Growing up being bullied meant I learned how to keep tallies quickly. And combined with being emotional, it meant that my form of revenge was to hope people disappointed me, vent against them in my head, and disappear from their lives. Though the vengeance of leaving gave me a feeling of superiority, it almost always feels worse to see that what you left behind wasn’t a void, it was replaceable space.
From a young age, I began to believe I – and everyone – was replaceable. Or at least forgettable and replaceable, as in “I have someone else to give me what you used to give me”.
That was quite damaging, because it meant I kept myself guarded from others from a very young age, and it was driven by the experiences I harboured in my heart from the age of something like seven or eight years old. It’s so illogical to hold onto these childhood sadnesses and carry them as if we are attempting to run away from these past memories the rest of our adult lives. Why should I still be bothered by things emotionally immature children did that impacted me when I myself was also emotionally immature? Perhaps it is the feeling of defencelessness that drives it. That need for us to be different from the vulnerable little helpless things we were.
It’s not fun hoping others will disappoint you just so you can justify disappearing. It seems easier to just leave, but it’s not.
Macabre: adjective, something gruesome. According to Merriam-Webster, can also refer to the nature of death directly.
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