I finally realized that I was just a child. 7 year old child who was grieving the loss of his parents.
I didn’t deserve the judgement. I didn’t deserved being yelled at for mistakenly breaking a plate in a dark room because I was new to the house and didn’t know how to put on the lights.
I didn’t deserve people laughing at me for being awkward in my speech (even thought they may just have been laughing because it was funny), to my 7 year old adult mind, it was humiliating. To myself, I said, you have made a mistake again. See how they are laughing at you. You must have a problem. Maybe you are just retarded.
When I broke things in my Aunt’s house, I felt extremely guilty and wanted to do whatever I could to repay back because I felt they shouldn’t have to be responsible for my clumsiness. But who then should be responsible? It had to be me. I had to grow up and man up and be perfect and make no mistake, so people don’t laugh at me or so that I am not judged or so that I am accepted in other people’s home because the truth was, these people had to work had to buy these things.
If these things had happened while I was with my parents, I didn’t mind being punished. At least I know it was being done out of love. From the people that are truly by nature, responsible for me.
From 7, I had already become an adult.
It’s been 21 years and I am tired.
But this 28 year old man needs to take care of this newly found 7 years old child and himself as well.