Brooklyn, continued

There is a quote that I once read that said "Something has to explain the disproportionately large space that childhood misery takes up in the adult psyche"..I thought about that a lot. I was a miserable child, a miserable teenager, and for some of my young adult life, a miserable adult. It was not until I was going through a divorce, with two young children, and had gone to lots of therapy that I really understood what kind of an impact my younger years had on my older ones; and that if I didn't consciously try to change things, the cycle would only perpetuate itself. My brother was about two years older than me, and from all accounts was a pretty normal kid until about the age of six (knowing what I know now about childhood development and milestones, it is obvious to me that things were not so okay before that but no ome seemed to notice). After age six he was diagnosed with intractable seizures and everything changed. From that time on, all my parents time and efforts were devoted to him, his treatments, his doctors appointments and his medications. Having children of my own, of course I can see how one would want to do everything in an effort to help a sick child. But my parents, who were ill-equipped (remember, my father never wanted more children--see previous posts)emotionally distant, and not interested in how I felt about anything, completely discounted the fact that I was a child, who also needed their time and attention and their answers. I was dragged around to the doctors appointments, regardless of anything else that was going on in my life. I was expected to watch my brother, to stay home with him-- essentially to "parent" him and be an adult, instead of having a childhood appropriate to my age.