Voyage En Suisse Et Chez Les Grisons (1790)

As a little boy, I was always in need of a mother figure, and was jealous every time I saw other children playing with their mothers. When I heard others talk about their mother, I felt so bad and often addressed my anger to everybody around me who had a mother, as if they were the cause of my pain. Every time I fail to succeed in what I do, I would say to my self, had it been mommy was alive. In public, I always proved to have a strong personality. My friends and classmates would come up to me for a debate or a solution to a problem, I always had something to say, even if I knew little or nothing about the subject matter. Nobody knew about my nightmares, nobody knew that crying and swallowing my tears was my hobby when I was alone, locked in a room.