I don't call it childhood misery. I call it childhood.

My childhood was far from great. Though academically excellent I was a mess. I'm just thinking about some particularly low moods of life and one of my earliest memories. I felt very miserable and very alone. This was when I lived in yorkshire so I was pretty young. I went to my parents door but hesitated before knocking. I don't want to falsify the reason why because my memory is less clear of why. I just returned to my room and my lonliness and misery.

Childhood wasn't all bad, especially the times I was able to excel and be valued for excelling. No wonder I'm a workaholic. My sister and close cousins never got that same adoration for excellence.

I acted out aplenty. It was only till I was 15 that I was thrown out of home for a few months. It really didn't feel so bad when it happened. That's how bad I felt.

There must have been some good times. Perhaps it's the retrospective lens I'm using which is seeing a lot of black. My mood isn't so bad today but that's in relative terms.

It was not my parents fault and consciously at least I bear no grudge though my unconscious actions may not. I barely speak to them or let them know about my life.

I as they are just a product of circumstances, the mixed of genotype with all the rest of the stuff to create people and their actions, and reactions.

I wonder just how much resilience I got from my parents who believed in the old epistomology of mental health. I work under a strain that may incapacitate many others. They may see the reasons but they're as wrong as I.