Mooney just keeps going

Do you ever wonder if you were an unusual child?

I must have been a weird kid. My mom always said I like to do things alone and that I would do everything by myself. I remember thinking a lot as a kid, not quite curious, but more inclined to understand life. Even at a young age, I understood that there had to be something to this life and something beyond it.

My dad had become a Mormon back in high school and after he met my mom he quickly converted her. Shortly after my parents divorced she started to go inactive. We sorta went to church when I was very little, but when my mom had an affair with one of the fathers in our ward going to church wasn’t really an option for her...

Okay, so this is really happening. I would first like to say that I am merely throwing things out into the void. I am not a professional writer by any means haha although I would like to be. I do not have one specific intent or purpose of posting my thoughts and memories. I just think that life is pointless if you don’t share it and perhaps this can help others, people that have been through crap.

No one wants to be alone.

Life is like a delicate flower but she is nowhere near fragile, she is strong standing tall. She is unique, no matter how alike she may appear to be to her peers but she stands out. The flower grows into the beautiful creation it was destined to become. Before she shrivels and dies into the dirt she sheds parts of herself, so that there is more flowers, a more beautiful world. Stories keep the world going, we pass on our wisdom one person by person. Hoping they cling to it, like a child to fairy tales, and use it to make the world a more beautiful place.

I remember going to a therapist in my middle school years when fluctuating hormones, social awkwardness, and depression suicidal was a normal occurrence but were somehow hushed as thought they were some form of taboo. But I digress my therapist asked me a question that has shaken my subconscious even to this day “What do you first remember? What is your first memory?”

What did that matter? But I closed my eyes and thought as hard as I could and tried to push to the back of my memory, the farther I went back the more it seemed like walking through tar. Finally, when I found it I could see it. It almost seemed to be a short clip playing over and over never going farther forward or backward. I was so little, maybe 3 at most, it was late at night which was the time that I had the hardest time sleeping. I  could hear my Papa’s car drive up to the house on the cement of the driveway. Being so little I climbed on the chair left by the window to see him, hoping he wouldn’t see me and yell for me to go back to my bed. Being on the second floor I was looking at him from above wondering if this is what angels saw when they looked over us. My mother came out and they began yelling at each other. I couldn’t understand them, but this was a normal occurrence and so seeing that he didn’t come to see me I waddled back to my bed and then the memory would start again from the beginning.