<font color="purple">It's another memory that popped itself into my head, as I was looking back at my early years. No triggers, because it's nothing really abusive, but it kinda makes me hate myself just a little bit more.

I was about 7 years old or so at the time, I don't remember exactly when. There was this one kid, he had some issues I suppose. He built this tower out of those cardboard bricks thing, and told nobody to knock it down. So, a little scheme popped into my head, I walked directly into his tower and knocked it over, I pretended that it was an accident, faking that I was all upset and everything. Out of rage, he stamped on my feet. It didn't hurt that much, but I still cried anyways so that the babysitter would come. He could see right through me, I could tell, he tried yelling at her that I did it on purpose, but she thought it was an accident too, and punished him for stamping on my feet. Everybody asked me if I was okay afterwards, I said yeah, and then of course, pretending to start feeling better when secretly inside I felt really good for playing such a trick on someone else.

Looking back on this now, I really feel a bit guilty that I would bully someone like that, considering 90% of the time I was on the other end. All must have been forgiven, because eventualy we did become friends and he would play with me wheneveryone else was busy playing with someone else. </font>