Entry tags:
May have to change my username
Yesterday I was looking through an old shoebox full of pictures from when we were kids and I saw a bunch of photos I'm pretty sure I'd never seen before. I was flicking through, when I came across one of me at maybe seven years old, munching on a giant slice of melon.
I... don't understand. I hate melon. I've always hated melon. How is this possible? Has my whole life been a lie???
Honestly traumatised. Call me usedtomelon. changedmymindsomewherealongthelinemelon. questioningmylifemelon.
I... don't understand. I hate melon. I've always hated melon. How is this possible? Has my whole life been a lie???
Honestly traumatised. Call me usedtomelon. changedmymindsomewherealongthelinemelon. questioningmylifemelon.

no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
As a child, I hated the smell of peanut butter. I'm not allergic but I had a deep-seated certainty that if I ate peanut butter, my jaw would stick together and I'd never be able to open it again. (I remember confidently telling other kids at school this too.) I was in my twenties when I mentioned that weird little childhood misinformation campaign to mum, and she mentioned that I'd tried peanut butter at about 18 months old, and apparently stopped chewing or breathing until she fished it back out of my mouth. So even though I don't have that specific memory, some of that must have been retained.
no subject
no subject
no subject