What stupid memories keep coming back to haunt you?

I have one memory that upsets me every time it comes back.

The plan is to share it on an online message board and hopefully it will lose it’s power.

When I was younger I went to an apple farm. They had a policy where you head through some trees and gather your own apples. You then had to bring the apples back and pay for them. No one watched the people picking apples.

Since I lived in a city most of my life, this was the first time I saw someone selling things based on a policy of honesty. So I thought I should take some free apples. I wrapped up about a dozen or so apples in my jacket and carried it like a shopping bag. I really thought I didn’t have to pay for them since apples on trees are free right? :smack:

After I put my bag of apples in the car, I was surprised to hear one of the farmers accuse me of stealing a pumpkin, which they also grew at the farm. I told him I didn’t steal any pumpkin. He then said that it doesn’t really matter that much to him if he loses a pumpkin, but that it would be nice if I paid for it.

I told him I never stole any pumpkin and he did not believe me. It was pretty obvious I stole something anyway, and I never paid for the apples.

What dumb memories do you have?

I was in a mean mood I guess, and for some reason I decided to be really cruel to my little brother about Boy Scouts, which he was involved in at the time and was really proud of and loved. I just harangued him for like twenty or thirty minutes about it, what a terrible, stupid, pointless group I thought it was, and he just sat there, timidly trying to fight back, but I wouldn’t let him get a word in. I was terrible to him right then, and I don’t know why. We generally got along, and I’m not usually cruel like that. He never mentioned it again, and for all I know he might have completely forgotten about it, but I think about it fairly regularly at random moments.

To his credit, he stuck with Boy Scouts and almost, almost made it to Eagle Scout. I know it’s vain and irrational to think that my meanness six or seven years earlier kept him from making it to Eagle Scout, but I’ll admit that at the time the thought crossed my mind. :frowning:

When I was around 14 or 15 I repeated a bunch of stupid racist jokes that my older brother had told me. I offended and hurt a lot of people and I am still ashamed to this day. I doubt a month goes by that I don’t think about it and feel bad about it and I’m 42.

I have scores, dozens. Most of them are not even memories of me being hurtful; just awkward in my own eyes.

In fact, wheneven I have a social encounter, so almost daily, sometime during the night my heart will start racing and I will suddenly realise how weird or stupid it must have come across what I did that day, or even longer ago.

Interacting socially costs me dearly. :frowning:

Rodgers01, if I were you, I’d tell your brother what you said here. I think it will mean a lot to him.

A long time ago, shortly after I had started attending community college during high school (as part of a program called Running Start), I met a really cute girl at a regional conference of Phi Theta Kappa. She showed every sign of being into me, and insisted (somewhat forcefully) on dancing with me at the party. At the time, though, I was really shy and awkward (even more so than I am now, that is :p) and I’m afraid I came off as rather uninterested and stand-offish. She seemed pretty down by the end of the evening, and I still occasionally kick myself for not having had the presence of mind to reciprocate. I just hope she didn’t feel too badly hurt by my apparent lack of interest. Maybe she just thought I was gay. :smack:

Rodgers01, I agree with Maastricht: your brother would probably appreciate hearing that. I know sort of how you feel; when I was younger I was occasionally quite short with my little brother as well, and I always regretted it. You’re probably right about him not thinking too much of it now, but he’d certainly be touched to hear an apology from you, and it would take the weight off your conscience. It never hurts to apologize, even for small matters of years gone by!

This. Exactly this. 40 years worth of social interactions that keep me up at night with a racing heart and realizing how weird I must have come across. Things from 20 years ago will keep me awake for hours at night. Things that the other person likely forgot the minute they turned around at the time.

I asked my husband once if he ever did this and he basically said, 'uh, no" like it was very odd.

To me the strange thing about this is that I could care less what people think of me so I really don’t understand why this happens to me at night. :frowning:

Well if you could care less, then perhaps you care too much right now as it is.

knows what she will stress about tonight now



Her laugh,
Hearing how her day went at work,
Her body,
Her smile,
Making her breakfast pancakes on the weekends,
Her voice,
Her super comfy bed and the way she’d always twist the sheets/comforter into a giant ball while sleeping,
The way she could curse like a sailor while watching an OSU football game.

Too many of these little memories have been coming back to haunt me the last couple days. It is painful and upsetting as I thought I had made so much progress with moving on. Yet, here I am again.


How’s it feel to be the one who will be quoted most often? This. Absolutely. I have zero social skills, most of the time, I keep my mouth shut unless I know for a fact that what I have to say will add to the conversation without me feeling stupid later. But get a little alcohol in me? Ugh. But I love to get a good buzz going, it’s the only time I let go of the tight reins I keep on myself.

The sad thing is, everyone I know talks about how “confident” I am. It’s the top compliment from my male friends – “you’re so confident, that’s so sexy” – if they only knew how badly I beat myself up every. single. night about how awkward and lame I think I am…

Probably the worst is when I had a funny joke – second grade – that I wanted to tell my teacher. I said, “wanna hear a dirty joke?” and of course got in trouble. The joke? “Wanna hear a dirty joke?” “Sure” “A horse fell in a mud puddle!” She never let me tell her the punchline, and to this day, I feel like some kind of trashy little deviant every time I think of the trouble I got in for that incident.

You guys DO KNOW there is a treatment for social anxiety, right? It works really well. I used to have really painful social phobias but due to CBT I am mostly a normal human being now. I still reflect on things I said, but I usually come to the conclusion that I did the right thing.

I have a ton of these stupid, shameful memories that crop up at weird times and won’t seem to let go. One that comes to mind is the time my Mom was going to get remarried (again) and I was 10, and his kids didn’t know yet, they were going to tell them as a surprise. Of course my Mom made me promise not to tell, and I accidentally let it slip to his six year old daughter (completely accidentally, and realized what I had done the minute it happened.) The little girl then went to her Dad and said, ‘‘Why didn’t you guys tell me you were going to get married?’’ Next thing I know I’m getting called to the living room. My Mom sat on the couch and cried and cried and cried, and her words will haunt me forever. She said, ‘‘Why is it every time I do something to try to be happy, you hurt me?’’ I know she was crazy, but I still feel ashamed and tear up a little when I think about it. I have about a million vivid memories of letting my Mom down as a kid. I suppose in a perverse way I am still grateful for every one. What doesn’t kill you and all that.

When I was younger, I was terribly shy and horribly unpopular. As in, I was the one who got tripped in the halls and spitballed in class. So when I was in 3rd grade, my parents planned a huge birthday party for me; we had it at a restaurant, with little party hats and gift bags and games all ready for everyone.

I invited the entire class; I’m really not sure why I thought anyone would attend, since I was the unpopular kid. Maybe I just tricked myself into thinking that, since there was free cake and everything, at least a few kids would be there. I was actually pretty excited about maybe, finally, being liked and included.

One person showed up.

You’d think I could laugh something like that off, since it happened so long ago and the kids were pricks anyways, but it still hurts to talk about it, even now.

Oh, and guess which memory bobs to the surface every time a birthday rolls around?

I didn’t know about CBT I had to look it up. I have so many memories too, I was the quiet, timid, shy akward kid in school who tried tagging along. I got better as I got older, and I’ve gotten over a lot of the older stuff. I had buck teeth (since straightened by braces) and a schizophrenic sister (Yes, medically diagnosed, thorazine taking, in a group home now since she got out of the Psych hospital). I was picked on a lot. The one I remember most is in the playground when I was around 10, I was playing ball by myself and two kids nearby were just talking when one turned around and said, “Why don’t you get out of here before you corrode the whole place?” I think anyone with good self esteem would have shrugged it off but I was really upset by it.

I can’t (and wouldn’t presume to) speak for anyone else, but it’s not social anxiety for me. I am perfectly comfortable in social settings, just awkward as fuck. That is to say, I feel no anxiety at all around other people, I just don’t know how to relate to them. Especially if they’re below me intellectually.***

It’s just that as I stare at the ceiling, waiting for sleep, I think about the things I have said/done and realise how awkward I really am. People like me, I am popular and have a lot of “friends” (in quotes because that’s how they refer to themselves in regards to me, not the way I see them) – it’s just all an act, and like many actors, after the scene, I question my ability to pull it off realistically. Does that make sense?
***I don’t think I am better than anyone intellectually, there just wasn’t a better way of saying when I am around people who don’t understand basic things like the fact that evolution is a scientifically proven phenomena, not a theory, the theory is from whence man evolved, not whether or not he did, then it becomes almost completely impossible for me to hold back my natural tendency to say things like, ‘are you fucking kidding me? Are you fucking retarded? What the hell is wrong with you?’

I guess my older brother was in a mean mood every day for about 15 years.
So you’re not so bad.
I get angry about stuff that happend years ago. I had this one co-worker who really did some mean nasty stuff and I pull the incidents up and get angry all over again. (that was over 10 years ago) Then there are some college memories of me, being screwed over, that I still get angry about. That’s over 20 years ago.

  1. Asking a girl out before finding out if she’s taken. 9th grade. New school. Bad move. I still remember my pathetic “aww [that’s too bad]” and shuffling away quickly.

  2. Dancing in Intro to Theater last year to “December, 1963” and someone’s comment of “He knew the words…”. The whole class was made up of terrible dancers and the exercise was to get us to embarrass ourselves on stage for the first time. Most of us did. I just didn’t know it until the next semester.

  3. 12 years old, new infant brother. I was tasked to feed him by my busy mother. This little poopy, slobbery creep was taking over my room, my parent’s attention, and now my PLAY TIME?! So I strapped him into in high chair and basically shovelled mashed bananas (or whatever) into his mouth. The second he swallowed, I’d be there with a dump truck load of baby food, shoving it in there. The poor kid’s cheeks were puffed out with food as he tried to keep up. I feel so much remorse and pity that I didn’t enjoy my time with him. He of course doesn’t remember a thing now, but every time I think of it, I remember the ending lines to a poem about a busy housemom “Quiet down, cobwebs. Just go to sleep. I’m feeding my baby, and babies don’t keep.”

I was traveling from Bath back to London on one of those tour buses. We had all stopped to get a beer at one of the pubs in Bath and I had to pee so bad, but the bathroom was out of order and we weren’t supposed to use it. We were about a half hour from the nearest stop and there was no way in hell I was going to be able to hold it that long. So I told the tour guide to pull over because I had to barf. I was too embarrassed to say I had to pee. I squatted right there next to the bus, with one of the passengers looking at me while I frantically gestured to him to look somewhere else (he didn’t, but I guess that’s what happens when you pull your pants down on a highway).

To this day, I have no idea why I thought it was somehow better for the tour guide to think I had to barf versus pee. And I curse my teeny, tiny grape-sized bladder. Everytime I think about squatting outside that tour bus, I get moritified as though I were doing it right then. For a guy, I doubt it would be even half as embarrassing. Oh, well - if you gotta go, you gotta go.

My mom wasn’t the greatest cook, but she tried, and me and my two brothers were always well-fed. Once when I was 12 or 13 she made some dish from a magazine recipe, which I don’t remember. But I do rememeber not liking it, and hiding it in a napkin when she wasn’t looking. After dinner, I dropped it out of my bedroom window with the intention of getting rid of it later. Of course, she found it before I could do so. My dad was furious, and I felt horrible. But I didn’t think of too much until one day, years later, I realized that for days, weeks, maybe even years, that every time my mom put dinner on the table, she probably remembered that day. I still tear up about it. In fact, I’m doing so now.

I should have kissed Valerie in 11th grade instead of being a wuss.

I’m not going to tell you which word I mis-read in that, but I’ll bet you can guess.

Hint: I only actually mis-read one letter.