Bravely Hiding

So, my 20th high school reunion is this weekend.

I'm not going.

There are reasons for my not going quite aside from the fact that I feel all conflicted, going-to-the-dentisty about it.

It's not because any of my classmates were evil to me. They were all pretty decent people. I was lucky that way.

I just didn't really enjoy the first 21 years of my life. I was depressive and moody and sad and anxious a good portion of the time, and I felt like I was one huge bruise that life kept poking with a stick.

stupid stick

It doesn't occur to me to wax nostalgic about my younger years. In fact, revisiting memories of my early life is usually downright undesirable.

I wasn't beaten. I lived in middle class suburbia. I had shoes. I actually did have to walk uphill both ways to and from school, but I lived. Regardless, most things from those years are just boldly coloured over with an unnameable but pervasive heaviness.

So, I'm choosing not to look directly at it right now.

I'm such a sunny peach, ain't I?

Who wants ice cream?

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