How I got here, part 2

Generational suffering is no joke.

I had real trouble making friends when I was young. I had asthma which made me a wheezy weirdo who often had to sit out gym class and had allergies that made snack time a pain for the teacher and impossible to invite to birthday parties and sleepovers.  This was long before life-threatening allergies were common, and people had sympathy for sufferers.  That coupled with the fact that I could not have a friend over because I never knew what the hell was waiting for me there.  Would it be the quiet (hungover) father who grunted in my direction and ignored me as long as I was quiet? Would it be the boozy amusing father who smiled and told amusing but inappropriate stories, embarrassing me to death, or would it be the swaying, half-falling-down guy who slurred his words and made no sense but would scream the house down if you did not do what he was asking.  Nope, it was too big a risk. It was much better to have people just assume you were sickly and weird and not need friends than to risk having them see what went on in your life.