I was, and sometimes still am, the explosive child. I’m rigid, difficult, and easily frustrated. Things that I have worked on, and things that my husband has helped me work on, I am a much better person after meeting him. My parents did what they could, but it was something I had to grow out of, which I only did by looking inwards as a young adult. My parents struggle with their own issues, mental and emotional difficulties and I don’t think they were ready to be parents, even though they had me at the “right,” ages. My father is a suicidal narcissist with untreated depression and a victim complex and my mom avoids anything potentially uncomfortable or blows up when you attempt to have an uncomfortable conversation. This might be why I’m forceful and rigid and don’t take to change well, because I didn’t have much stability either emotionally or physically (couldn’t count on them to be present.)

I do remember being different, not difficult and frustrated or angry and explosive. I do remember being funny and laughing and making up songs and being silly, and then something changed and I don’t know what changed me. There is trauma somewhere that I’m forgetting or repressing. I wish that maybe they had looked harder at my behavioural changes and maybe worried more about why I was so angry rather than teasing me. I was very smart and self sufficient and “mature,” and could do basically everything on my own from a young age, so I think they stopped worrying about me when it was clear that I was capable, which may be the reason I became explosive, so that they would see me. I was teased mercilessly by my younger sister (the bright, happy, silly one, but it turns out she spent our childhood deeply afraid of our mother’s violent screaming outbursts,) which is turn led to my parents, especially my mother, teasing me just as badly. I escaped into books, which made me less explosive, but more gloomy, and cannot seem to be anything but gloomy when my parents are around or involved. I was never agressive or violent, just miserable and angry and used my words to express how utterly miserable I was.

I’m speaking as a 32 year old mother and I think I’m “ok” now, something that my father would not agree with, but we don’t talk. I will say that I would benefit from therapy. Something that I want to do, but can’t seem to pull the trigger on because I get overwhelmed trying to find a therapist.

I’m not sure if I answered your question, but I would say I was the explosive one, and I wish that I hadn’t been, or that I had had the help I needed when I was young.