Why I'm Not Sweet

I don't usually yell, but I get intense. I can't be sweet. I'm only sweet when I'm am extremely angry or scared. ie "Yes, Mommy Dearest" with Joan Crawford.

My sister and I were at my aunts house for Thanksgiving or Christmas one year and all the family was there. "Mommy Dearest" was on TV. I'd seen it before and knew what I thought, but didn't dare say anything. My sister was about 8 or 9 and she was my mom's darling. Well, everyone was in the living room talking and kinda watching the movie. After a while my sister turns around to my mom and says, "Mommy, she's just like you." My mom was so ticked, my aunt tried to get details and everyone else was aghast that the cute one would say such a thing. Great peace-maker and keeper of the status quo that I was, it was up to me to save the situation and deny the likeness when questioned about it. I said it was the hair that reminded her of mom, not how she acted. What a lie I told.

I started a story when I was five and kept it going until I was twelve years old. In my story I imagined myself in a Robin Hood kind of role and rescuing all who needed help. Somehow I just knew even when they said they didn't need me, that they really did. I think I had telepathy for the scared ones, but when I was younger I didn't know the word. In my stories they always thanked me for saving them and for not listening when they said they didn't need me. I wished I had my own Robin Hood type character to rescue me. Like the characters in my story I was too afraid to answer truthfully that I needed help. I would say one thing with my mouth while screaming in my mind what I was too afraid to whisper out loud. Where was my rescuer? Why couldn't he hear me? The noise in my head was deafening.