nccotus

when I was a little girl I was always having accidents.

at the Friendly’s restaurant I regularly knocked over my chocolate milk. At the airport I tinkled on the floor. At home. I was always stubbing my little toe on the doorway. I remember walking straight into a screened door.

I was a constant frustration to my mother.

at Kent School, I was grieving Arthur Robyn, the child I aborted at 13, and didn’t know it. I sicked out of class and sat on my bed staring into space with a painful absence of sensation, a dull ache, not knowing to cry.

There was something wrong.

Now, I understand about the wart mole and the broken pud and organic personality disorder and that I am different from others. And I can understand my mother’s feelings and forgive her. I wish that she would do the same for me.

All my life I was like a mentally retarded person struggling to cover it over and pretend to be exceptionally brilliant!