I have trouble pinpointing specific memories from my childhood. Well, happy ones, anyway. I remember being miserable most of the time in school. I remember being picked on and loathed by the popular kids. I was given crap every day because of how sickly and small I was. I remember being accused of being a hypochondriac. Maybe that was partially true. There are parts of this entry being omitted because I feel like they're just too personal to share.
The awful thing is that I'm sure I had a wonderful childhood. I'm spoiled rotten. But I don't remember a lot of the good things. Why? Have I been hoarding all the bad memories so I don't have to be happy? Happy = vulnerable, in my mind. I'm not sure why. I have commitment issues. If I didn't, I'd have published a novel by now. I'm scared of opening up and sharing all of who I am.