Children usually stop to wet the bed at the age of seven. I wet the bed until I was ten. This is very unusual since I am a girl. My bladder control during the day was perfect. Warden ridiculed me for this. She said, “If you want to pee in your dream, then you should wake up and go to the toilet”. However, in my dreams, I was not able to know that I was dreaming. My sleep would be interrupted when the sheets feel uncomfortable.
Warden sleeps beside me. I was never allowed to have my own room or sleep on my own bed. I never understood why.
Warden would treat me like a five years old. She would do baby talk with me and expected me to talk like a baby even when I was ten years old.
Wetting the bed becomes a joke during family gatherings. Some relatives know I wet the bed. I lost my confidence and I blamed myself for why this happens. Apart from wetting the bed, I had loss of appetite and suffer from stomach aches, and occasional headaches.
Warden never brought me to a psychologist, doctor, or other experts for this. She would ridicule me without giving a proper treatment. At some point, I thought being ridiculed would solve everything.
Sometimes I just want my brain to have good memories about my childhood instead of neglect and years of abuse. I would really love to wake up one day and have a fake memory of my childhood; That I was taken care of properly, that Warden did not divorce, that my biological parents were not divorcing, that I was allowed to make friends and treated for my prolonged stress in childhood.
Children can feel stress too. I am twenty-one years old and if I had to face the exact same conditions as I did in my childhood, given the current cognitive and mental abilities I have now, I would not be able to keep my sanity. It was stressful. I was stressed. Warden and her husband at the time dismissed the idea that I was stressed, simply because I was a kid. I do not wish anyone to go through what I went through.
My breakfast used to be cereal or toast. My lunch for school was almost always the same. Rice and a processed meat. I never liked the menu for my lunch. By 1pm, I would be very hungry. My eyes would be heavy, I would be dehydrated, and my blood sugar will be exceptionally low. I never slept in class, but it was extremely hard to focus. I was a picky eater, but I never got to pick what I wanted to eat. I was forced to like foods that I did not like. I remember I enjoyed the chicken katsu in the cafeteria, but I was not allowed to get them. My lunch box never had chicken katsu in it. I also liked noodle soup. My lunch box always had rice and process meat. There were things I like to eat, and rice is not one of them.
My problem is that I would not eat something that I did not like. Aside from being a picky eater, I also was stressed and very anxious. My appetite was strongly correlated with my psychological well-being.
After school, I would be asked to eat what is left in the lunch box. That will take me about 3-4 hours to complete. By the time I finished the leftover in the lunch box, my dinner will be served. Another pile of rice. I hated rice. My stomach was tiny, I was skinny and stressed. I was unable to swallow food like other children my age. I needed to drink water to swallow my food. Mrs. Warden fed me. She fed me with big spoon, big lump of rice with cooked vegetables inside it. Eating was traumatic for many reasons.
I am thankful that I am able to choose to give up vanilla milk. I used to be forced to drink it until I turned 10. It was always served in a great quantity. I always feel nauseous trying to finish it. She did not serve my milk in a glass but in a flower vase. Mrs. Warden made me drink creamy, yucky milk in a flower vase. It took me five hours to finish. It tasted horrible. If I puke and spit out the milk out of reflex, she would pinch my arm to push me to swallow it. About three hours after the milk is served, it would be cold and very creamy. It would not smell great either. The smell was horrible. I was not allowed to sleep until I finish it.
Everyone asked why she gave me milk despite my age, also why the unreasonable portion. She said it is because I am a picky eater. I have never been brought to a therapist to be treated, so I am not sure what led to this. I would conjecture that this was caused by mental stress.
I am 21 and I still can’t make myself drink a vanilla milk. Almond milk is ultimately better for me.