Traumatic Childhood Memories

It’s about to get a little personal up in here. 

This past week, I had a little tiny clown induced break-down. For those of you who are regulars here at NLFF, you will know that I hate clowns. I wrote this post about it last summer. I’m not sure exactly what it says, but I hope it explains why I hate clowns (if not, this one kind of does). Even in writing that post, I had to have someone else put in the pictures. That’s right! I wrote the words, saved it as a draft, gave my darling Hot Mess my password to log into my account and add pictures, and I’ve never gone back to it since. I’d do the same for her with snake pictures.

So yeah…I was sent a gif of a clown and, according to the teenager who has a bedroom right next to mine, I gasped and said “oh no!” the walls are super thin she can basically hear anything above a whisper even with our doors closed and mine was open. Then, I was sent another gif of an even scarier clown and according to her gasped louder and was like “ohhh no no no no no no” then tears…Not proud of being brought to tears as an adult over clowns, but the person didn’t know I was scared of them. Thankfully, no resulting nightmares happened so it’s all good.

That little episode reminded me of other things from my childhood that have traumatized me. Not to the same extent, but there is something else I refuse to get too close to:

Image result for playground roundabouts

Yup…playground roundabouts.

Do you remember these things?! Playground death traps more like it!

It’s a really quick story, so here it is:

My parents were in a parent/teacher interview and I was at the park beside our school playing on one of these death traps. One just like the picture. All rusted out and on gravel.

So as I’m running around, trying to get up enough speed to have it spin a few good times after I eventually jump up on it, my shoes slipped on the gravel, the spinning force of the roundabout sucked my legs in underneath and dragged me around as it spun, eventually slowing down to a stop.

Wow – that was a MASSIVELY long sentence.

I didn’t end up like really hurt, just some cuts along my legs from the gravel. But now I hate them. And that’s my story.

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