Ahhh... I seemed to take a wrong turn long long time ago. My home life when I was little was hard, mom trying to make a living as a single parent while my one controlling freak of a grandma trying to induce as much guilt in everyone as she could. And when I realized this(around 4?) I spent a huge amount of effort to be a "grown up", be "mature" so I could help my mother fight off this world. Be mature. I knew that the adults are full of drama and bullshit, and I took it as what life is. Life is unforgiving. Life is judgmental. There is so little joy in everything and everyone but it's only normal this way.
It still haunts me. It's so deeply ingrained me as the foundation of beliefs, the damaged lens from which I see the whole world. I'm trying to help myself(by recognizing the nature of "self"?), but I don't really see a way.
Edit: that was just a story and there's no particular law saying I must believe it.
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