What stupid memories keep coming back to haunt you?

In My Humble Opinion
41

When I was 12 years old, I had to perform in a piano recital I was unprepared for. I can’t memorize music and have always needed to read sheet music even when I know a piece well, and my old piano teacher never had a problem with me bringing my sheet music to my recitals. This year, however, I had a new teacher (from Lithuania, very old-school), and she forbade me from using sheet music on stage. Now, if I were smart, I would have thought to keep the sheet music at my seat, so that when I inevitably forgot my pieces on stage, I could have had a backup plan and saved myself from looking like an idiot in front of all those people. But I wasn’t smart and left my music at home and forgot each one of my pieces a few measures in and looked like an idiot in front of a hundred people and cried on stage. It was horrible and probably responsible for my social phobia. But that’s not the end of the story.

The next summer my mother thought it would be a good idea to force me to go to a music camp at our local college, even though I hadn’t played the piano at all after that debacle. I was the youngest one there, the poorest player (I was in with teenagers who played professionally in hotels and lounges), and the only one who lived in town instead of staying at the dorms with the rest of the kids. We had workshops where we had to play in front of everyone and then let them critique our performance. Before my turn, I was so nervous that I hyperventilated, which made my fingers stiff and numb. Can you see where this is going? Just…gaaaaah.

There’s a Czech word, litost (and also a poster here with that name) meaning “a state of torment created by the sight of one’s own misery.” That sums up that whole experience PERFECTLY.

42

When I was about 11 or 12, I thought it would be cute/funny to call my little cousin Dylan “dildo.” I had no idea what that word meant, I just thought was a funny nickname that sounded similar. Well, my aunt heard me saying this and had to tell me what it really meant, and that I should not call him that anymore. I was SO embarrassed, and I still am to this day, some 20 years later!

In college, I liked this guy named Chris, and his nickname was “Topher.” Everyone called him that. I asked him, why do they call you Topher? And he laughed and said “because I like tofu.” I was a bit puzzled. It wasn’t until much later that I figured it out: Christopher! I still feel stupid to this day!

43

About 90% of the people I invited to my wedding, who RSVPed, didn’t show up. Thank God that Una Persson was there, because at least she made it bearable. It took me several years to get over that, though I guess I didn’t all the way because I don’t have any of the “mementos” normally associated with a wedding, I never rewatch the video, and that was the last time I tried to invite anybody anywhere to do anything.

44

Here’s mine - and it’s kinda a downer.

When I was 21, my mother was dying of lung cancer. It was bad, I had no idea such terrible things could happen - to me! - and they entire rest of my very close family was as stunned as I was.

Toward the end, when my mom was mostly gone, I had to sit up overnight with her, so the rest of my family could get some rest. No biggie, I said, and brought some work to keep me occupied overnight.

It was the worst night of my life, because all I could think of was how horrible it would be if she woke up, how I would have to deal with this monsterous scarecrow-witch my mother had become. And I wished her dead.

She never really woke up, and I spent that entire night alternately being angry, then feeling sad, then feeling bad, then hating her and everybody else.

Talk about haunting - wishing your mother would die! I know now much more about grief, and illness and mercy, but it was too much for me for a long time afterward.

Now, I think my mom would understand…:frowning:

45

Here’s one I feel really bad about: When I was about 16, I was quite the angsty bitch. One night, I had to make a cake to take to school for a teacher’s birthday, so I was using the electric mixer. Meanwhile, my dad was on the phone with his mother, who was about to die from cancer. He wanted me to turn off the mixer and finish the cake later, since it was loud. I didn’t want to. A big fight ensued and I seriously lost my temper and I threw a plate across the room towards my dad’s head and it hit the wall and smashed. My dad then smacked me and I got a bloody nose, and I ran out of the house and drove to my boyfriend’s house all upset and didn’t come home until very late.

I FULLY deserved to be smacked, and I feel so guilty about the incident over 15 years later. I remember my mom telling me that my dad was really stressed and upset over his mother’s illness and that I should have been more sensitive. I felt so guilty that it just didn’t occur to me that I should be concerned that my grandmother was dying and that I should be sensitive to my dad.

God what a bitch I was to my parents when I was 16.

46

I remember being the only person to show up at another girl’s sleepover. She said that the other kids didn’t show up because they knew I was going to be there and that she only invited me because our mothers worked together. I actually felt guilty. I know now that she was just a turd.

47

One of my worst: When I was about 16 my mom and her family were estranged because of several issues, the most recent being the death of her parents and inheritance drama. My uncle, whom I actually really liked and missed, called my phone line one day to talk to me. I didn’t want to piss off my mom or say anything I shouldn’t, so I just hung up on him. He called me back and left a message saying that he wasn’t sure why I did that, and that he loved me. He died a few years later and I never got the chance to speak to him again.

48

God, these stories just break my heart. I would like to put every single one of you in a sunny room with a wriggly puppy and then pay for you to get a massage. If I ever win the lottery, I will start a foundation for just that.

Rodgers01, shortly after I graduated from college, my older brother came to me and apologized for having been nasty to me on so many occasions. None of them were bad enough to really stick out, but he’d made it clear over our childhood just how tiresome and annoying he thought I was. When he apologized, I was so grateful, I nearly cried. I don’t know if any little brother/sister ever really gets over worshipping their big brother. I never did. To have him tell me that he was sorry, that he loved me, and that he liked me? It healed a place deep in my heart. So, go tell your brother. It’s worth it.

49

This happened to a classmate of my younger sister. Her parents threw a birthday party – number 8, or thereabouts – and invited the lot of children. My sister, however, was sick with a cold, and ordinarily my mother might have kept her home from the party.

I guess mom anticipated the situation, though, and packed up my sister and went to the party with her. Now, coincidence or not, the birthday girl was the only black kid in the class… and my sniffly little sister was the only guest at that party. I gather they played together all afternoon, and had cake while my mother hung out with the parents. (I didn’t go to the party because I wasn’t invited; being older by some years I didn’t know the girl.)

Another ‘sister-goes-to-a-party’ story which this reminds me of. It doesn’t really haunt me, though it caused some real consternation among my family at the time. My sister was invited to a different party, some ways across town. We didn’t have a car available so Grandpa was asked to come pick up my sister and deliver her. I went along for the ride, because I knew where the street was, and Grandpa and my sister didn’t. I don’t remember just how old I was, but less than ten, for sure.

So we get to the place, and I get out to escort my little sister to the door. She goes into the house, and I chat briefly with the birthday boy’s sister, who is in my class at school. I say my goodbyes, and turn around to see that Grandpa has left. Turns out he thought I was going to the party, too.

So, naturally, I walked home. I didn’t really know how long it would take, having never walked that far across town, but I think it ended up taking about 75 minutes, maybe more. Anyway, I guess Mom started to worry when I didn’t come back immediately from delivering my sister; she called the party house and didn’t find me, and called my grandparents’ place to get “What, wasn’t he going to the party?”.

I made it home safe, but apparently Grandpa had been out driving around for a while looking for me, and Mom had been worrying and freaking out. Among the first things she asked when I got in was “Why didn’t you go inside the party house and use the phone?” :smiley: Maybe I was embarrassed to be in the situation, or maybe I didn’t even really think to look to someone else for help when I already had a workable solution to my problem.

50

The breakup.

It was five years ago. We had been together on and off for about seven years.

It’s crazy - intellectually I’m completely over it. It’s done. She’s gone. Married someone else. I want to meet someone new.

But the fucking dreams still haven’t quit. The dream where she comes back and it just feels so good, just for a few minutes, to not be alone. Then I wake up and reality kicks me in the teeth. She’s gone. You’re alone.

At least the interval between them is slowly getting longer.

…yeah, I heal slowly.

51

In fourth grade to get the names of Europe and England confused, I knew there was a difference (hell, I even knew a bunch of English history then, how many 4th graders know about the Wars of the Roses?) but I just couldn’t remember which was which. My then-friend from Germany did a really good English accent, and at the time I was at the “England = Europe, Europe = England” part of my internal mixup and I said “wow you’re good, probably because you’re from there.” :smack::smack::smack:

He probably didn’t even REMEMBER that incident a month later, but it still comes back in my brain and I feel embarrassed no matter how trivial it is.

52

Oh, dear. Well, there are many times I have said exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time. What comes to mind, though, was the time I discovered a small bakery on a back street in the town where my mom lives. It smelled great as I walked past it, and I got the sudden urge for some pastries.

I walked in, big dumb donkey smile on my face, and asked the girl behind the counter if she had bear claws. She shot me a look which I am pretty sure rendered me sterile. I nervously glanced down and saw that she had a terribly deformed right hand.

“Uh… bear claws… um, I guess maybe you call them apple fritters,” I stammered. Her face unclenched, and I could sense in an instant the kind of brutal remarks this girl must have had to endure in her life. It still makes me cringe to think that I might have inadvertently given her even a second of emotional pain.

You are not alone.

53

I hope the same thing happens with mine.

In high school, a girl I was dating came down with severe abdominal pains one night (we were both at our own homes at the time- I heard about this a day or so later). Her parents took her to the ER, and while there she was treated very poorly. The doctor who examined her made her disrobe completely, and didn’t provide her with a gown or blanket or anything. I don’t know if that’s SOP for abdominal examinations, but for a modest and shy 15-year-old girl I think a little more discretion and care should have been used.

The sound of her saying “He made me take off all my clothes” while she valiantly tried to hold back tears cut me to the bone when she first told me. To this day, 20+ years later, I still hear that sentence pop into my head from time to time.

54

I think this thread is going down as the most heartbreaking in SDMB history.:frowning:

55

I would call it the most therapeutic.

Every single one of these stories is mine, just change the names and dates. I never realized so many people suffered the same mental anquish as I do. Over the past several years I’ve realized that I can use the painful memories and learn from them, in hopes of not repeating them, but it’s been difficult.

I’ve been a member of the dope for years, but I rarely post, partly because I’m afraid of making a fool of myself. The fear comes from me re-living awful and embarrassing memories from my childhood and early adulthood. Having other dopers open up like this tells me that I’m no different than anyone else.

Thank you to all who shared their stories. It helps me more than you can imagine.

56

Ow, my heart. I can’t hear these things without wanting to hug you all. And you’re talking about adults who should have known better. Argh! Clearly I need to stop reading this thread.

Wow. What a little, well, turd. Turd is the nicest word that could be applied.

I concur.

Hey, glad I could make a difference. Hope you feel better!

57

Imagine that for every one of us who posted here there are thousands upon thousands of people with similar memories, who have experienced similar feelings. Though we may not all post to a message board, and some of us may avoid posting the really painful memories, they are all within us somewhere.

58

Three years ago, I never got around to calling or emailing my brother in Pennsylvania to wish him a happy birthday. He died of a pulmonary embolism three weeks later. I think about it all the time.

59

Post Secret. Reading other peoples’ secrets and shames somehow makes things a little easier.

60

And has an amazing way (as do threads like this) of making you feel close to and incredibly compassionate for strangers. Something about exposing so much vulnerability, I guess. If only they knew how many friends they really have, you know?