When you are a young child, people expect you to be happy and unsensible so that you can be told off, or to not understand the majority of things, so that they can look down on you and explain to you, the silly little thing you are, so that you can always think of them when you think about what you then did not understand.
When I was 4, a lot of my close relatives died, and people just ignored me, they didn’t see the tears in my eyes and down my face, they were too busy in their own grief to realise that I thought more than the clothes my parents dressed me in. I understood death and the way it worked. Although my parents liked to tell me about how we will all be reunited in heaven, I knew that once someone dies, they are gone, and you have to spend the rest of your existence without them.
At my grandmother’s funeral, I sat in the church quietly crying all on my own because my mother was crying too and was being comforted by my father. I had no-one to turn to. After the funeral, they went back to my grandmother’s house, and all I remember is people talking about how much they loved her, and telling me to get out of the room, because they thought in some way that I was going to be the one to break the uneasy silence that followed, with a stupid careless comment. I tended to think a lot about things even then, and I was deeply hurt by their ignorance. That left a big mark on me, and ever since I was 4, I’ve been writing poems about ghosts, that either no-one ever saw, or just brushed away, and then proceeded to accuse me of stealing other people’s poems. I never wanted to grow up then, like them, and I still don’t, because I was and am afraid of turning into people like them, people who didn’t understand.
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I know this is unusual but does anyone know what I’m on about/feel the same way?