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I Blame My Childhood

AKA I can't blame my childhood.

By Jacky MontgomeryPublished 6 years ago 2 min read
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I blame my childhood

This is the reason so many present for the addiction, affliction, or damage they have to their character.

They had a hard upbringing, abuse, be it physical or mental, neglect, or a dysfunctional home life. Mum & Dad fighting is often believed to be your fault in some way.

I had none of this.

Neither did my brother.

My brother became addicted to heroin and eventually overdosed—we believe deliberately—at the age of 36.

I became somewhat dependent on alcohol, food (okay so this is something that we are all dependent on but not as a crutch, only for fuel and survival), and bad relationships.

So what was our excuse?

My brother said he never got any praise from my Dad, only criticism. My Dad said he was only trying to point out ways he could improve on whatever it was he trying to do and it was only meant as constructive criticism. My brother didn’t have a problem with Mum—and neither should he; anything my brother did wrong was always blamed on me, being the eldest! (Oh, there’s my first reason.)

Our parents didn’t believe in physical punishment, they were disappointed in us instead. Bruises heal, disappointment stays with you. I guess you grow up thinking that you are a disappointment, not good enough for anything—be it partners, careers, tests (I spent the best part of my adult life avoiding any tests or exams as I couldn’t imagine that I would stand a chance of passing).

My Mum was a war baby. Rationing hadn’t been over very long when I was born. This provided Mum with a two-fold fixation. On the one hand she hated waste and insisted we eat everything on our plates (hence the weight problem I now have…the portion control problem I really can’t blame on her, I have no idea where that one came from!) On the other hand she used food as a reward or treat, so you can guess what I did as soon as I left home…rewards and treats for every occasion I could find (a reward for waking up? Why not. One for washing up, go on then. Oh, I paid a bill, here’s a treat). I have no cut-off either, I can eat till I pop (ok, not literally, obviously, but you get the general idea).

The drinking I can blame on them too. We were allowed a tiny amount of wine with Christmas lunch from a young age. Of course, it was tasty and we wanted more, and Dad did keep a rather well-stocked drink cabinet, so after they had gone to bed my brother and I would sneak downstairs and have a tipple. This then snowballed when I was old enough to get my own drink and again, no cut-off. I am still here only because I had a very good internal homing compass.

Oh, then there’s the fact that I am rubbish at housework. I’d rather play candy crush than tidy, and as for ironing, well let’s just say we don’t get on. Mum, bless her, was of the belief that we’d have to do enough when we left home so why should she make us do it before. My brother left home—then went back. I probably would have but for the fact I’d have had to give up my vices!!

So, I think the moral of this story is that you can be the best parent you think you can and there’ll still be something your little brats blame you for!!!!

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About the Creator

Jacky Montgomery

Depressive asthmatic amputee with M.E. and a bunch of other conditions heaped on for good measure. Married 3 times. 2 kids, 3 grandkids and a bunch of fish. Into metal, comedies, horror and crime.

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