THROWN TO THE WOLVES:
WHO AM I
by
Anthonystjoseph
I will always
remember one of the very first memories of my life. I was a baby left alone in daycare. I still remember the room I was left in with
one window and the crib I was kept in unattended. The room was small and in what I now know was
the top level of a Victorian home. I
know it was a Victorian styled home because of the way the roof of the house
imposed on the ceiling in the room creating those various triangular shapes
that Victorian homes often have on top floors.
The ceiling had the diagonal lines to it that would cut down into the
walls midway. The window itself that
flooded the room with light as I lay in the crib was up in the top opposite corner
of the room from where I lay. The crib
was on the left as you entered the room and my head was always facing the
window with the back of my head to the door.
I will never forget the grainy feeling of the wallpaper with pictures of
small pale yellow flowers with equally pale or faded blue berries on it as I
would always rub the wallpaper through the bars of the crib with my fingers as
I stared at the window. The feeling of
the rough wallpaper was so foreign to my touch as well as providing the only
stimulant to a child abandoned to his own thoughts by a neglectful day care who
was thankful for a child that just stayed quiet and was fine being alone. I would later learn that this behavioral
pattern of mine that I developed had been learned early since I was also
neglected at home and my own survival instincts as an infant taught me to be
what is sometimes called a self-soother. To this day, on occasion, I will accidentally
touch some wallpaper or textile with the same fingers and it will magically transport me to those days of abandon in the
crib when all I did was rub the wall and stare up at the light coming from the
window and think…
Who am I?
By
Anthonystjoseph
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