Such an assumption would,
however, not be correct. It seems as if it had always been my fate to
represent and combine the hardest and sharpest contrasts. My outer life
was really in complete contrast with my inner. I had grown up without a
mother; my physical education had been neglected, and in consequence I
had acquired many a bad habit. I always liked to be doing something or
another, but in my clumsy way I made mistakes as to choice of materials,
of time, and of place, and thus often incurred the severe displeasure of
my parents. I felt this, being of a sensitive disposition, more keenly
and more persistently than my parents; the more so as I felt myself
generally to blame in form rather than in substance, and in my inmost
heart I could see there was a point of view from whence my conduct would
seem, in substance at all events, not altogether wrong, still less
blameworthy. The motives assigned to my actions were not those which
actuated me, so far as I could tell; and the consciousness of being
misjudged made me really what I had been believed to be before, a
thoroughly naughty boy. Out of fear of punishment I hid even the most
harmless actions, and when I was questioned I made untruthful answers.
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