It does seem like a rather unlikely fact that I had to learn in my adulthood how to complain. I didn’t know it was possible to complain when I was a child. I wonder when my first episode of complaining hit me? I have to admit, though not compliment myself (I don’t think) that I know so well how to complain today!
Yup, I am complaining today that the story I am working on isn’t coming out easily, and is not an easy read! Go figure! I find myself continually wondering how I can make my story more pleasant and more attractive to read – one word at a time.
Now, let me see….. Gee! In the next chapter or two I am going to describe the first terrible beating I received from my mother, with my father watching, when I was 20 months old. Gee….. Now, how can I write that easily OR make it an easy read?
I think I have a paradox here. Or is it an oxymoron? Maybe we can market this book when it’s done: “COME AND GET IT! COME AND GET IT! A child abuse story that’s easy to read and was sure a snap for the author to write!”
OK. I admit it. I am whining. I am complaining. Nope, I never had one thought of complaint for all those years of suffering I went through. I guess if complaining had come easy to me nobody would have had to teach me to do it. Nobody would have been able to prevent me from complaining, either.
Definition of COMPLAIN
1: to express grief, pain, or discontent <complaining about the weather>
2: to make a formal accusation or charge
The word comes from a Latin derivative of ‘lament’ – ‘to mourn or deplore’
I guess as a child I could not mourn what I didn’t know I had. I had no IDEA that I was being maltreated, tormented, abused. Where was I going to get THAT idea? Of course I saw that what happened to me didn’t happen to my siblings. But I also had been heartily informed from the moment of my birth that I was different from them. I was BAD. They were GOOD.
I got what I served. There was nothing to mourn or lament or complain about when it came to facts. It was a FACT I was bad. After all, what good child tries to kill its mother while it’s being born?
Oh, well. I suppose today it’s a very natural consequence that I complain NOW about what I am writing about what happened to me THEN. I WANT to be able to write a different story. A NICE story. So some part of me is probably angry at God right now. Angry at accident? Angry at chance? Angry at destiny?
NO! I am angry that nobody HELPED ME!
Well, at least I expect myself to be able to write a story about hell that is NICE to read!! That makes me chuckle, I must admit! What will be nice about this story is to be done writing it!! Making this story not only palatable to readers but ATTRACTIVE to them very well might be far, far, far outside the range of what I have control over accomplishing.
Answers to many questions – found at this post:
I need to return to the book writing!! Lots to read at this link above in the meantime!!!! Please also click through the months’ of posts connected to the archive links on the right side of this blog. This blog’s top search bar can also be used to locate posts with topic related to child abuse and the Trauma Altered Development it causes in its survivors.