When I was about 3 years old, I have my first memory of sadness that has stuck with me for the years.
I was out on the playground at my preschool. Even at a young age, I was smart. I knew what was going on and I knew how to think. From looking back at the way I thought from when I was young, I can tell why I am how I am now. I would keep to myself, wonder if anyone would care with different things I would do and always try to be the best I could be for everyone.
I would play alone and think at recess and any type of play time mostly. My mom was a teacher at my school so I could always have her close. I loved that part. I would sometimes try and make things from the things of nature I found and bring it to her to make her happy.
One day, I found some tiny pine cones and other things I wanted to give to her. I was waiting in line and a boy took them and threw them. I couldn't find them all. This was the first time I've ever felt the heavy heart when you feel crushed and heart broken and just want to break down and cry.
This was only the first. If I would've known how many more times I'd have to feel that feeling, I would've given up then so I'd mean less to people and it would be easier for everyone.
I remember the second one too. This was the first time I locked myself in my room and cried.
My sister had her first communion. After, we had the whole family over to celebrate. When I'd try to talk to a family member, they'd shrug me off like a homeless man asking for money. After, they'd go straight to my sister and be happy.
This was the first time I felt the loneliness, the loss of self confidence, the envy of her. I couldn't take it so I went to my room. I cried under a blanket and wanted to be alone. Only me and nothing else.
YOU ARE READING
The story
Non-FictionThis is about my life. I was always told it was so interesting that I should write a book about it. So, here it is. Or at least the start.
