I am so sorry I had a fucked-up childhood and thus grew into an anxious adult. If I could undo it I would, really. I would undo being kidnapped by a stranger at the age of four, and erase the experience of seeing my dead six-year-old playmate hanging from a shower rod by his neck, his blue terry bathrobe belt the instrument of death. (They said it was an accident.)And dammit, I wish my older sister hadn't been so violent all those years, trashing my bedroom and coming after me with broken shards of glass. Honestly, if I could change it I would not have had my friends murdered inside their home in DC. I definitely would not have my father die of colon cancer in the first trimester of my pregnancy, followed by my father-in-law's death from a heart attack in the second trimester. And of course two dead mothers already didn't help, leaving my only child (how selfish of me that I never conceived again) with no grandparents and little extended family. What a bitch I've been!
I guess all the cookie baking and birthday parties and Halloween costumes and art lessons and trips to museums and other fun outings couldn't compensate for what a nervous wreck I was by the time I became a mother. Please forgive me, I am trying to do better. This is why I meditate and lock my doors at night. Just looking for a little peace of mind at this late stage.
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