Several months later I decided to remedy the depressing situation by sending my name and photo to a publication produced by an insurance company which we received regularly. Having myself written to two girls who had appeared in the magazine, I figured I should try to put an end to my disgusting predicament since they had reported receiving as many as 20-3O letters. I described myself, my hobbies and, including a 7th grade photograph, quickly mailed the envelope.
March 19, 1976… I wanted to go to Col. with K. in the summer and told dad. He said I'd not be able to. I never get to go anywhere with her. He told me we wouldn't go to Col. this summer if I didn't care to go with them! But I do! Man! I'm depressed! I'm going to bed without telling anyone!
Without a question of doubt, my intended action described in the final sentence had no profound effect on my parents, and if anyone lost sleep over the incident, it was me. Frustration marred my rationality and allowed the childish presence to dominate my thoughts and actions. Whereas the above incident hurt only myself, since I enjoyed bedtime hugs anger could also be directed out from myself. One is born with a certain degree of destructiveness, for until a parent guides a child toward the compassionate mode of thought which society demands, and the child is mature enough to follow that direction, he often exerts damaging blows on inanimate objects for no reason and similarly provokes live creatures over which he wields superiority of size and strength. In grade school I would capture daddy-long-legs and proceed to amputate all of their legs until the body was but a helpless dot on the sidewalk surrounded by eight spasmodically pulsating legs. My behavior was quite unnecessary, and I finally was able to see the brutality of my deadly surgery and allowed the bugs to pass unhindered. Similarly, my brothers used to follow ants with a magnifying glass, directing the reflective rays on their small bodies until they began to smoke, whereupon the ant would collapse in a miniscule puff of fire.
Many households with dogs and cats bear the brunt of the human inhabitants' emotions. Mistreatment is not uncommon regarding pets, and ranges from overt bodily punishment to the supposedly innocent teasing and frightening of animals.
March 23 1976… Gerb bit me yesterday for no reason at all, so today I got even. I filled the tub with three inches of water and put him on the edge of the tub. He fell in all by himself. He swam a little. I left him in there a half hour… He looked funny… real skinny …it really scared him! I'll never do it again though.
How well I remember my reasoning and behavior on that day. My gerbil would never have known why I was treating him in such a mean fashion; gerbils are naturally active, and not desiring to be held, it bit my finger in agitation. Realizing this, yet still frustrated, I decided to put some water in the tub, measuring three inches at the deepest slant, and put my gerbil on the tub's edge, knowing full well that the chance of his sliding into the slippery interior was almost certain; thus, I could take advantage of a sadistic need without actually pushing him in the tub or hurting him. As I watched his progress to assure that he was in no danger, it was apparent that he disliked his situation entirely, for he found the highest spot immediately and remained there, propped on his hind legs, craning his head for a way up to more hospitable surroundings. After the time had elapsed, I lowered my hand into the tub and he gratefully climbed into it; I then raised him up and gently dried him on a towel. I knew that I liked the feeling I encountered as my pet jumped into my cupped hands… he sought my hands, and my offering of care, whereas the previous day, he repelled my affections. It was the childish need to possess something's love; if I made certain that the quality of his atmosphere was poor, he would seek out my rescuing presence.
No matter how insignificant my action might seem in comparison to the cruel attacks waged upon some pets, I feel ashamed that I ever needed to boost my security through such unfavorable means. Any mistreatment is unfortunate, but perhaps it is most unfortunate for that which it reveals about the human who lacks the ability to resist it.
Because I spent so much time alone, I was highly aware of my opposing desires, and the fact that I was ill augmented each in its own way. During nausea I wanted no one to flutter nearby; vomiting was a degrading sort of function for which I needed no help (as it was essentially involuntary) and desired no spectators. At times I would not throw up until I was certain that everyone was beyond earshot. However, in the aftermath of a vicious siege or a miserable day, I welcomed parental affection, and on occasion, sought their nurturing touch. This latter trait proved to myself that I was not yet as self-sufficient as I would have liked to be; I needed mom and dad for more than food and lodging purposes, for part of me was still very much a little child and that fact would not disappear through false rationalization on my behalf. Although the child that I saw within myself I sometimes despised, having at least fostered selfish ideas if I had not also allowed myself to act upon the childish whims, I was glad to be able to revert to that being in times of physical weakness; perhaps, however, one never outgrows the need for a reassuring hug, and gentle words.
Most of my visitors were adults. This suited me just fine, however, for I felt more at ease with people who were older than myself. With a few exceptions, I generally found myself inhibited around youth, for acceptability was judged within narrow and often unreasonable bounds with which I did not care to grapple. Moreover, because I did not have a particular crowd with whom I closely associated, preferring to roam with one individual at a time, group situations flooded me with apprehension. One such group was church school. Although I truly enjoyed the adults who attended the services each Sunday, my March 21 entry reads: "I didn't want to go to church" (I really never like to). It was the heart-felt sentiments of a rebellious youth, perhaps, who did not wish to sit through an hour-long service, yet my foremost objection surrounded the obligatory church school and Sunday evening MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship; I rarely attended the MYF meetings during the administration of chemotherapy, although my parents had me begin again after the treatments had ceased). I attempted to make conversation or listen to those speaking nearby, yet could never include myself to an even modest degree. As I approached a circular gathering of kids, the circle would never break or widen to allow me to "join in." For awhile I stood behind the circle of heads, smiling stupidly at their jokes and listening to the flood of chatter surrounding people I'd never known, until the bell announced it was time to file to the classroom. Eventually, I tired of the hopeless battle and spoke with my parents' friends or else made an early debut in the empty church classroom and waited for the clock to herald the beginning of the hour in a less humiliating fashion.
That I did not share common friends with the church youth was complicated further by the fact that my "shyness" grew when ignored. When I found myself in an awkward situation, I lost my ability to speak quite as effectively as if my voice box had been stolen. Thus, if I spoke a word or two and was left unanswered, verbalization became increasingly more difficult until I could not speak if I wanted to do so. I recall an outing (or retreat) on which Mom insisted I go, wherein, during a meeting to plan activities, my suggestion to go on a bike excursion was virtually eye-balled off the list as if it was an incredibly ridiculous thing to have mentioned. I swallowed hard, and wished I could melt into the wood of my bench. Later in the meeting other questions were tossed about and, having considered a likely answer to one, I opened my mouth, fully intending to speak, but nothing would pass through my lips. I shut my mouth again, rather shocked, yet happy that no one had seen my strange gesture.