our towels to our bums if we misbehaved. Um, what? I get that babies are largely gross and dumb, but I do remember being actually very frightened. Is threatening a toddler allowed?

I'm addition to this, there was a swimming school I would go to, perhaps after my towel was glued to my bum. I don't remember anything about this school but there are two reasons why I feel this was traumatic. Number one was because after I had been going to the school for a while when my mom and I drove past it one day I threw up from nerves. That was just looking at the building, not even going inside. The second reason (do we need another really?) is that I remember a dream I had where my mom was helping me get changed into my tiny toddler swimwear in the changing rooms. All of a sudden a bunch of strangers came inside and I lost her in the crowd. This was so distressing to me, I jumped up to the ceiling to try and see her and then had that weird dream falling sensation as I was landing. The fact that I still recall this dream is frightening. I am not sure what they did to us in that swimming school but maybe I don't want to know. I'm a great swimmer though, and still love the water.

This particular instance wasn't traumatic at all, but kind of funny if you have a dark sense of humour. In preschool, a different one to the towel-bum school, I was playing a game of tiger-tiger with this one kid. I guess things got heated because she scratched me so badly on my arm that I still have a scar. Granted, it's quite faded, yet it still fascinates me how badly she must have dug into my skin for the scar to last 20 years.

The third daycare I went to was called chuckles. Yes, my good memory is both a blessing and a curse. Countless times I remember being anxious and crying while looking out the window watching my mom drive away after dropping me off. I remember being scared when all the other kids were being picked up and she was late. I would stare out the window waiting for her, and at various intervals, go and wash my hands, reasoning that the amount of time spent washing my hands and being in the bathroom would make up for the few minutes she was late. Yep, I was only 4 or 5 years old and already displaying signs of OCD! Yeah!
I remember a lot about this school, not all the memories bad, of course, but a lot of nervousness.

I think that's it for preschool.