Crying for not bloody reason

I remember the smell, taste, and feel of my first super heavy cry. I remember the hint of the smell from the accident, I actually remember the accident very well but I didn't cry very much. I was locked in the closet, where I slept, and I was bloody balling my eyes out. I had just been spanked well above today's standard of three whacks to the cheeks. I had been tanned fairly well for playing with a toy, which was mine, that I was not allowed to play with. I wasn't allowed to play with this as my Step father wanted to play with it. I feel horrid as now I am the same age, feel as though I'm still 18 and have the same desire to play with toys and the like. I do not, however, wish to beat kids and lock them in their closet/rooms.
I once was babysat by a couple kids who were rather sadistic. They locked me in a very very small coat closet, nothing like my spacious hallway model. They yelled at me then made me eat strange pancakes later. I can't actually eat pancakes as they make me vomit. I don't believe I've noted any of this down in my Redbook as of yet. Hmm. So many things I should note down. I wonder what I could note down about my kinder years. Here there and making observations, one is that kids shouldn't have to spend nights in an El Camino in 4 or more feet of snow. Parents shouldn't fight in front of kids dressed as bumble bees. Parents shouldn't shoplift in front of kids or make them do the shoplifting for them at age six or seven. I* won't complain i'm generally okay, though I feel far from it.