In my case, it could only have been the sound of quarreling and the sight of my parents tussling over money. Dad liked to gamble and Mom tried to prevent that. There was never any resolution and after twenty years, they divorced. My early years were like living in an off-Broadway company of "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf," minus the alcohol.
Liz and Dick play my parents.
Trying to overcome your early imprinting is just about impossible. Staying happy in an atmosphere of highly-charged anger requires skill and the ability to hide and remain silent. I had one place they could never find me - the knee hole of my bedroom vanity. I could watch them pass me and not answer their calls. Let them worry, I gloated. To this day, I have fantasies of disappearing into a sea of unknowns and becoming someone else; to fabricate a new childhood and adulthood; to make the necessary positive revisions to the history of a happy and confident me.
Lets start over again from here!!
I post this self-pity in honor of National Dismal Introspection Month (March) which has people I hardly know calling me to say how depressed they are. Chin up, people, we shall meet in the spring, if we make the journey through the mattress!!
See ya at the meeting place.