Happiness Is Not the Solution
Being miserable is important, too.
As a middle child, I have always had trouble being properly cared for. My sister came into the world when I was barely 11 months old, so I had to learn to be independent long before I even learned to walk properly. When I was seven, I realized that most of my family practically ignored me. My older brother was the star child, and my younger sister was always the one who needed the most care. So I was just there existing, trying to get everyone’s attention, but often forgotten.
Many family members would say I was independent and solitary because I liked it. I was a quick learner and liked to do things on my own. But the reality is that my mother could not handle three children on her own. My father had to work long hours out of town, and she had two little girls and a little boy at a difficult age. She had to make the decision to give more attention to the little one because she needed more care and to the older one because he needed a good education. So it wasn’t that I liked it; I had no choice.
So, to get attention, I started having public tantrums. At family gatherings, social events, or whenever someone was at home, I cried extremely hard when I wanted something. I thought that if I had a stronger voice and made others understand that I needed them, they would pay attention to me.
