28 February 2007
The Memory
I remember that my lower legs were covered in bruises and marks, I remember being told this was becuase I was clumsy. they never appeared again after the Tormentor was banned from going near me.
I also remeber staring at a chair leg, remembering every detail of it as I had to remmeber what was going on for later - I dont know now though what it was I was so desperate to remember all I see is the chair leg and a feeling of fear, deep gut rentching fear.
These are concrete memories, solid, unwaverying but suprimpossed on these are nightmare images - whats dream and what is real I can not tell you. I was so young when this was all happening that I can not be sure anything I remmeber is true. I thought for a long time I was mad.
At the Tormentors place of dwelling there was a cupboard under the stairs, I remmeber this with distaste and fear. I began one night to talk to the King about this. Another concrete memory was of being locked in the shed, dark and horrible, so much so that being trapped in places had often resulted in me being a whimpering mess - strange how I do not scream for help?
When I spoke of these things to the King a strangeness occure, I was suddenly there again feeling the fear, the terror. I saw the inside of the cupboard I can discribe it the feel of the floor boards, though I have no memory of being tied up in there yet that is the instictual feeling I have.
I was so scared of this cupboard it was a place of Monsters. Strangeness increases when I remember solidly that if I felt I was bad, for years I would get my younger bother to tie my hands and feet together and I would sit in the wardrobe in my bedroom. I would even get him to shut the door on me though I was scared of the dark and inclosed spaces. This I do not believe was correct or healthy behavour for a child - something was wronge.
I know that something happened to me whilst the Tormentor was looking after me. I have been told that I was a very disturbed little girl afterwards but that I got better - no this is a perantal lie as they can not face the fact they left me there. I did not get better, I was a child, I was adaptable but I was scarred and I buried the pain and the confussion but it was always there disturting everthing else I have tried to do since. It lay me bare to abuse from anyone who saw the weakness it created, I thought it was me who was mad, me who was bad.
I asked about it - Oh she never put you in the cupboard. The King wanted to shout at my Parental - well who did she put in the cupboard then? As the tone implied that someone had been.
The affect of this cupboard phobia is harsh - every story I have ever tried to writ about children has ended up with some ordeal were they are locked in a cupboard. This Fucking memory is destroying me attempts at writing - so much pain and dark dispair comes out that no one will publish it. You are a good writer, this stuffs so powerful but its unpublishable, no one wants to read about tortured kids in this way.
The memory of the bruises - this is interesting as when I was walking alone in the dark, I imagined a monster, imagined it clawing at the bottom of my legs - where I have the solid memory of the bruises, bruises confirmed by my Parentals as having existed. To my adult rational mind, this claw on the end of an insectile leg seems to be in shape and size, comparable to the sort of gardening implament for cutting bits off of trees.
The Tormenters garden was full of trees and they kept their tools in the shed I was locked in - i can not but help draw the conclusion that to a fightened childs mind, in the half light this tool would have looked like some sort of alien appendage - especially one with such an actiuve imagination as mine. Why is it associated with the bruises though?
The King pointed out that if hit with such a thing bruises and not cuts would have been left. I did not want to hear this I was scared. I told him to shut up but the thing is I think in the light of day that he is most likely correct. The horrors of my past mixed with the nightmares they engendered in me, have once again arises to turn me into a frightened jibbering wreck. I am a grown woman and yet the dark can parralise me, I have achieved many things and yet the faintest dissaproval has me seeking the solance of the blade and flame and if they arent avalible then my too good imagination thinks of other ways to allow self harm.
The self harm bit worries me - what if I did just do all this to myself? unlickely as it predates my first recollection of self harm, the self harm seems to have started when all of this had finished. I as a child maintained the patten of life I had become familiar with, I continued and indeed continue to metre out punishment too myself.
I am disturbed once again by the darkness that lurks in my mind, the sorrowful state of a confused child, abused and alone and frightened, a child I appear not to be able to grow out of.