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The Strangeness of Memory
What do you do when the past starts to surface?
I don’t remember much from my early childhood.
I wonder if this is a normal thing for adults my age, or if it’s some kind of side-effect of the shit I went through as a kid.
I know quite a few people who were born and raised in the same city. They went to school with the same people all 12 years. Some of them even still live in the same city as those classmates now.
For better or worse, I wasn’t one of those people.
When I was in Kindergarten, my family moved from Brea, CA to Lake Elsinore, CA. Only about an hour away, but it might as well have been a world. I did Kintergarten through sixth grade in Lake Elsinore. Then I did my first time through the seventh grade in an online school.
That was the year we moved from Lake Elsinore back to Whittier, into my dad’s mom’s house.
Those were the years that depression really came and started to kick my ass. Though, to be fair, it seems like the depression was always a part of me.
I reconnected with an elementary school classmate back when I was in high school, during the age of MySpace. The one thing they remembered about me? I remember you saying you wanted to die.
